While waiting to meet up with a friend of mine after her various appointments, I was geocaching around her (and what used to be my) neighbourhood of Marpole. Wandering over the cyclist-tolerant-but-intended-for-cars bridge to Sea Island, I found a cache with a peculiar prefix in its title - CoRGQ - and that evening I checked online to find it was part of a series planted around our neighbouring city of Richmond:
Each cache container has a secret word, collect all 30 words from the 30 caches around the city in a passport that can be turned into the Nature Center for a limited edition geocoin! While supplies last!
Now those that know me know that even silly little tokens can be a great motivation for me to try, with all my drive and stubbornness and dedication and effort. I really don't need another awarded _thing_ in my life, to clean or keep or lose, nor even the bragging rights that I've completed a task however great or small. I suppose it's just a knee-jerk compulsion to rise to a challenge. A quest! Worse yet was that I'd found out about it about two weeks after these caches were published, and hardcore cachers had likely been on this same quest for MY geocoin with a two week headstart! I emailed the organizer and asked how many had been minted and how many were still available. Overnight came the response; 150 made, 30 remained. Hence the added element of urgency!
Good thing I didn't have much else planned that weekend. Friday found me up in the wee hours and on a Skytrain around dawn with a small bicycle, kicking myself for not getting up even earlier. I quickly found two in the center of town and got back to the Skytrain to use the same fare transfer back to the start of the western dyke trail, and was cycling from 8am to 6pm - haven't cycled in awhile, my ass was still sore a day or two later. Sat
morning I got a ride to a few remote ones in the east and we searched
again a few I didn't find the day before. Then I
kept walking, getting the central urban ones alone. Sunday was finishing up
the last 6 on foot, spread out and thus less searching and more
walking. Most were easy, some were clever/tricky, and I found my first
floating cache: a piece of vertical pipe sealed off on one end with a
slow drip hole, you have to BYO water and fill it faster than it can
drain, and grab the watertight cache quick before it disappears again.
Plenty of opportunity to be resourceful - I had no water or vessel to
carry it, but found a used Slurpee cup on the side of the highway, and a
plastic baggie+hair elastic in my purse to temporarily seal the drain
and buy more time. Worked fine, yay!
Beautifully clear but cold, it was okay as long as I kept moving but
waiting for bus I noticed the cold more. I enjoyed the frosty parks
most of which I've never been to, found a few I'd like to revisit in the
spring or summer growing season. Saw the great congregation of snow
geese in a grass field. People along the trails were friendly.
My phone finally ran out of the prepaid account I purchased in June - of course while I was
in a forest at dusk, wearing a furry hat which the young barred owls would love to swoop at - so I know now that with conservative use $25 will last
from Jun till Nov. Now I put $50 on it, good till Nov next year.
When I turned in my completed passport at the nature center I chat with
the guy who started the project, and I watched the songbirds and squirrels at the seed feeding station in the cold evening. They all knew to leave with the light, before the owls start hunting. I was the last to leave the park. Got my Geocoin... now I'm hesitant to release it to travel because I know I spent so much time and effort to get it.
Amidst all this was my friend's goodbye party(s) and the civic elections.
Now I can resume real life, and on with Christmas preparations.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Lest we forget
Remembrance Day in Vancouver, indeed observances all across Canada, was especially well attended this year in light of the cowardly shooting of a soldier guarding the war memorial in Ottawa in late October. The legion was flooded with requests for their poppy pins earlier than the launch of the fundraising campaign. For weeks there was overall a sense of pride and resilience, akin to the British 'stiff upper lip'.
The weather was clear and bright that morning, and as I watched the marching military procession I felt sober yet light just by listening to the choirs sing. The maple keys gently twirling down among the crowd were a whimsical contrast to a grim poem about mustard gas. The ceremonial artillery fire spooked the confused flock of pigeons that moved as a unit among the stylish old heritage buildings in Gastown. The prayer was thoughtful and moving though seemed rushed to keep schedule with the flyby planes already in the air. To top it off Christopher Gaze, of Bard on the Beach fame, read a Robert Service poem about the war with such amazing delivery it reverently hushed the crowd.
Later I happened to notice the marquis sign for a church in my neighborhood announcing a Chor Leoni concert for that evening, "A Great Service". They are arguably one of the most polished choral acts in Vancouver and I'd heard great reviews for them but never seen their live performance before. Further investigation found that there were still tickets available, they weren't as expensive as I'd expected, and lo and behold Christopher Gaze was reading more Robert Service poems there as well!
Well that sealed it, and I'm glad I went. The performances by both were spellbinding, alternating between songs and poetry with precision timing and smooth transition. No applause till the end; it was just a good feeling of despair, passion, hope, in a grand space designed for an audience to arrive as individuals and leave as a group of people together impressed and smiling from the gift the performers have given them.
Thank you.
The weather was clear and bright that morning, and as I watched the marching military procession I felt sober yet light just by listening to the choirs sing. The maple keys gently twirling down among the crowd were a whimsical contrast to a grim poem about mustard gas. The ceremonial artillery fire spooked the confused flock of pigeons that moved as a unit among the stylish old heritage buildings in Gastown. The prayer was thoughtful and moving though seemed rushed to keep schedule with the flyby planes already in the air. To top it off Christopher Gaze, of Bard on the Beach fame, read a Robert Service poem about the war with such amazing delivery it reverently hushed the crowd.
Later I happened to notice the marquis sign for a church in my neighborhood announcing a Chor Leoni concert for that evening, "A Great Service". They are arguably one of the most polished choral acts in Vancouver and I'd heard great reviews for them but never seen their live performance before. Further investigation found that there were still tickets available, they weren't as expensive as I'd expected, and lo and behold Christopher Gaze was reading more Robert Service poems there as well!
Well that sealed it, and I'm glad I went. The performances by both were spellbinding, alternating between songs and poetry with precision timing and smooth transition. No applause till the end; it was just a good feeling of despair, passion, hope, in a grand space designed for an audience to arrive as individuals and leave as a group of people together impressed and smiling from the gift the performers have given them.
Thank you.
Monday, October 27, 2014
For the spirits departed
October already - much has happened, small trips and explorations, and yet my writing muse has evaded me. Even in my dutiful pleasure of writing postcards to friends and family, I just haven't been moved to write. I will catch up on it all soon.
The rains and winds have come, with the occasional sunny reprieve. Saturday found me in a downpour, for a long walk to Mountain View Cemetery for a non-denominational observance for the dead called All Souls. I'd seen it advertised on posters around bus shelters, etc and having never been before I thought I'd check it out. Like Christmas, I like my holidays to have more tradition/substance that the commercialized candy-coated stuff that's so easily accessible yet leaves me empty-hearted.
The premise here seemed simple; light a candle, leave a flower. The organizers had set up several temporary shrines around the vast grounds, the wind billowing the fabric walls and menacing the tenacious candles. The first (and permanent) structure the little pathway lanterns led me to was a Chinese shrine, where we were welcome to light incense for the dead by an alter with oranges, and pork and chicken covered in plastic. A trio of women sang a beautiful ancient song from a German abbotrice in the 12th century...? It seemed fitting and didn't contrast at all. A smart visitor standing behind me brought a thermos of mulled wine which mingled with the scent of incense.
Following little lanterns that the wind was extinguishing I found more shrines, similar yet each different. One was manned by a woman pouring herbal tea made from herbs associated with healing medicine, I was glad for the hot drink. This was the shrine for infants or stillborn babes, near a 'dry creek bed with a stone for each child' made in 2006.
More shrines leading up to the Mandarin Hall, a warm bright building that offered more tea and cookies as I entered, and several tables were set up with craft materials to decorate and personalize paper inserts for glass candle holders. All this while I've been made aware that death has touched me so lightly and seldom, so I wrote a general prayer for everyone, living and dead that they may find peace. Warmed with tea and satisfied with my offering, I left it in a shrine I liked best for no particular reason, and was told the event organizers would keep the candles lit till Halloween, then burn all the messages in ritual and reuse the glassware for next year.
Few people I know have died. One grandparent, when I was a child and wasn't really invited to participate in mourning. A friend I'd been chatting on forums with awhile, who I haven't met in person. And two dead pet rabbits, one I knew for only a night and another for seven years. I refrained from keeping living persons too close in heart that evening, lest my thoughts lump them in with the dead.
That afternoon my friend had captured a Northern Flicker that he'd seen previously having trouble perching to feed upright, and brought it into the wildlife rescue shelter for assessment and care. I found out today that they'd assessed it wouldn't recover from the compound fracture of its leg likely sustained from a collision with a car, and thus put it to sleep. I feel quite conflicted about that, which is what finally spurred me to write tonight; on one hand a wild animal would have drastically different demands than a domestic pet, and the rescue workers probably thought they were doing him a favour by making that decision for him. On the other hand, I know my friend would care well for the crippled bird for the rest of its life, and when it eventually died sooner or later it would be comfortable in its own territory with its mate likely in the yard nearby. I suppose this is an age-old question on palliative care, and it's easy to anthropomorphize animals we care about, and difficult to make decisions for those who cannot speak for themselves about their suffering.
May those that have gone before find respite from their suffering and peace the cumulative joys in their life.
May those that remain be grateful for the time they have left.
The rains and winds have come, with the occasional sunny reprieve. Saturday found me in a downpour, for a long walk to Mountain View Cemetery for a non-denominational observance for the dead called All Souls. I'd seen it advertised on posters around bus shelters, etc and having never been before I thought I'd check it out. Like Christmas, I like my holidays to have more tradition/substance that the commercialized candy-coated stuff that's so easily accessible yet leaves me empty-hearted.
The premise here seemed simple; light a candle, leave a flower. The organizers had set up several temporary shrines around the vast grounds, the wind billowing the fabric walls and menacing the tenacious candles. The first (and permanent) structure the little pathway lanterns led me to was a Chinese shrine, where we were welcome to light incense for the dead by an alter with oranges, and pork and chicken covered in plastic. A trio of women sang a beautiful ancient song from a German abbotrice in the 12th century...? It seemed fitting and didn't contrast at all. A smart visitor standing behind me brought a thermos of mulled wine which mingled with the scent of incense.
Following little lanterns that the wind was extinguishing I found more shrines, similar yet each different. One was manned by a woman pouring herbal tea made from herbs associated with healing medicine, I was glad for the hot drink. This was the shrine for infants or stillborn babes, near a 'dry creek bed with a stone for each child' made in 2006.
More shrines leading up to the Mandarin Hall, a warm bright building that offered more tea and cookies as I entered, and several tables were set up with craft materials to decorate and personalize paper inserts for glass candle holders. All this while I've been made aware that death has touched me so lightly and seldom, so I wrote a general prayer for everyone, living and dead that they may find peace. Warmed with tea and satisfied with my offering, I left it in a shrine I liked best for no particular reason, and was told the event organizers would keep the candles lit till Halloween, then burn all the messages in ritual and reuse the glassware for next year.
Few people I know have died. One grandparent, when I was a child and wasn't really invited to participate in mourning. A friend I'd been chatting on forums with awhile, who I haven't met in person. And two dead pet rabbits, one I knew for only a night and another for seven years. I refrained from keeping living persons too close in heart that evening, lest my thoughts lump them in with the dead.
That afternoon my friend had captured a Northern Flicker that he'd seen previously having trouble perching to feed upright, and brought it into the wildlife rescue shelter for assessment and care. I found out today that they'd assessed it wouldn't recover from the compound fracture of its leg likely sustained from a collision with a car, and thus put it to sleep. I feel quite conflicted about that, which is what finally spurred me to write tonight; on one hand a wild animal would have drastically different demands than a domestic pet, and the rescue workers probably thought they were doing him a favour by making that decision for him. On the other hand, I know my friend would care well for the crippled bird for the rest of its life, and when it eventually died sooner or later it would be comfortable in its own territory with its mate likely in the yard nearby. I suppose this is an age-old question on palliative care, and it's easy to anthropomorphize animals we care about, and difficult to make decisions for those who cannot speak for themselves about their suffering.May those that have gone before find respite from their suffering and peace the cumulative joys in their life.
May those that remain be grateful for the time they have left.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
More wines of Cawston+south Okanagan
Both the coast and the Okanagan valley have had a roasting hot summer, and while Vancouver was edging back into a brief reprieve of cloud+rain I headed back to the valley to visit for the weekend. Time to hit a few wineries that we'd either missed visiting in the spring the last time we were out this way, or else they weren't open at the time as new businesses pop up (and occasionally fold) frequently.
St. Lazlo - Looks from the outside like a small family operation, I got the sense that they weren't chomping at the bit to draw in or educate customers but nevertheless let me sample their wares; featuring eastern European grapes Perle von Zala and the signature Tokay, both thick nectar that seemed more alcoholic than they were.
Fairview Cidery - Have been growing traditional cider varietals to supply other companies, the cidery just started producing under it's own name. Small clean tasting bar, welcoming service and tasty offerings.
Hugging Tree - Barely been open two weeks, their new tasting room is still being set up and looking elegant, though I caught a peaceful earthy hippie-vibe from the young enthusiastic presenter who was eager to support and recommend their winemaking friends in the area too. Estate-grown grapes right up onto the rocks of the hillside produced small yield but nice work.
C+C Jentch - In what used to be an orchard produce warehouse along the highway, clean and well presented. Had an unusual blend of Syrah and Viognier that piqued my interest, though wines were on the pricier side of average for the area.
Covert Farms - Nestled in a quiet valley surrounded by hills, we got a little lost following paths to the work yard and farm stand and eventually the wine room, but there's a beautiful building and patio there. A bit of meat and cheese, and assorted products from the fruit grown on site. Again a bit pricier wines but organic, and the reds were very smooth.
Hidden Chapel - A beautiful site ideal for a picnic with an adorable tiny chapel, and friendly presenter. Again the gentle reds, and small production means they sell out quick.
Intersection - The tasting room was just open 3 weeks, clean but very bare bones, but I'll revisit them again once they get their feet under them. Limited varietals to offer, mostly Merlots, had a nice red blend.
Kismet - Another new operation that just opened May 1st, they had a nice Malbec+Syrah I would've loved to get but they were sold out, and I was disappointed to hear that they'll change the ratio next season so it won't be the same.. still worth checking in on in the future.
Maverick - Just opened August 1st, the independent project from the former winemaker of Burrowing Owl. Fine product, well done.
St. Lazlo - Looks from the outside like a small family operation, I got the sense that they weren't chomping at the bit to draw in or educate customers but nevertheless let me sample their wares; featuring eastern European grapes Perle von Zala and the signature Tokay, both thick nectar that seemed more alcoholic than they were.
Fairview Cidery - Have been growing traditional cider varietals to supply other companies, the cidery just started producing under it's own name. Small clean tasting bar, welcoming service and tasty offerings.
Hugging Tree - Barely been open two weeks, their new tasting room is still being set up and looking elegant, though I caught a peaceful earthy hippie-vibe from the young enthusiastic presenter who was eager to support and recommend their winemaking friends in the area too. Estate-grown grapes right up onto the rocks of the hillside produced small yield but nice work.
C+C Jentch - In what used to be an orchard produce warehouse along the highway, clean and well presented. Had an unusual blend of Syrah and Viognier that piqued my interest, though wines were on the pricier side of average for the area.
Covert Farms - Nestled in a quiet valley surrounded by hills, we got a little lost following paths to the work yard and farm stand and eventually the wine room, but there's a beautiful building and patio there. A bit of meat and cheese, and assorted products from the fruit grown on site. Again a bit pricier wines but organic, and the reds were very smooth.
Hidden Chapel - A beautiful site ideal for a picnic with an adorable tiny chapel, and friendly presenter. Again the gentle reds, and small production means they sell out quick.
Intersection - The tasting room was just open 3 weeks, clean but very bare bones, but I'll revisit them again once they get their feet under them. Limited varietals to offer, mostly Merlots, had a nice red blend.
Kismet - Another new operation that just opened May 1st, they had a nice Malbec+Syrah I would've loved to get but they were sold out, and I was disappointed to hear that they'll change the ratio next season so it won't be the same.. still worth checking in on in the future.
Maverick - Just opened August 1st, the independent project from the former winemaker of Burrowing Owl. Fine product, well done.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
August long weekend back in Newcastle
August is typically busy for me. The summer is when Vancouver really comes alive with all sorts of activities and events, and if you don't stay in town it's the best time to explore the surrounding area because the weather is finally HOT and SUNNY! Even if I'm stranded far from a safe roof over my head, 'tis the time to camp out on a park bench.
The start of August is a long weekend here, which we made into a 5-day weekend and sailed over the Newcastle Island - revisiting where I went in May, this time in a boat, to meet with a group of people. The same location is now a very different experience than being alone, as I expected it would be; more stability and organization, but less spontaneity and independence. It was very relaxing, and I had a leisurely time drinking on the docks and a short hike to find the other three geocaches I missed finding in May - one up a tree with branches I had no faith in to support my weight, so I figured I wouldn't reach without a corps of engineers and a system of pulleys and lines to get me up there. Maybe someday. I saw raccoons, bats and otters, and there was a protected colony of purple martins, the largest swallows in North America, in the pilings of the marina - noisy but a gentle way to wake up in the morning.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Floating in a lake
For the past few summers my friend and I have marked summer with a leisurely float on the lake. The amount of consideration and planning ahead of time is inverse how much you need to consider when at the lake itself, hence we make mental notes on minor improvements from year to year, and look forward to day of _blah_ in the sun!
He'd already refined his procedure well before I came on scene; the lake is Sasamat Lake in Port Moody, so we set aside an hour to get there from his place in Surrey. He brings two bright green inflatable tubes and a little boat, an electric air pump and battery, rope, sunscreen, knife+cutting board and beers+snacks. I bring my ever-charming presence and more beers+snacks, in particular a mini watermelon (since one year I erroneously unpacked our melon from the car trunk, was distracted and subsequently left it in the parking lot and we were thus watermelonless. My bad. Hence I am now the designated melon provider). He wraps the rope around whatever large rock he finds on shore, we load all gear into the little boat and paddle the whole works out into the lake away from the noisy crowds. The rock anchor overboard keeps the booze boat from drifting about, and we hook our ankles over the side of booze boat to keep ourselves close in a sort of shifting triangle. He slices up the watermelon on the cutting board propped on his tummy like some sort of otter bashing his meal with a rock.
And we float there and doze off and bake our poor burned bodies and have a lovely time.
In the dazzling sunshine and blistering heat I would've even just enjoyed the drive. Listening to Weird Al Yankovic I am struck by how I recall lyrics from my childhood and wonder if I could've applied that part of my brain to research+science instead perhaps we'd have a cure for cancer by now. The construction closures and absentminded missed turns were a reminder to pay attention to the present moment, and the driving faux pas witnessed (and recorded on his dashboard camera) were a source of jeering entertainment.
We had stopped to pick up a deli-made fresh sandwich from Safeway to share, and in that span of a few minutes added onto travel time the parking lot had filled and the park gate closed. Catastrophe! Improvement for next year #1 - arrive before 11am on a Sunday. Faced with cancelling our day's outing, we stripped down our gear to bare essentials (Improvement #2 - we learned the washrooms have an electrical outlet thus we don't need to bring the heavy portable battery), parked on the road and hiked it all in together. There was a fairly shaded lakeside trail that let us walk unencumbered by vehicles leaving the parking lot (leaving, but none permitted to enter, hmmm...). When we got to the beach we decided we'd earned our beers well, inflated our vessels with no trouble and settled in the lake right where we ought to be. We had our sandwiches and watermelon: Improvement #3 - slice watermelon at home and then we won't need to bring knife+cutting board.
And now we stop thinking, just float and do nothing and enjoy for hours in the sun.
Having done this for a few years it's surprising that we are the only ones this organized. We brought more food and beer than we required and were the envy of every other lake user that afternoon. Improvement #4 - fresh pineapple. We set alerts on his phone to reapply sunscreen every hour, and I emerged with minimal sunburn on an armpit I missed. The hike back to the car was lighter and cooler. Great way to spend a summer afternoon.
He'd already refined his procedure well before I came on scene; the lake is Sasamat Lake in Port Moody, so we set aside an hour to get there from his place in Surrey. He brings two bright green inflatable tubes and a little boat, an electric air pump and battery, rope, sunscreen, knife+cutting board and beers+snacks. I bring my ever-charming presence and more beers+snacks, in particular a mini watermelon (since one year I erroneously unpacked our melon from the car trunk, was distracted and subsequently left it in the parking lot and we were thus watermelonless. My bad. Hence I am now the designated melon provider). He wraps the rope around whatever large rock he finds on shore, we load all gear into the little boat and paddle the whole works out into the lake away from the noisy crowds. The rock anchor overboard keeps the booze boat from drifting about, and we hook our ankles over the side of booze boat to keep ourselves close in a sort of shifting triangle. He slices up the watermelon on the cutting board propped on his tummy like some sort of otter bashing his meal with a rock. And we float there and doze off and bake our poor burned bodies and have a lovely time.
In the dazzling sunshine and blistering heat I would've even just enjoyed the drive. Listening to Weird Al Yankovic I am struck by how I recall lyrics from my childhood and wonder if I could've applied that part of my brain to research+science instead perhaps we'd have a cure for cancer by now. The construction closures and absentminded missed turns were a reminder to pay attention to the present moment, and the driving faux pas witnessed (and recorded on his dashboard camera) were a source of jeering entertainment.
We had stopped to pick up a deli-made fresh sandwich from Safeway to share, and in that span of a few minutes added onto travel time the parking lot had filled and the park gate closed. Catastrophe! Improvement for next year #1 - arrive before 11am on a Sunday. Faced with cancelling our day's outing, we stripped down our gear to bare essentials (Improvement #2 - we learned the washrooms have an electrical outlet thus we don't need to bring the heavy portable battery), parked on the road and hiked it all in together. There was a fairly shaded lakeside trail that let us walk unencumbered by vehicles leaving the parking lot (leaving, but none permitted to enter, hmmm...). When we got to the beach we decided we'd earned our beers well, inflated our vessels with no trouble and settled in the lake right where we ought to be. We had our sandwiches and watermelon: Improvement #3 - slice watermelon at home and then we won't need to bring knife+cutting board.
Having done this for a few years it's surprising that we are the only ones this organized. We brought more food and beer than we required and were the envy of every other lake user that afternoon. Improvement #4 - fresh pineapple. We set alerts on his phone to reapply sunscreen every hour, and I emerged with minimal sunburn on an armpit I missed. The hike back to the car was lighter and cooler. Great way to spend a summer afternoon.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
So my purse was stolen...
I lost my purse while gardening with the Fresh Roots volunteers a few weekends ago. As usual, I am slow to blog, though have been meaning to jot down some thoughts.
First the facts; I had placed it on a picnic table in the community garden that Fresh Roots (see last years post) was overseeing, about 40 ft from where I was weeding carrot beds along with two other gardeners. It being a drizzly Saturday morning on school grounds, there was nary a soul to be seen but us dedicated gardeners. About an hour into work, two shady-looking characters came around our area while loudly announcing their search for a sports bag they'd left there previously. We downed tools and returned to the picnic table where all our belongings were and sure enough I noticed my purse already gone.
I confronted the suspects as politely as I could muster and explained that my bag was missing as well, and that they're the only people we'd seen all morning so kindly remain on scene while the authorities are called for appropriate actions. One man's reaction was theatrically insulted, howling about stereotypes and peppered with expletives as he made clear that he had little interest or involvement in my missing articles and only cared about the bag he'd carefully hid in our bushes three days ago. The other man took a seat at the picnic table as we informed both that the police are coming (note: police never came), was quiet and expressed condolences over my lost purse while denying any involvement as well. I could relate to leaving large heavy bags in public spaces hoping they'd be there upon my return - usually they were, but once or twice they were not. Grouchy guy remained feverishly searching for his lost bag, but both never left our sight.
I found the difference in attitude and subsequent behaviour between these two men fascinating. Grouchy guy fit the very _profile_ he was rallying against; independent from the homeless-drug-addict appearance that most passersbys would stigmatize, his language and conduct made him an overall unattractive person. Perhaps he chose that, subconsciously or otherwise. Quiet guy conducted himself with humility and patience that I feel all humans can both expect and afford to others, and in the end I shook his hand and wished him well in his travels. We may have distinctly different paths, but in uncertain times who knows from what conditions may we find ourselves in the same situation.
Sure they could've been lying straight to my face, but eroding myself with suspicion can only carry me so far. They were visibly not in immediate possession of my purse, had no bulges under their jackets and I had no grounds to search their persons or belongings. I also couldn't/wouldn't assault them, which perhaps more impulsive types would be inclined. They stayed on scene somewhat cooperatively for an hour awaiting cops that never came, and left after finding the contents of their sports bag in the school's dumpster.
I cancelled my bank+credit cards and phone, on a gardener's borrowed phone. We gardeners spent several hours searching and researching the premises, in case they ditched the purse to retrieve it after we'd left. A hole in the wire fence leading to an alley... a school playground... park nearby... the possibilities were endless. I searched around the block, spoke with some residents, and parted with the gardening duo leaving them to resume weeding carrot beds. I was not in the mood to weed anymore. I lost the contents of my purse, including my camera, phone, wallet, keys, etc., but the worst part is that my white bunny was on my bag, now likely unceremoniously ditched after travelling with me for a decade.
I went to the police station to make a declaration or file stolen property, not that I expected it'll do much good now since the main suspects got away... Filling out my personal details under the heading of VICTIM was somehow irritating. I waited to be served and my take-a-number ticket was 100, but displayed on the ticket was '00'. I somehow felt that symbolic, so I kept the ticket.
I went to the public library and emailed everyone to inform them of the theft and not to try reaching me on my phone - and almost immediately a friend emailed back with the offer of a phone he'd give me for free. I had a few offers of finding a new bunny too. More than any other time that afternoon it was at this point that I almost cried in that library, feeling very _rich_ in my few-but-strong friends that care about me. I was fortunate to already have established a dinner date that evening with a fella with keys to the apartment so I could go home. Fortunate again that I had bus passes on my bookshelf there to get out to Surrey to get a new phone within 24 hours. Fortunate I have enough cash at home to live off of till my cards are replaced. Fortunate that a special pendant I'd gotten for Christmas and had been ferrying around in my bag then was safely at home too.
In the days that followed, that I barrelled through with little concern of this as long as my important cards were cancelled, I nevertheless thought a great deal about it all. We assume that good things will happen to good people, and I felt I've been a good person - perhaps on the cosmic scale of things, was I not good enough? Could I have avoided this if I'd tipped my waitresses more? Or perhaps it was just my turn to fall, long overdue from my optimistically trusting travels. Or is it our limited view that regards this as necessarily a 'bad' thing - it was a bizarre liberation to have no phone, even briefly. It was kinda interesting to have no legally recognized 'identity' either, makes one examine what we chose to identify ourselves with - aside from being a number in Canada, I am also a friend, sister, daughter, among other roles that defy title or registration, that are far more important to me. What is necessary, and what we can do without. Perhaps this was a sign I was somehow too dependant on my supplies/resources/equipment I lug around in my purse, preparing for every eventuality except theft. I consider it more of a test/challenge than a bad thing (aside from costs incurred in replacing things). I am also patient, and have faith that over time I will accumulate back that which was lost.
First the facts; I had placed it on a picnic table in the community garden that Fresh Roots (see last years post) was overseeing, about 40 ft from where I was weeding carrot beds along with two other gardeners. It being a drizzly Saturday morning on school grounds, there was nary a soul to be seen but us dedicated gardeners. About an hour into work, two shady-looking characters came around our area while loudly announcing their search for a sports bag they'd left there previously. We downed tools and returned to the picnic table where all our belongings were and sure enough I noticed my purse already gone.
I confronted the suspects as politely as I could muster and explained that my bag was missing as well, and that they're the only people we'd seen all morning so kindly remain on scene while the authorities are called for appropriate actions. One man's reaction was theatrically insulted, howling about stereotypes and peppered with expletives as he made clear that he had little interest or involvement in my missing articles and only cared about the bag he'd carefully hid in our bushes three days ago. The other man took a seat at the picnic table as we informed both that the police are coming (note: police never came), was quiet and expressed condolences over my lost purse while denying any involvement as well. I could relate to leaving large heavy bags in public spaces hoping they'd be there upon my return - usually they were, but once or twice they were not. Grouchy guy remained feverishly searching for his lost bag, but both never left our sight.
I found the difference in attitude and subsequent behaviour between these two men fascinating. Grouchy guy fit the very _profile_ he was rallying against; independent from the homeless-drug-addict appearance that most passersbys would stigmatize, his language and conduct made him an overall unattractive person. Perhaps he chose that, subconsciously or otherwise. Quiet guy conducted himself with humility and patience that I feel all humans can both expect and afford to others, and in the end I shook his hand and wished him well in his travels. We may have distinctly different paths, but in uncertain times who knows from what conditions may we find ourselves in the same situation.
Sure they could've been lying straight to my face, but eroding myself with suspicion can only carry me so far. They were visibly not in immediate possession of my purse, had no bulges under their jackets and I had no grounds to search their persons or belongings. I also couldn't/wouldn't assault them, which perhaps more impulsive types would be inclined. They stayed on scene somewhat cooperatively for an hour awaiting cops that never came, and left after finding the contents of their sports bag in the school's dumpster.
I cancelled my bank+credit cards and phone, on a gardener's borrowed phone. We gardeners spent several hours searching and researching the premises, in case they ditched the purse to retrieve it after we'd left. A hole in the wire fence leading to an alley... a school playground... park nearby... the possibilities were endless. I searched around the block, spoke with some residents, and parted with the gardening duo leaving them to resume weeding carrot beds. I was not in the mood to weed anymore. I lost the contents of my purse, including my camera, phone, wallet, keys, etc., but the worst part is that my white bunny was on my bag, now likely unceremoniously ditched after travelling with me for a decade.
I went to the police station to make a declaration or file stolen property, not that I expected it'll do much good now since the main suspects got away... Filling out my personal details under the heading of VICTIM was somehow irritating. I waited to be served and my take-a-number ticket was 100, but displayed on the ticket was '00'. I somehow felt that symbolic, so I kept the ticket.
I went to the public library and emailed everyone to inform them of the theft and not to try reaching me on my phone - and almost immediately a friend emailed back with the offer of a phone he'd give me for free. I had a few offers of finding a new bunny too. More than any other time that afternoon it was at this point that I almost cried in that library, feeling very _rich_ in my few-but-strong friends that care about me. I was fortunate to already have established a dinner date that evening with a fella with keys to the apartment so I could go home. Fortunate again that I had bus passes on my bookshelf there to get out to Surrey to get a new phone within 24 hours. Fortunate I have enough cash at home to live off of till my cards are replaced. Fortunate that a special pendant I'd gotten for Christmas and had been ferrying around in my bag then was safely at home too.
In the days that followed, that I barrelled through with little concern of this as long as my important cards were cancelled, I nevertheless thought a great deal about it all. We assume that good things will happen to good people, and I felt I've been a good person - perhaps on the cosmic scale of things, was I not good enough? Could I have avoided this if I'd tipped my waitresses more? Or perhaps it was just my turn to fall, long overdue from my optimistically trusting travels. Or is it our limited view that regards this as necessarily a 'bad' thing - it was a bizarre liberation to have no phone, even briefly. It was kinda interesting to have no legally recognized 'identity' either, makes one examine what we chose to identify ourselves with - aside from being a number in Canada, I am also a friend, sister, daughter, among other roles that defy title or registration, that are far more important to me. What is necessary, and what we can do without. Perhaps this was a sign I was somehow too dependant on my supplies/resources/equipment I lug around in my purse, preparing for every eventuality except theft. I consider it more of a test/challenge than a bad thing (aside from costs incurred in replacing things). I am also patient, and have faith that over time I will accumulate back that which was lost.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Escape to the West Coast.
Yes I am already on the West Coast, but for a Vancouverite I mean the very West Coast; Vancouver Island (or simply "The Island"). I visited two little islands of The Island, Newcastle and Protection Island, then headed over to Tofino, one of my favorite haunts. A great way to spend some time alone, if one has time unaccountable to anyone or anything!
Day 1 - Caught a ride with friends early morn out to the ferry terminal, the cost for a foot passenger one way is now $16... My wallet winces. Aquatic transportation I cannot compromise on, and is thus unavoidable. I arrived in Nanaimo around noon-ish, walked in the bright light with negligible rain (and looked for a rainbow but didn't find one) to the Newcastle Island ferry. Adult fare is $9 incl return passage, and the operator is very personable and informative. Disembarked the ferry and noticed the low tide... took off my boots and teetering with full packs picked my way carefully across squishy-slick mud/sand and sharp oyster shells to Protection Island. Protection Island is almost solely residential and private property, with a community garden and the Dinghy Dock Pub. I'll search for four geocaches and have a pint+dessert at the pub, and likely not before the tide turns, so it's a good thing I brought my gear in case I need to camp out quietly in a park. Already I'm scouting ideal locations; minding tidelines, wind shelter, comfortable ground... Spent awhile looking for a cache I couldn't find, had a snack of kiwi and granola bar on the beach. Second one I found after crawling through hawthorn, blackberry and holly - these woods are unfriendly! It started to spit rain and the tide was coming in, so I abandoned the search for the third cache, then stubbornly found the fourth one despite a downpour. I saw three young bucks with fuzzy knobby antlers in someone's front yard. I stopped by the community garden to the booth there offering today's produce; lettuce, spinach, broccoli greens, radish greens, tarragon, chives, parsley, peppermint, and I donated a bit for that good cause. The garden invites visitors, and I noticed a greenhouse was not only unlocked but open so I sat there among the baskets of petunias, warm and fragrant, till the rain subsided and I deemed it dinnertime. I wandered to the pub, past a heronry and two quail, and arrived to the sounds of a guitar duo covering Simon+Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson" quite well. I got a pint of Granville Island Maple Cream Ale I think I deserved that day (a bit of a luxury when travelling as I do), and settled to watch the show, very content. A gap-toothed older fella joined me and chat for a bit, suggested I sleep in the vacant shed where he's been staying - I thanked him for the advice, though preferring to opt for the warm greenhouse.
I ordered the dessert I came all this way for; Sex In A Dinghy, and got the chef to write me the ingredients for my reader's viewing pleasure; Oreo cookie crust, sweetened cream cheese, vanilla custard, chocolate custard, and whipped cream. Pictured here. In this moment I don't even mind the self-imposed hardships that come before and after, I feel like a princess!
As the pub winds down for the night, I inquire to staff when they're expecting the tides to be low and find it's 2:30am. Fine enough, who better to wade through mud barefoot in the dark?? Instead they arrange for the shuttling ferry to take me to Newcastle, a special run just for me! I arrive at Newcastle around 10:30pm in the dark, and even the ferry operator suggests I camp anywhere and worry about finding an official campsite in the morning. I follow the dull glow of several illuminated tents and find the campsites, and a vacant one. Set up my tent completely in the dark - at least I know I can! - and listen to the raccoons fighting/mating nearby before falling asleep. The night is cold. Maybe it's just me.
Day 2 - Woke up at 6am, up and packed tent by 8am, as I'm not sure when the park warden comes to collect fees. Would be worth staying a night _officially_ if I wanted to view the Victoria Day fireworks from Newcastle specifically, but if I view them from Nanaimo then I can get an early start on hitching to Tofino. So I carried full packs for the whole day. Beautiful dew on the long grass, quiet save for two noisy geese. I warmed up under the hand dryer of the washrooms, breakfast was a mandarin orange and nibbling away on the herbs from the garden booth - quite piquant in the morning first off, but anything to wake up and get moving.
First cache was easy. Second one I tromped through the knee-high salal for at least a half hour, and in kneeling and spreading bushes carefully discovered a nest of four tiny beaked mouths gaping at me silently. Only then I noticed the two towhees close to me weren't chirping randomly, they were chirping at me. I can't believe I hadn't crushed them under my boots already, definitely a shuddering shock that would've ruined my vacation right there. Never found the cache, but lesson learned; the frustrating search for trinkets is not worth destroying a young family for! I continued geocaching counterclockwise around the island, a 7.5km hike made longer. Saw another deer, two ravens mating mid-air, a small blue butterfly. The weather was beautifully sunny. I was exhausted but adequately satisfied by around 4pm, I flopped out on the grass for a nap and had some rationed goodies I'd packed, my tiny lunch/dinner.
I took the shuttle ferry back to Nanaimo and despite being tired... continued to walk. Curiosity to explore, or just impulsive habit? When it got too cool to be out, I found a pub to settle in, no sooner had I sat down then a man approached me and put $10 on the table, saying "don't say anything, just take it" and walked away. I don't know which is more strange - that that happened, or that that isn't the first time that's happened. I swear I'm not destitute, just tired and extremely frugal! I was content there with my cup of hot lemon water, and upon inquiry they turned on the fireplace. I could spend hours there mesmerized in the flames, like a child. I left briefly to watch the fireworks from the waterfront part, though they don't hold the same magic as they used to - maybe like parades, they just aren't a spectacle for me anymore. Done that, returned to my fireplace to get warm awhile and left around 10-ish. No other reason to stay in Nanaimo, I got a cheap bagel+coffee from a very busy 24hr Timmy Ho's, and proceeded to walk out of town north. No one picks up hitchhikers at night, I suppose we all turn into some crazed maniacs after sundown - lo and behold a nice fella picked me up. Good company, a nurse and home care provider. He drove me as far as the junction to the westward road I needed near Coombs, and gave me a touque one of his clients had knitted, a small flashlight and cherry cookies he'd been given. With much thanks I was left to either move forward into darkness or camp. I chose to move forward.
There was little light, no moon and few stars. The trees were imposing, but the huge trees were one of my reasons for coming. No sound, except for frogs in ponds when I came across them. Just silence and dark. A little nervous about skulking cougars, but thankful that it was not raining noticeably and rather warm - perhaps just warm because I was moving, if I'd stopped and laid down to sleep I'd be cold. Best to keep moving. One young woman picked me up and drove me not very far. I kept walking. No landmarks. Another fella picked me up, more good company who liked foraging and gardening, and he drove me on to Port Alberni and beyond to Sproat Lake Provincial Park. I could camp, out in the middle of nowhere, or just keep walking. I kept walking. The sky lightened and my friend the moon made a half-assed appearance I was nevertheless grateful for. While being aware of every rustling bush and dimly lit shape, it was still a sort of meditation. I could talk to myself (and the listening cougars undoubtedly watching me, of course) about any nonsensical thing that crossed my mind, fleeting and silly or deeply important. I walked up the hill and walked down. Got tired of walking at Taylor Arm Provincial Park so set up tent there - the campsite was 400m off the road, which was 400m too creepy for me. I pitched my tent amidst bracken and some scrubby ground cover plant I hoped would be more of an insulating mattress, right off the main highway so I'd get an early start on the day (it was already 3am or so).
Day 3 - Awoke to the sound of traffic around 5-ish, time to get moving again. Was a bit warmer than in previous nights, either from being away from the coast or from my new touque. Walked, listened to ravens and woodpeckers. Eventually a fella picked me up, good company, took me all the way to the junction where the road splits south to Uclulet or north to Tofino. I kept walking. Another ride with a family, an adolecent girl that loudly protested being squished next to me ("I'm not even touching you!") and that she's gonna hurl after every mild rise and fall of the road ([pointing at her brother] "Hurl that way then"), dropped me off at Cox Beach where I'd camped before years ago. I briefly hunted two geocaches along the trail with no luck, found the beach and headed south to the edge of the Pacific Rim National Park. Scouted a spot to pitch my tent (on the 'camping prohibited' beach), and otherwise just flopped out with bare toes in the warm sand for hours - no agenda, no demands, just to _stop moving_ and enjoy the warmth. Got a little too much sun on my ankles of all places, made putting on socks+boots again a bit sore but whatever. Lunch/dinner was a kiwi and a granola bar.
By late afternoon the beachwalkers had thinned out and I could innocuously pitch my tent among the driftwood, hidden as best as I could. The beach cooled and the breeze picked up, and I was very glad for that touque. I headed to the beach resort at the other end of the bay and quietly ordered hot water and watched the dedicated surfers surf till dark. When the lounge closed I slipped back onto the beach like running a windy gauntlet and found my camp in the dark, the breeze made all four walls billow and flap all night, I ignored it and slept.
Day 4 - woke around 7am, glad to not have to pack and move the whole camp again. I am at my destination. I hitched the into Tofino to find some breakfast and hunt out a public computer to check my email. Found one $1.75/5 min, fine enough. I also recalled there were some in the pharmacy and found they were $1/7 min. It pays to shop around, as well as trust my memory from six years ago. I remembered the best cheap breakfast was at the Common Loaf Bakery. Simple coffee is $1.75, a bun is 70 cents, and I sit upstairs and wait for the grey clouds to lighten to overcast, reading the community newspaper and listening to happy kids pick apart their cinnamon buns.
By 10-ish I started geocaching around town and down the Tonquin Trail, with pleasing success. I met a very friendly dog which hung out with me awhile, and several people asked if he was mine - "No, he's just following me". I met another couple of geocachers from Germany, nice folks. I've realized that geocaching has a far different mentality than simply hiking through the woods, as we're lead by an arrow on a glowing screen past the great trees and beaches with more... drive. Perhaps I'm a product of our education system, that I must complete a task even if the reward is just a marble or pretty rock, and long after the process itself has become less fun and more gruelling. Must finish the quest! Maybe because I'm seldom here and don't know when I'll get a chance to revisit, I'm driven to find them all ASAP. I should pace myself or I'll burn out like a racehorse.
Late afternoon I returned to town for groceries at the co-op; I'd noticed the resort I dropped by had a sheltered barbecue available, intended for the use of the cabin renters.. So I picked up a tip of smoked salmon that could be served hot (or cold if I couldn't get it to work), potato, tomato, and some bananas, around $6. I walked the full way back to camp, organized my meal, and searched fruitlessly for a geocache in the woods somewhat near my camp till it got too dark to search. Over to the resort I approached the barbecue and found three men sipping whiskey (not scotch) and smoking cigars. I am more tolerant of cigars than cigarettes. They were from Windsor, Ont and came here for a sort of reunion, wives in tow, staying in a cabin. I started baking my potato, which I knew would take awhile, and prepped a bun with red pepper hummus+spinach from the Protection Is garden, and enjoyed talking with the fellas that were all about my dad's age. I have the best luck at finding dads along my travels! They had bought crab from a native fisherman and had a great crab dinner - their ringleader went back to their cabin and returned with an already cooked crab and the last of the whiskey (and a cup for me!). I ate half a crab and by this time was full, didn't even need the meal I'd planned. We chat about BC, Ontario, and hunting, they eventually retired for the evening with a hug and left me to finish my whiskey and grill a hot sweet banana for dessert! I sat alongside the grill awhile, heating just one side of me and contemplating spending the whole night burning through someone else's barbecue gas... then I returned to my tent. Now with a salmon tip, a half crab and a few ripe bananas in my food stores I bagged it and buried it several logs away from my tent, as not to encourage bears. The wind was still this night.
Day 5 - Bright grey morning, inspect my food stores and there's been no curious footprints around it, good. Hitched a ride into town with none other than the waiter in the resort lounge, he was off to a landscaping job and I didn't even recognize him. Breakfast was coffee+bun. Checked email at the pharmacy. Searched for one more geocache that I didn't find, was consoled by a free beer tasting at the Tofino Brewery across the street. The rest of the geocaches can wait till my next visit, I'm winding down now. Walked back to camp and finished my half crab, left the scrap shells for the ravens. Took down my tent in a brief rain that finished just as I did. Perhaps the land was sad to see me go...
Packed up and left, walked awhile and caught a ride to Long Beach, kept walking, then caught a ride that took me all the way back to Nanaimo! This was the best case scenario, convenient and fast. It was a pleasant but quiet ride with not much conversation so I just stared out the window like a good passenger, the driver played Radiohead which I'm not a fan of, this was the only music I'd heard other than the guitar duo at the Dinghy Dock Pub. The soundtrack of my trip was hummingbirds, ravens, and robins, the silence and frogs, and the waves. I tried not to nap through the beautiful forests we drove through, as now I could see them in daylight. Snack was a mandarin orange and a granola bar.
Dropped off at the ferry terminal, wait for ferry, uneventful ferry ride over and bus ride back to Vancouver. Arrived back and checked email, then had a bath to soak achy feet and shoulders, bruises and scratches. Went to bed - a comfy big bed in a warm room! - still at 11pm. It might take a few days to get back into regular eating+sleeping patterns.
I could've stayed out longer, but felt I didn't need to. Overall cost was ~$74, of which $43 was ferry fees. This was as challenging, relaxing, and interesting as I'd expected, and I'll plan more trips in the summer.
Day 1 - Caught a ride with friends early morn out to the ferry terminal, the cost for a foot passenger one way is now $16... My wallet winces. Aquatic transportation I cannot compromise on, and is thus unavoidable. I arrived in Nanaimo around noon-ish, walked in the bright light with negligible rain (and looked for a rainbow but didn't find one) to the Newcastle Island ferry. Adult fare is $9 incl return passage, and the operator is very personable and informative. Disembarked the ferry and noticed the low tide... took off my boots and teetering with full packs picked my way carefully across squishy-slick mud/sand and sharp oyster shells to Protection Island. Protection Island is almost solely residential and private property, with a community garden and the Dinghy Dock Pub. I'll search for four geocaches and have a pint+dessert at the pub, and likely not before the tide turns, so it's a good thing I brought my gear in case I need to camp out quietly in a park. Already I'm scouting ideal locations; minding tidelines, wind shelter, comfortable ground... Spent awhile looking for a cache I couldn't find, had a snack of kiwi and granola bar on the beach. Second one I found after crawling through hawthorn, blackberry and holly - these woods are unfriendly! It started to spit rain and the tide was coming in, so I abandoned the search for the third cache, then stubbornly found the fourth one despite a downpour. I saw three young bucks with fuzzy knobby antlers in someone's front yard. I stopped by the community garden to the booth there offering today's produce; lettuce, spinach, broccoli greens, radish greens, tarragon, chives, parsley, peppermint, and I donated a bit for that good cause. The garden invites visitors, and I noticed a greenhouse was not only unlocked but open so I sat there among the baskets of petunias, warm and fragrant, till the rain subsided and I deemed it dinnertime. I wandered to the pub, past a heronry and two quail, and arrived to the sounds of a guitar duo covering Simon+Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson" quite well. I got a pint of Granville Island Maple Cream Ale I think I deserved that day (a bit of a luxury when travelling as I do), and settled to watch the show, very content. A gap-toothed older fella joined me and chat for a bit, suggested I sleep in the vacant shed where he's been staying - I thanked him for the advice, though preferring to opt for the warm greenhouse.
As the pub winds down for the night, I inquire to staff when they're expecting the tides to be low and find it's 2:30am. Fine enough, who better to wade through mud barefoot in the dark?? Instead they arrange for the shuttling ferry to take me to Newcastle, a special run just for me! I arrive at Newcastle around 10:30pm in the dark, and even the ferry operator suggests I camp anywhere and worry about finding an official campsite in the morning. I follow the dull glow of several illuminated tents and find the campsites, and a vacant one. Set up my tent completely in the dark - at least I know I can! - and listen to the raccoons fighting/mating nearby before falling asleep. The night is cold. Maybe it's just me.
Day 2 - Woke up at 6am, up and packed tent by 8am, as I'm not sure when the park warden comes to collect fees. Would be worth staying a night _officially_ if I wanted to view the Victoria Day fireworks from Newcastle specifically, but if I view them from Nanaimo then I can get an early start on hitching to Tofino. So I carried full packs for the whole day. Beautiful dew on the long grass, quiet save for two noisy geese. I warmed up under the hand dryer of the washrooms, breakfast was a mandarin orange and nibbling away on the herbs from the garden booth - quite piquant in the morning first off, but anything to wake up and get moving.
First cache was easy. Second one I tromped through the knee-high salal for at least a half hour, and in kneeling and spreading bushes carefully discovered a nest of four tiny beaked mouths gaping at me silently. Only then I noticed the two towhees close to me weren't chirping randomly, they were chirping at me. I can't believe I hadn't crushed them under my boots already, definitely a shuddering shock that would've ruined my vacation right there. Never found the cache, but lesson learned; the frustrating search for trinkets is not worth destroying a young family for! I continued geocaching counterclockwise around the island, a 7.5km hike made longer. Saw another deer, two ravens mating mid-air, a small blue butterfly. The weather was beautifully sunny. I was exhausted but adequately satisfied by around 4pm, I flopped out on the grass for a nap and had some rationed goodies I'd packed, my tiny lunch/dinner.
I took the shuttle ferry back to Nanaimo and despite being tired... continued to walk. Curiosity to explore, or just impulsive habit? When it got too cool to be out, I found a pub to settle in, no sooner had I sat down then a man approached me and put $10 on the table, saying "don't say anything, just take it" and walked away. I don't know which is more strange - that that happened, or that that isn't the first time that's happened. I swear I'm not destitute, just tired and extremely frugal! I was content there with my cup of hot lemon water, and upon inquiry they turned on the fireplace. I could spend hours there mesmerized in the flames, like a child. I left briefly to watch the fireworks from the waterfront part, though they don't hold the same magic as they used to - maybe like parades, they just aren't a spectacle for me anymore. Done that, returned to my fireplace to get warm awhile and left around 10-ish. No other reason to stay in Nanaimo, I got a cheap bagel+coffee from a very busy 24hr Timmy Ho's, and proceeded to walk out of town north. No one picks up hitchhikers at night, I suppose we all turn into some crazed maniacs after sundown - lo and behold a nice fella picked me up. Good company, a nurse and home care provider. He drove me as far as the junction to the westward road I needed near Coombs, and gave me a touque one of his clients had knitted, a small flashlight and cherry cookies he'd been given. With much thanks I was left to either move forward into darkness or camp. I chose to move forward.
There was little light, no moon and few stars. The trees were imposing, but the huge trees were one of my reasons for coming. No sound, except for frogs in ponds when I came across them. Just silence and dark. A little nervous about skulking cougars, but thankful that it was not raining noticeably and rather warm - perhaps just warm because I was moving, if I'd stopped and laid down to sleep I'd be cold. Best to keep moving. One young woman picked me up and drove me not very far. I kept walking. No landmarks. Another fella picked me up, more good company who liked foraging and gardening, and he drove me on to Port Alberni and beyond to Sproat Lake Provincial Park. I could camp, out in the middle of nowhere, or just keep walking. I kept walking. The sky lightened and my friend the moon made a half-assed appearance I was nevertheless grateful for. While being aware of every rustling bush and dimly lit shape, it was still a sort of meditation. I could talk to myself (and the listening cougars undoubtedly watching me, of course) about any nonsensical thing that crossed my mind, fleeting and silly or deeply important. I walked up the hill and walked down. Got tired of walking at Taylor Arm Provincial Park so set up tent there - the campsite was 400m off the road, which was 400m too creepy for me. I pitched my tent amidst bracken and some scrubby ground cover plant I hoped would be more of an insulating mattress, right off the main highway so I'd get an early start on the day (it was already 3am or so).
Day 3 - Awoke to the sound of traffic around 5-ish, time to get moving again. Was a bit warmer than in previous nights, either from being away from the coast or from my new touque. Walked, listened to ravens and woodpeckers. Eventually a fella picked me up, good company, took me all the way to the junction where the road splits south to Uclulet or north to Tofino. I kept walking. Another ride with a family, an adolecent girl that loudly protested being squished next to me ("I'm not even touching you!") and that she's gonna hurl after every mild rise and fall of the road ([pointing at her brother] "Hurl that way then"), dropped me off at Cox Beach where I'd camped before years ago. I briefly hunted two geocaches along the trail with no luck, found the beach and headed south to the edge of the Pacific Rim National Park. Scouted a spot to pitch my tent (on the 'camping prohibited' beach), and otherwise just flopped out with bare toes in the warm sand for hours - no agenda, no demands, just to _stop moving_ and enjoy the warmth. Got a little too much sun on my ankles of all places, made putting on socks+boots again a bit sore but whatever. Lunch/dinner was a kiwi and a granola bar.
Day 4 - woke around 7am, glad to not have to pack and move the whole camp again. I am at my destination. I hitched the into Tofino to find some breakfast and hunt out a public computer to check my email. Found one $1.75/5 min, fine enough. I also recalled there were some in the pharmacy and found they were $1/7 min. It pays to shop around, as well as trust my memory from six years ago. I remembered the best cheap breakfast was at the Common Loaf Bakery. Simple coffee is $1.75, a bun is 70 cents, and I sit upstairs and wait for the grey clouds to lighten to overcast, reading the community newspaper and listening to happy kids pick apart their cinnamon buns.
By 10-ish I started geocaching around town and down the Tonquin Trail, with pleasing success. I met a very friendly dog which hung out with me awhile, and several people asked if he was mine - "No, he's just following me". I met another couple of geocachers from Germany, nice folks. I've realized that geocaching has a far different mentality than simply hiking through the woods, as we're lead by an arrow on a glowing screen past the great trees and beaches with more... drive. Perhaps I'm a product of our education system, that I must complete a task even if the reward is just a marble or pretty rock, and long after the process itself has become less fun and more gruelling. Must finish the quest! Maybe because I'm seldom here and don't know when I'll get a chance to revisit, I'm driven to find them all ASAP. I should pace myself or I'll burn out like a racehorse.
Late afternoon I returned to town for groceries at the co-op; I'd noticed the resort I dropped by had a sheltered barbecue available, intended for the use of the cabin renters.. So I picked up a tip of smoked salmon that could be served hot (or cold if I couldn't get it to work), potato, tomato, and some bananas, around $6. I walked the full way back to camp, organized my meal, and searched fruitlessly for a geocache in the woods somewhat near my camp till it got too dark to search. Over to the resort I approached the barbecue and found three men sipping whiskey (not scotch) and smoking cigars. I am more tolerant of cigars than cigarettes. They were from Windsor, Ont and came here for a sort of reunion, wives in tow, staying in a cabin. I started baking my potato, which I knew would take awhile, and prepped a bun with red pepper hummus+spinach from the Protection Is garden, and enjoyed talking with the fellas that were all about my dad's age. I have the best luck at finding dads along my travels! They had bought crab from a native fisherman and had a great crab dinner - their ringleader went back to their cabin and returned with an already cooked crab and the last of the whiskey (and a cup for me!). I ate half a crab and by this time was full, didn't even need the meal I'd planned. We chat about BC, Ontario, and hunting, they eventually retired for the evening with a hug and left me to finish my whiskey and grill a hot sweet banana for dessert! I sat alongside the grill awhile, heating just one side of me and contemplating spending the whole night burning through someone else's barbecue gas... then I returned to my tent. Now with a salmon tip, a half crab and a few ripe bananas in my food stores I bagged it and buried it several logs away from my tent, as not to encourage bears. The wind was still this night.
Day 5 - Bright grey morning, inspect my food stores and there's been no curious footprints around it, good. Hitched a ride into town with none other than the waiter in the resort lounge, he was off to a landscaping job and I didn't even recognize him. Breakfast was coffee+bun. Checked email at the pharmacy. Searched for one more geocache that I didn't find, was consoled by a free beer tasting at the Tofino Brewery across the street. The rest of the geocaches can wait till my next visit, I'm winding down now. Walked back to camp and finished my half crab, left the scrap shells for the ravens. Took down my tent in a brief rain that finished just as I did. Perhaps the land was sad to see me go...
Packed up and left, walked awhile and caught a ride to Long Beach, kept walking, then caught a ride that took me all the way back to Nanaimo! This was the best case scenario, convenient and fast. It was a pleasant but quiet ride with not much conversation so I just stared out the window like a good passenger, the driver played Radiohead which I'm not a fan of, this was the only music I'd heard other than the guitar duo at the Dinghy Dock Pub. The soundtrack of my trip was hummingbirds, ravens, and robins, the silence and frogs, and the waves. I tried not to nap through the beautiful forests we drove through, as now I could see them in daylight. Snack was a mandarin orange and a granola bar.
Dropped off at the ferry terminal, wait for ferry, uneventful ferry ride over and bus ride back to Vancouver. Arrived back and checked email, then had a bath to soak achy feet and shoulders, bruises and scratches. Went to bed - a comfy big bed in a warm room! - still at 11pm. It might take a few days to get back into regular eating+sleeping patterns.
I could've stayed out longer, but felt I didn't need to. Overall cost was ~$74, of which $43 was ferry fees. This was as challenging, relaxing, and interesting as I'd expected, and I'll plan more trips in the summer.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Happy Vaisakhi!
For the past few years I've attended the Vaisakhi festival in the Little India neighbourhood of Vancouver. As I understand it, this is a celebration of the Sikh prophet selecting his disciples, as well as a traditional grain harvest festival. It also holds importance for Muslims and Buddists as well.
And for guests that have no particular ties to religion, this is The Day of Free Indian Food. Sikhs have a religious practice of Langar, or serving food freely to bring together people, so they get spiritual credit for feeding the masses that may or may not care about the reasons why - I'm surprised this isn't more of an annual boon for the homeless in Vancouver, yet another example of how important it is to be aware of the myriad of opportunities offered in your community. Businesses and private residences have tables lining the sidewalks outside and an assembly line of people ladling out rice and curry, samosas, pakoras, and other dishes I know not what. Chick peas, _lots_ of chick peas, swimming in a variety of sauces.
After two or three plates visitors are already full, and we've barely scratched the surface. When you think there's no room for any other deliciousness, there's always room for tea. Most tables offer tea that we'd consider flavoured chai tea, sweet, creamy and aromatic. My styrofoam cup followed me from table to table grazing.
My personal favorite, which I only ever get at Vaisakhi, is called halwa (and every year I forget its name and refer to it to friends as 'that awesome yummy grey stuff'). It is typically grey/beige, though I found a yellowish one this year, and looks like crumbly mashed potatos. Sound appetizing? It's great! It's sweeter than the main savoury dishes and curries yet not as saccharine as the better known Indian desserts. It often has almonds or cashews or raisins, and is gently spiced with cardamom, one of my favorite spices.
I sat on a sunny patch of grass on a street corner with my halwa+tea and purred happily. immersed among the sounds of a different language and music over loudspeakers in the distance, this treated me to all the welcoming and accessible aspects of visiting India without the practical logistics of due research, safety, acquiring visas, incurred costs of travel, and blahblahblah reason to never ever leave home. A mini-travel trip from the comfort of my own city.
The Vaisakhi in the neighbouring city of Surrey is supposedly the largest one outside of India itself. I attended for the first time this year with a friend of mine who was well organized with a planned route and map. The weather was the kind of grey that made it difficult to select appropriate attire, but the cool was appreciated in the midst of a crowd.
We were early enough to stroll among the tables easily, my first sample was a bowl of some kind of chips, chick peas (of course), yogurt sauce and a sprinkling of spices. The woman at the table made one 'special for me', which I suspect was a kind yet unnecessary gesture to dumb down the spiciness - after all, this was my breakfast! We got more chips+candy+juice boxes+cans of pop to carry home (good thing I brought fabric shopping bags), and ate our fill of Indian dishes; fried potato patty, fried califlower, fried tofu nugget. More tea, always tea. It took me a while to find a table serving halwa, and I got three different versions that day. The last one was bright yellow and orange, with bloated golden raisins. A great note to end on.
By the time we were tired of walking and the free food wasn't worth the ten minute lineups, our take-away bags were both full and heavy, and we couldn't eat anymore we'd decided to leave... and the rain started just after we were in the car. Perfect timing.
And for guests that have no particular ties to religion, this is The Day of Free Indian Food. Sikhs have a religious practice of Langar, or serving food freely to bring together people, so they get spiritual credit for feeding the masses that may or may not care about the reasons why - I'm surprised this isn't more of an annual boon for the homeless in Vancouver, yet another example of how important it is to be aware of the myriad of opportunities offered in your community. Businesses and private residences have tables lining the sidewalks outside and an assembly line of people ladling out rice and curry, samosas, pakoras, and other dishes I know not what. Chick peas, _lots_ of chick peas, swimming in a variety of sauces.
After two or three plates visitors are already full, and we've barely scratched the surface. When you think there's no room for any other deliciousness, there's always room for tea. Most tables offer tea that we'd consider flavoured chai tea, sweet, creamy and aromatic. My styrofoam cup followed me from table to table grazing.
My personal favorite, which I only ever get at Vaisakhi, is called halwa (and every year I forget its name and refer to it to friends as 'that awesome yummy grey stuff'). It is typically grey/beige, though I found a yellowish one this year, and looks like crumbly mashed potatos. Sound appetizing? It's great! It's sweeter than the main savoury dishes and curries yet not as saccharine as the better known Indian desserts. It often has almonds or cashews or raisins, and is gently spiced with cardamom, one of my favorite spices.
I sat on a sunny patch of grass on a street corner with my halwa+tea and purred happily. immersed among the sounds of a different language and music over loudspeakers in the distance, this treated me to all the welcoming and accessible aspects of visiting India without the practical logistics of due research, safety, acquiring visas, incurred costs of travel, and blahblahblah reason to never ever leave home. A mini-travel trip from the comfort of my own city.
The Vaisakhi in the neighbouring city of Surrey is supposedly the largest one outside of India itself. I attended for the first time this year with a friend of mine who was well organized with a planned route and map. The weather was the kind of grey that made it difficult to select appropriate attire, but the cool was appreciated in the midst of a crowd.
We were early enough to stroll among the tables easily, my first sample was a bowl of some kind of chips, chick peas (of course), yogurt sauce and a sprinkling of spices. The woman at the table made one 'special for me', which I suspect was a kind yet unnecessary gesture to dumb down the spiciness - after all, this was my breakfast! We got more chips+candy+juice boxes+cans of pop to carry home (good thing I brought fabric shopping bags), and ate our fill of Indian dishes; fried potato patty, fried califlower, fried tofu nugget. More tea, always tea. It took me a while to find a table serving halwa, and I got three different versions that day. The last one was bright yellow and orange, with bloated golden raisins. A great note to end on.
By the time we were tired of walking and the free food wasn't worth the ten minute lineups, our take-away bags were both full and heavy, and we couldn't eat anymore we'd decided to leave... and the rain started just after we were in the car. Perfect timing.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Feathered friends in Lost Lagoon.
For breakfast I'd found that what's left of our loaf of bread had turned mouldy. This is the downside of honest artisan bread, is that it has no preservative and won't take the urban-life excuse of being too busy for meals, to be consumed within a few days. I salvaged what I could of one slice and spread on thick some avocado, salt+pepper and lemon juice. 'Twas flavourful enough to disguise any faults in an otherwise lovely wheat+rye blend bread.
The rest would be more trouble that it's worth even for croutons, and as I greatly dislike throwing food in the garbage (as well as it being a sunny spring afternoon today), I walked down to the Lost Lagoon in Stanley Park to feed it to the ducks et al. Having taken interest in wildlife from a young age as well as worked in a wild bird seed shop, I can say that bread is not the optimum diet for songbirds or waterfowl, since it expands in their stomach with water to make them feel full while supplying little nutritional value. As well, feeding the 'wild' ducks will cause them to skip migration and continue soiling an environment that typically needs a seasonal break from the stress of use. That being said, I know that there are probably the most un-wild ducks in the city of Vancouver, that Lost Lagoon is likely large enough to support the strain and has a team of Parks Board maintenance folks that monitor it, and that a little bread spread out to many critters shouldn't be too bad...
The sakura cherry blossom trees and ornamental plum trees are in bloom, and both locals and tourists alike were taking photos under the low pretty boughs near the entrance to the park. The air was alive with the drone of hummingbirds though I couldn't focus on any one in the forest. Being a weekday the paths weren't crowded and everyone had a friendly and open vibe. The kind of day that makes you want to say "hey" to strangers in passing, beyond the usual silent head nod, and smile aimlessly at nothing in particular. Why don't I do this more often??
The best spot is by the small stone bridge, which I noticed had been cleared from the enveloping blackberry thicket that the raccoons frequent. I settled on a bench there and enjoyed chatting with animals and people alike. I was surprised that a heron was interested in my bread, though he kept his distance at maybe 8 ft and was too proud to beg. A photographer was thankful that I kept him interested enough for her to get some nice shots. A beautiful seagull stayed close by me, surprisingly patient, not noisy or badgering the other birds. At one point I tossed crumbs just for him and he caught it without it touching the ground - 6, 7, 8 in a row like a dog. I'm sure we could've gone on all afternoon. In the water were mallards and wood ducks mostly, behind me to the forest were towhees, chickadees, fox sparrows, song sparrows, golden crowned sparrows, several crows, and one solitary red-winged blackbird. And one squirrel.
By the time I'd reached the end of my bread I realized all the people had left the bridge and pathways, the shade ticking away the sunshine on my bench. My dog-seagull flew away, and a younger slightly noisier one tried his best to imitate the attitude that he had watched score the previous one some crumbs. I was sorry I had none left to give, as he was putting on his best I'm-a-good-bird-too act, and giving me sad puppydog eyes as best as a seagull can. Eventually a raccoon approached me close and I again apologized for having nothing to offer. The seagull even had the core of my pear I'd brought for a snack.
The ducks dissipated, one of the last to leave was a male wood duck that settled on a rock in the sun about 3 ft from me. He didn't leave when he saw I had no food, so perhaps he was just enjoying the last of the sun edging away. He didn't move away when two ducks started to peck at him and tug on his foot, just made a minimal effort with his bill to send them farther away. He was alive and aware, but not keen on fleeing or fighting or really moving around much, so I guessed he was hurt and sat down with him awhile and ordered the bully ducks to move on. I am that crazy bird lady that will sing quietly to a hurt animal. I got to stroke his back, those beautiful iridescent feathers. Eventually he returned to the water and I saw one foot idling while the other paddled double-time to make up for it. He swam away.
I wandered home too, the sun was still out in some spots and warm enough. I love the tranquility, it recharges my batteries. I thought of that wood duck, wondered how long his leg's been hurt and if it'll cripple him in a naturally competitive environment and slowly kill him. And I wondered if he'd been living with this condition awhile and still managed to grow to adulthood and swim when he's so inclined. Animals are resilient and can adjust to bodily impedements with less complaint than humans can. I think he'll be fine.
The rest would be more trouble that it's worth even for croutons, and as I greatly dislike throwing food in the garbage (as well as it being a sunny spring afternoon today), I walked down to the Lost Lagoon in Stanley Park to feed it to the ducks et al. Having taken interest in wildlife from a young age as well as worked in a wild bird seed shop, I can say that bread is not the optimum diet for songbirds or waterfowl, since it expands in their stomach with water to make them feel full while supplying little nutritional value. As well, feeding the 'wild' ducks will cause them to skip migration and continue soiling an environment that typically needs a seasonal break from the stress of use. That being said, I know that there are probably the most un-wild ducks in the city of Vancouver, that Lost Lagoon is likely large enough to support the strain and has a team of Parks Board maintenance folks that monitor it, and that a little bread spread out to many critters shouldn't be too bad...
The sakura cherry blossom trees and ornamental plum trees are in bloom, and both locals and tourists alike were taking photos under the low pretty boughs near the entrance to the park. The air was alive with the drone of hummingbirds though I couldn't focus on any one in the forest. Being a weekday the paths weren't crowded and everyone had a friendly and open vibe. The kind of day that makes you want to say "hey" to strangers in passing, beyond the usual silent head nod, and smile aimlessly at nothing in particular. Why don't I do this more often??
The best spot is by the small stone bridge, which I noticed had been cleared from the enveloping blackberry thicket that the raccoons frequent. I settled on a bench there and enjoyed chatting with animals and people alike. I was surprised that a heron was interested in my bread, though he kept his distance at maybe 8 ft and was too proud to beg. A photographer was thankful that I kept him interested enough for her to get some nice shots. A beautiful seagull stayed close by me, surprisingly patient, not noisy or badgering the other birds. At one point I tossed crumbs just for him and he caught it without it touching the ground - 6, 7, 8 in a row like a dog. I'm sure we could've gone on all afternoon. In the water were mallards and wood ducks mostly, behind me to the forest were towhees, chickadees, fox sparrows, song sparrows, golden crowned sparrows, several crows, and one solitary red-winged blackbird. And one squirrel.
By the time I'd reached the end of my bread I realized all the people had left the bridge and pathways, the shade ticking away the sunshine on my bench. My dog-seagull flew away, and a younger slightly noisier one tried his best to imitate the attitude that he had watched score the previous one some crumbs. I was sorry I had none left to give, as he was putting on his best I'm-a-good-bird-too act, and giving me sad puppydog eyes as best as a seagull can. Eventually a raccoon approached me close and I again apologized for having nothing to offer. The seagull even had the core of my pear I'd brought for a snack.
The ducks dissipated, one of the last to leave was a male wood duck that settled on a rock in the sun about 3 ft from me. He didn't leave when he saw I had no food, so perhaps he was just enjoying the last of the sun edging away. He didn't move away when two ducks started to peck at him and tug on his foot, just made a minimal effort with his bill to send them farther away. He was alive and aware, but not keen on fleeing or fighting or really moving around much, so I guessed he was hurt and sat down with him awhile and ordered the bully ducks to move on. I am that crazy bird lady that will sing quietly to a hurt animal. I got to stroke his back, those beautiful iridescent feathers. Eventually he returned to the water and I saw one foot idling while the other paddled double-time to make up for it. He swam away.
I wandered home too, the sun was still out in some spots and warm enough. I love the tranquility, it recharges my batteries. I thought of that wood duck, wondered how long his leg's been hurt and if it'll cripple him in a naturally competitive environment and slowly kill him. And I wondered if he'd been living with this condition awhile and still managed to grow to adulthood and swim when he's so inclined. Animals are resilient and can adjust to bodily impedements with less complaint than humans can. I think he'll be fine.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Welcome to geocaching!
I had a nice birthday-few-weeks, seeing my friends and loved ones where/whenever we could get together. I received a GPS for my birthday, and can finally participate in an activity that has interested me in the back of my mind for awhile: geocaching. This seems ideal for me - walking/hiking as easily or as difficult as I choose, with a quest to find silly treasure and leave my mark in a little book just to say I've been there, all the while noticing details around my environment. The tricky part for me is just the technological aspect, uploading coordinates etc to my device from www.geocaching.com, which isn't all that difficult - just daunting for someone typically leery of such gizmos. Also requires forethought into where I'm going to be, as I can't do this while in the field.
My first venture out geocaching was a short-notice visit to Oliver, and my parents joined in on the search for the more central ones around town. My dad found the first one, which we all saw but he investigated. I was surprised there were so many in a small town, and many were conveniently located near wineries. Wine tasting was icing on the cake (speaking of which, thanks mom for homemade apricot-baby-food birthday cake+cream cheese frosting!) for a day of exploring in good weather a town other than my own. We found nine caches that day, without difficulty. We took special notice of the prickly pear cactus that loved clinging my shoes and seemed eager to come home with me. Found no rattlesnakes, which is good when reaching into holes in the desert.
My first venture out geocaching was a short-notice visit to Oliver, and my parents joined in on the search for the more central ones around town. My dad found the first one, which we all saw but he investigated. I was surprised there were so many in a small town, and many were conveniently located near wineries. Wine tasting was icing on the cake (speaking of which, thanks mom for homemade apricot-baby-food birthday cake+cream cheese frosting!) for a day of exploring in good weather a town other than my own. We found nine caches that day, without difficulty. We took special notice of the prickly pear cactus that loved clinging my shoes and seemed eager to come home with me. Found no rattlesnakes, which is good when reaching into holes in the desert.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
A restless breeze ushers in spring
My friend had invited me to guest author a post on her travel blog, about why I travel and my favorite places. After a few days of consideration I decided on a few pretty places in Ireland, and realized that my visit there was almost exactly a decade ago.
Perhaps it was the ambiance of St Patrick's Day here in Vancouver. Although a watered-down imitation of the traditional honest craic in the small-town pubs that speaks of toil and tears and hope, it was still nice to hear the familiar tunes on exotic instruments - the Uillean pipes. Most of the repertoire performed by several bands that weekend I've had on CDs at home for a decade, so my mind knows the melody as deeply ingrained as if I could pipe it myself.
Perhaps it was my imminent birthday at the end of the month, reminding me that another year has passed, and I should take stock of what I have done and what is still left to do, both as milestone accomplishments and whimsical wishes. Not that I have aging anxiety or envy of my peers, but I feel recognition and annual reassessment is important. You reap what you sow.
Perhaps it's something in the stars, that the sun enters my zodiac sign Aries. A tarot reading suggests that change is lurking in the periphery, and that _thinking_ about it will only get me so far, change will manifest only with my actions. A few other cards highlighted inspiration, creativity and light renewing amidst darkness and dormancy.
So in the past week I've tried to touch base with as many of my seldom-visited friends as I can, I've started reading a new book and enjoying it so far, I've helped friends with their garden and preparing for work to do in the strata-bound property I live. Small actions - or are they simply distracting activities?
Perhaps it was the ambiance of St Patrick's Day here in Vancouver. Although a watered-down imitation of the traditional honest craic in the small-town pubs that speaks of toil and tears and hope, it was still nice to hear the familiar tunes on exotic instruments - the Uillean pipes. Most of the repertoire performed by several bands that weekend I've had on CDs at home for a decade, so my mind knows the melody as deeply ingrained as if I could pipe it myself.
Perhaps it was my imminent birthday at the end of the month, reminding me that another year has passed, and I should take stock of what I have done and what is still left to do, both as milestone accomplishments and whimsical wishes. Not that I have aging anxiety or envy of my peers, but I feel recognition and annual reassessment is important. You reap what you sow.
Perhaps it's something in the stars, that the sun enters my zodiac sign Aries. A tarot reading suggests that change is lurking in the periphery, and that _thinking_ about it will only get me so far, change will manifest only with my actions. A few other cards highlighted inspiration, creativity and light renewing amidst darkness and dormancy.
So in the past week I've tried to touch base with as many of my seldom-visited friends as I can, I've started reading a new book and enjoying it so far, I've helped friends with their garden and preparing for work to do in the strata-bound property I live. Small actions - or are they simply distracting activities?
Monday, March 3, 2014
Vancouver International Wine Festival 2014
An event I look forward to every year, for more details check out the post last year at this time.
This year was a little more tricky than previous years, as our organizer/sommelier eagerly pushes the envelope for us to be a 'world-class wine event'; the focus was France, and some of the winemakers were especially particular about the presentation of their wines in lectures, and often disagreeing with the sommeliers who we take our orders from. When they say pour, we pour. One princess even made an offhand remark over the mic to a full audience that the wine should have been served cooler if we were more organized... I missed this as I was focused on the task at hand, but it bothered my superiors and that bothers me, since they take especially good care of us without fail. I'll withhold naming and shaming here as he doesn't deserve promotion on my blog, and if he wasn't such a famous and sought-after winemaker I'd say just not to invite him back! No one needs a prima donna to rock the boat.
On one event we had all hands on deck for pouring 12 sparkling wines while the audience was seated - not only can we not call to our teammates while the speaker was speaking, but we were stepping in narrow aisles around people and coats and bags and everyone would notice if we spilled! Of course that sets a precedent that we can pour wines well-chilled, and we did that for at least one on every event I poured. Our team is awesome and rose to the challenge shining. Hopefully next year's host country can be a little more gracious of the little people that go into executing a festival.
My personal focus this year in the tasting room was on the Sancerre and Pouilly-Fume from the Loire valley, some exploration of Alsace, and some west coast American wines from Oregon and Washington state, which for me are as a far-off country as any other.
This year was a little more tricky than previous years, as our organizer/sommelier eagerly pushes the envelope for us to be a 'world-class wine event'; the focus was France, and some of the winemakers were especially particular about the presentation of their wines in lectures, and often disagreeing with the sommeliers who we take our orders from. When they say pour, we pour. One princess even made an offhand remark over the mic to a full audience that the wine should have been served cooler if we were more organized... I missed this as I was focused on the task at hand, but it bothered my superiors and that bothers me, since they take especially good care of us without fail. I'll withhold naming and shaming here as he doesn't deserve promotion on my blog, and if he wasn't such a famous and sought-after winemaker I'd say just not to invite him back! No one needs a prima donna to rock the boat.
On one event we had all hands on deck for pouring 12 sparkling wines while the audience was seated - not only can we not call to our teammates while the speaker was speaking, but we were stepping in narrow aisles around people and coats and bags and everyone would notice if we spilled! Of course that sets a precedent that we can pour wines well-chilled, and we did that for at least one on every event I poured. Our team is awesome and rose to the challenge shining. Hopefully next year's host country can be a little more gracious of the little people that go into executing a festival.
My personal focus this year in the tasting room was on the Sancerre and Pouilly-Fume from the Loire valley, some exploration of Alsace, and some west coast American wines from Oregon and Washington state, which for me are as a far-off country as any other.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Fun in February
Aside from the trek to Mexico in my last post, I have no great travel plans for this year, despite an itch for a few places. I've been lucky to find easy accessible fun in town.
Vancouver Police Pipe Band's Robbie Burns Dinner - I don't know how widely publicized this event was, as I got wind of it through friend-of-a-friend, and they filled the church hall it was held at. It was their 100th year anniversary too, and they're the oldest non-military pipe band in BC. The evening included all traditions of piping in the haggis, the reading of Ode to a Haggis, the Toasts to Laddies/Lassies, and bagpipes, highland dancers and folk dancers. An appearance made from a few rare scotches, and my annual dose of haggis.
Music @ the Sylvia Hotel - Just a few blocks down from me, the historic Sylvia Hotel opened the first cocktail bar in Vancouver. Classy yet friendly, and cozy with live music featured Wed and Thurs - I'm all for promoting live music venues to support musicians amidst the sea of clubs and sports bars popping up. The duo played bluegrass/folk/blues on guitar and steel guitar, with guests on violin. According to the website this was not a one-off occasion and I'll be sure to check them out again.
Chinese New Year in Chinatown - I attended the parade with some friends, and am reminded that I am getting too old for this... Getting up early(ish) to stand in the cold for two hours amidst a sea of strangers to see special interest groups walk by. Perhaps parades have lost their magic for me. There were even a few vendors handing out free samples from trucks, but the lineups were so phenomenal that it wasn't worth it. I stayed a half hour in line for a bau because I had a craving for one and I am stubborn in my own traditions! The joy came of visiting the Dr Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden, which is open by donation for some occasions throughout the year. They had two fellas pouring tea in a Chinese tea ceremony. He'd refill my teeny cup for as long as I sat there - I never turn down a cuppa tea - and learn about different teas and teapots. The sun emerged from beneath the grey, and I heard some more bagpipes and an accordion performing traditional songs from some of the other ethnic groups that flourished around the Chinatown neighbourhood - Jewish, German, Irish, Scottish, Hungarian, Ukranian, Italian. And some Chinese songs too.
Vancouver Police Pipe Band's Robbie Burns Dinner - I don't know how widely publicized this event was, as I got wind of it through friend-of-a-friend, and they filled the church hall it was held at. It was their 100th year anniversary too, and they're the oldest non-military pipe band in BC. The evening included all traditions of piping in the haggis, the reading of Ode to a Haggis, the Toasts to Laddies/Lassies, and bagpipes, highland dancers and folk dancers. An appearance made from a few rare scotches, and my annual dose of haggis.
Music @ the Sylvia Hotel - Just a few blocks down from me, the historic Sylvia Hotel opened the first cocktail bar in Vancouver. Classy yet friendly, and cozy with live music featured Wed and Thurs - I'm all for promoting live music venues to support musicians amidst the sea of clubs and sports bars popping up. The duo played bluegrass/folk/blues on guitar and steel guitar, with guests on violin. According to the website this was not a one-off occasion and I'll be sure to check them out again.
Chinese New Year in Chinatown - I attended the parade with some friends, and am reminded that I am getting too old for this... Getting up early(ish) to stand in the cold for two hours amidst a sea of strangers to see special interest groups walk by. Perhaps parades have lost their magic for me. There were even a few vendors handing out free samples from trucks, but the lineups were so phenomenal that it wasn't worth it. I stayed a half hour in line for a bau because I had a craving for one and I am stubborn in my own traditions! The joy came of visiting the Dr Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden, which is open by donation for some occasions throughout the year. They had two fellas pouring tea in a Chinese tea ceremony. He'd refill my teeny cup for as long as I sat there - I never turn down a cuppa tea - and learn about different teas and teapots. The sun emerged from beneath the grey, and I heard some more bagpipes and an accordion performing traditional songs from some of the other ethnic groups that flourished around the Chinatown neighbourhood - Jewish, German, Irish, Scottish, Hungarian, Ukranian, Italian. And some Chinese songs too.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Finding butterflies in Mexico
This past weekend I saw an IMAX movie at Science World about the Monarch butterfly migration. It was well done, informative on both the life cycle of the butterflies as well as the lives of the pioneering researching couple and their contribution to track and monitor them. Beautifully shot with images on that huge screen, to immerse the viewer in a sky or forest full of butterflies.
That has renewed my bucket list quest to see it in person. I will see the Monarch migration before I die.
And with our environmental degradation depleting many highly specialized species, I'm running out of time. I don't have another few decades of my lifetime to get around to it eventually - I should go perhaps in the next year or two, or there won't be the massive congregations that make it such a spectacle. From redOrbit.com; "A team of researchers, including experts from the World Wildlife Fund and Mexico's National Commission of Protected Areas found nine hibernating colonies occupied nearly three acres during the winter 2012-13 - a 59 percent decrease from the previous winter. Nearly 20 years ago the colonies covered approximately 45 acres".
So far I know roughly where they're going; their winter Mecca is a protected bio reserve in Mexico so I can avoid following them through the States, and just meet them there. The Monarchs arrive in November and seem to coincide with the Nov 1 Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), so tradition holds that the butterflies are departed souls revisiting loved ones as they flit through the decorated cemetaries. It's a sweet thought, though I'd feel a bit intrusive to partake if I had no specific personal attachment there. From Dec-Jan the butterflies would be dormant in great clusters hanging from the trees, still and eerie. Perhaps the best time would be in March, when the weather warms up and they fill the skies. I hear the sheer volume of that many silent wings in flight sound like light rain.
I would like to tie this into seeing a sea turtle beach hatch baby sea turtles (likely also a dying phenomenon), but that's in the summer, and butterflies are Nov-Mar. So I guess that means I'll have to go to Mexico more than once, oh gee damn...
So that's the plan so far. Now that it's publicly posted I'm putting that out there in the cosmos, the wheels are in motion! Starting now I squirrell away money (moreso than usual?) and save the date. More reseach required.
That has renewed my bucket list quest to see it in person. I will see the Monarch migration before I die.
And with our environmental degradation depleting many highly specialized species, I'm running out of time. I don't have another few decades of my lifetime to get around to it eventually - I should go perhaps in the next year or two, or there won't be the massive congregations that make it such a spectacle. From redOrbit.com; "A team of researchers, including experts from the World Wildlife Fund and Mexico's National Commission of Protected Areas found nine hibernating colonies occupied nearly three acres during the winter 2012-13 - a 59 percent decrease from the previous winter. Nearly 20 years ago the colonies covered approximately 45 acres".
So far I know roughly where they're going; their winter Mecca is a protected bio reserve in Mexico so I can avoid following them through the States, and just meet them there. The Monarchs arrive in November and seem to coincide with the Nov 1 Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), so tradition holds that the butterflies are departed souls revisiting loved ones as they flit through the decorated cemetaries. It's a sweet thought, though I'd feel a bit intrusive to partake if I had no specific personal attachment there. From Dec-Jan the butterflies would be dormant in great clusters hanging from the trees, still and eerie. Perhaps the best time would be in March, when the weather warms up and they fill the skies. I hear the sheer volume of that many silent wings in flight sound like light rain.
I would like to tie this into seeing a sea turtle beach hatch baby sea turtles (likely also a dying phenomenon), but that's in the summer, and butterflies are Nov-Mar. So I guess that means I'll have to go to Mexico more than once, oh gee damn...
So that's the plan so far. Now that it's publicly posted I'm putting that out there in the cosmos, the wheels are in motion! Starting now I squirrell away money (moreso than usual?) and save the date. More reseach required.
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