Wow, it’s been a few days! Amazing how time slips out from under your feet and you can get absolutely no writing done when you really really should be. I could write best selling guides on procrastination if I ever got around to it. And now I’m mastering the art of timing my Starbucks drink consumption rate with my typing speed to avoid withering glances and baristas coming over to pointedly wipe my table.
So Friday’s mission was a visit to the Museum of Anthropology on the campus of UBC and some exploration along West 4th Avenue- checking out the funky boutiques and outdoors and active wear brand stores that area is famous for (Fun Fact time- West 4th was the home of the first Lululemon store).
The Museum of Anthropology is home to an extensive collection of First Nations totem poles, anthropological artifacts from cultures around the world, and contemporary Native art. While I was visiting they also had an exhibit on contemporary art from the Middle East that I really enjoyed, called Safar/Voyage: Contemporary Works by Arab, Iranian and Turkish Artists. A lot of commentary on the political situation and changing lifestyles in that part of the world presented in a variety of media. You can learn more about it at http://moa.ubc.ca/experience/exhibit_details.php?id=1052 if you feel so inclined.
West 4th is probably my favourite, or at the very least one of my personal top three, out of the neighbourhoods that I have thus far frequented. It strikes a delicate balance between maintaining its sense of quirky-cool community and catering to the yuppie hordes in that small chunk of the world. Sorry, that was rude. I have nothing against the yuppie hordes. They usually bring with them nice cafes and ALWAYS come part and parcel with at least one Whole Foods (home of snacks that don’t make me hate myself later). West 4th was also the home of the first Green Peace office, and their volunteers were stationed nearly every other block stopping passers-by. I really hate walking by people asking for a moment of my time on the street, especially when I have nowhere urgent to be. Same as I’m always uber-polite to telemarketers. Who knows what sort of part-time job I’ll have to hold down in university! That could be me trying to sell you a new television package or asking you to sign a petition this time next year! I’m trying to build up a back-stock of good karma. Plus I had just spent half an hour reading an article about how travel is made meaningful by opening yourself up to the people around you and hearing the stories they have to tell.
Anyways, that’s how I ended up talking to a Greenpeace guy named Tyler for 45 minutes. He stared into my soul and told me about issues. I stared back and told him about some other issues. He had maps and stuff, it was all quite well done. And then he got to the monthly donor sales pitch and I realized that I had just wasted 45 minutes of this poor guys time as I am both largely pre-educated about these things and also broke. I asked him if I could give him $5. He said he didn’t take cash in case he got mugged. I figured it would be in bad taste to ask for his number at that point.There’s being polite and open to human interaction, and then there’s being an idiot. Tyler if you’re out there I’m sorry. Unless it’s a petition or I come into a large sum of money I will excuse myself politely from now on.
Found: new favourite store! Wanderlust (On, you guessed it, West 4th… This is a great street okay?) is a locally famous travel book store that houses everything from memoirs and travel literature to guides to Nepalese meditation traditions to beginner’s guides to Cantonese. The staff are the sort of knowledgeable that points to their having led very interesting lives indeed and the other side of the store houses an assortment of bags and other travel gizmos that I get overly excited about.
Furthering my goal of spending small amounts of money in several different places, Saturday started with a visit to the Vancouver Flea Market on Terminal Ave, a five minute walk from the Main St. SkyTrain terminal. I had never been to one quite as sizeable as this, but it exhibited the typical mix of random out-dated-but-not-quite-vintage electronics, general dollar store crap and what looked suspiciously like McDonald’s kiddie meal toys interspersed with solid gold finds like a booth filled to the brim with vintage headwear from race track or royal wedding-worthy fascinators to flat straw boating hats. Let it be known that suede old-school Boston gangster fedoras and deer stalkers have been added to my list of hats I can freaking rock.
Other golden finds included and booth filled head to toe with cracker mirrors housed in elaborate antique frames (some repainted in neon), a vintage comic retailer, a seller of vintage prints and postcards (where I picked up some old prints of hilariously inaccurate maps of Canada and a cool old etching of a camel to frame in my room) and a record and stereo booth who’s owner proudly pulled me over when he saw me snapping pictures of the market and told me that I should do my project on his booth (?). He was nice, despite refusing to accept that I wasn’t a photography student (I would’ve thought that my neon blue point and shoot may have been an indication of pure tourist intent but guess not) and we talked for a good long while.
After finishing up in the land of cheap finds (seriously, when I inevitably have to buy dinnerware I’m doing so a flea market… cutlery 15 cents apiece, sets of four miss-matched dinner plates for $2… teacups) I wandered a bit through China town and contemplated getting a $7.99 haircut but remembered that I like my trims to not correspond with a numbered picture on the wall and I’m fond of my bangs being on the straight side.
On Sunday I headed out to Langley for a grand tour of the neighbourhood playgrounds. And by that I mean I was watching the boys. Their favourite game is scooter NASCAR and running. I love it so much.
Spent the night and the next day hanging out with my Auntie Ve and visiting my Uncle Mark who both live out that way.
When I got home on Monday I did not write this blog post.
And Tuesday was characterized by a four hour hike from the trailhead at the top of Riverside Drive to Twin Falls and the Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge (The Capilano Bridge’s supposedly less touristy little sister). It’s a beautiful hike, and so nice to have it so close to where I’m staying. I didn’t even see another living soul until I got to the latter stretches of the route excepting a squirrel that scared the heck out of me when it made bear-esque sounds in the bushes.
Last time I was at the bridge the only people around were my Uncle Brian, Cole and I. I remember terrorizing Cole with unnecessary amounts of bridge-shaking and jumping about when we finally persuaded him to walk across. On a completely unrelated note he won’t jump off anything more than 8 ft high and hesitates to even find himself in such places to begin with.
Sorry bout that little brother… Ya, I’m probably responsible for like 90% of his phobias. It’s an older sibling privilege.
Anyways, this time around the bridge was choc full of tourists jostling each other for good picture angles in a way that made even my height-loving self a bit antsy. I got held up for 10 minutes trying to head back as a busload of Asian tourists took ceaseless pictures and literally ooh’ed and ahh’ed over a panicked and hapless field mouse that was silly enough to think that it could come see the sights un-hassled.
And that just about catches you up! I’ll give you the full report of Granville Island, where I am currently holed up because the baristas are starting to give me the stink eye. I’d better go buy a cookie. Till then!
I try not to plan my days too far ahead. I sorta have a list of things I want to do and some notes on which of these things would work well together and then I play eenie meenie minie mo the morning of. This method is actually fantastic because when things fall from the sky, like an invitation to join Ash and her boys for a trip to the aquarium today, I can jump right on board.
Man, just when you think you’re getting the hang of things… Let’s just say that I had a bit of a transit adventure. But I guess its a good sign that I did eventually figure myself out right?
The Vancouver Aquarium is one of the parts of my last trip here (when I was 11) that I still remember vividly, and while I probably wouldn’t have gone alone, having the munchkins in tow was the perfect excuse to re-visit without seeming odd and borderline creepy amongst the school groups.
We checked out all the fish, frogs and flying things in the rain forest room, ogled the octopus, watched a Penguin Walk outside the beluga exhibit while eating lunch and watched a beluga whale show from below (not the Splash Zone- those are arctic animals, that water is cold) and through some miracle we still had all three littles with us by the end of the day, with only minimal yogurt stains to boot.
After my time communing with the sea life and counting heads every few seconds, I went off to explore a bit of Robson St., described in my guidebook as “the main shopping drag” of the city.
You’ll find mostly more mainstream clothing and shoe stores, but I did find a cool cafe whose patio I wrote up my last blog post on. I might explore a little further if I have some time to kill one day- the retail wasn’t totally exciting but the buskers and street life still gave it a local flair. Maybe I’ll do another walk through enroute to Gastown.
So that was my day! I’m bunkering down at Marie’s for a little while longer because hello, SeaBus! No solid plans for tomorrow (see above) but I’m thinking maybe Kitsilano and the Museum of Anthropology?
P.S.- Look what I found in my backpack! It’s mine but I have no idea how it got in there or why. Anyone have an answer for me? Or a reasonable guess? Or an unreasonable but hilarious guess?
Living up to my nomadic claims, I headed over to stay with my Aunt Marie on Tuesday night. Not solely because she had access to a bicycle I could use, but she did. Biking the Stanley Park Seawall and the downtown Seawalk (spoiler alert, it’s the exact same thing as the Seawall- nice bike trail all the way around the length of the downtown waterfront) had pretty much always been on my to-do list for this stretch of the trip. Marie’s place also provides easier access to the SeaBus than my previous digs, so I decided to really do it like a local and take the ferry boat across the water to central Vancouver.
I’m not a huge bike rider. I own a gorgeous bike but have always opted to walk or run for my exercise, not to mention a psychologist would probably classify road-riding in downtown Toronto a form of death wish (no offense to the brave souls participating in that “war on cars” we keep hearing about, we salute you). So anyways, I helmeted up and was heavy-handed on the breaks all the way down the hills to Lonsdale Quay. Wear helmets people. Dying in a bike accident is awful and tragic and has always seemed like one of the worst ways to go to me, because no matter what you stood for in your life or ever mused that your death would represent will be forgotten as you become the poster child for dumb teenagers getting themselves killed.
Even though bike paths are not totally universal, I found that Vancouver was still way more cyclist-friendly than I was accustomed to. Transit- SeaBus and bus at least- make provisions for bike storage, and get this, if you ride on the sidewalk where bike paths are in absence, people smile and move out of the way. I know, it blew my mind, being a T.O. girl, where even though bike paths are foreign and it sometimes seems as if drivers are actively trying to hit you if you opt to share the road, people get really mad if you ride on the sidewalk. I have had people yell at me from the opposite side of the street to get the f’ on the road. No joke. But good on you Vancouverites, you’re nice and you make sense.
The route from the SeaBus terminal down to the Seawall was pretty straightforward. Just look for the big boulevard with clearly marked pedestrian and cyclist lanes and planters and trees and branches and other things that made my passed-down urban planner sensibilities smile. I did lose my chain at one point which has never actually happened to me before. Got it handled though, good to know that it’s something I can take care of. On that subject, I went an entire 3 hours and talked to at least four people before I looked at my reflection in my phone and noticed the bike grease war paint I had festively decorating my face, chin to nose.
I am a road warrior.
The Seawall trail is stunning, especially if you have a drop dead gorgeous day like I did. Highly recommend. If you start you have to finish though, unless you cut through the middle of the park on some of their unpaved paths or walk your bike amongst the pedestrians the traffic only moves one way. The trail offers some fantastic views of all the typical postcard scenes- Lionsgate Bridge, the statue of Girl in a Wetsuit, the totem poles. I pulled out at Third beach for a bite to eat and to wander with my toes in the water.
The night before, my aunt and I had talked a lot about gratitude, so as I sat in the sand staring out at the ships and watching kids skimboard in the low-tide leftover waters, I thought about all the things in my life that I’m grateful for.
I am grateful for my parents and my grandma- who they are, how they raised me and the relationship I continue to share with them.
I am grateful for my little brother, who makes me laugh every day and who I am so happy to have been able to share my childhood with.
I am grateful for my enormous, wonderful extended family, East and West for always being there for each other and for me.
I am grateful for my friends who are like my family and who I can share anything and everything with, and who somehow still love me.
I am grateful to have lived and grown up in Canada where I’ve been safe and free to do the things I want to do.
I am grateful for my body and mind because they’re strong and healthy and work the way I want them to, like, 90% of the time.
I’m grateful to be able to eat good food and sleep in safe, warm, dry places.
I’m grateful for Netflix.
And I’m grateful for where I am right now and all the work it took to get here and everyone who helped me along the way. Sometimes I can get bogged down in comparisons. So and so spent their gap year backpacking through South East Asia and lived at an ashram, so and so assimilated with a tribe in Africa. It seems like so many people are having experiences that are so much cooler than mine. But we have to be grateful for the experiences we have, whatever and wherever we find them. What other people are doing is their journey and this is mine and it’s not where you go, but what you let yourself learn from it anyhow. If you can discover yourself by taking a walk around the block I applaud you.
And I’m grateful to be able to do this trip largely alone, because there’s no better way to figure out who you are and where you’re going than by spending some quality time in your own head.
As the Seawall trail continues on past Third Beach you wind along the towering cliffs that lean out over the trail and make you feel as if you’re doing something a lot more adventurous than you are. The day was still young when I finished the loop, even after sitting on the beach being introspective for nearly an hour, so I continued on the SeaWALK down to English Bay and Sunset Beach. Cool scene down there, lots of young people. I made friends after I got hit in the back of the head with a rogue Frisbee. The guys made it up to me by teaching me how to juggle. I can now juggle very very poorly now, so yay!
I had some serious bike bum going so I made the executive decision to walk it off while exploring more of the English Bay neighbourhood. Busy, cool and known mostly for being quite LGBTQ friendly it was packed to the brim with restaurants ethnic and eclectic and some fun looking shops and things.
I still had some more time to kill so I continued along until I ended up just about parallel to Granville Island before I turned around and headed home. Definitely felt like a local today- I even got the satisfaction of telling a family of tourists that were angrily flapping their hands at me that they and their eleven grandchildren were actually on the bike path. As the massive bikes painted on the trail and the multiple signs may have indicated. I don’t even know where you could be from where that would get lost in translation. I might be a tourist, but I’m not one of THOSE tourists.
That’s all for now folks, see ya on the flipside!
These people are taking pictures of Canada Geese. Lol.
Upon my return from Oroville it struck me that I really hadn’t been in Vancouver for more than 24 consecutive hours, so I was excited to get my tourist on and do some urban exploring. I started off my Monday with a short run in my new Barefoot shoes. They still don’t like me very much but I’m slowly breaking their spirits and shaping them to my will. At least I could bend my knees the next day without extreme calf discomfort. I really do like them, the break in period is just drawing on reserves of patience that I doubt I had in spades to begin with but I love them so much that it’ll be well worth it in the end.
Much in the same theme as breaking in my shoes, I decided to start the trip off gently with a jaunt to Commercial Drive, because the guidebook made it seem like my kind of a place and also because it would be a good practice run to get me acquainted with Vancouver’s transit system.
The Transit System. Oooooh boy. I never thought that anything would ever succeed in making my nostalgic for the good ol’ TTC…
Sorry, my innate sense of drama is making it sound like a Herculean trial and in practice it really is not that bad, but I come from a place where you pay once and can go anywhere with no strict time limits as long as you have a transfer, in a system which (while by no means perfect) does cover the majority of places I tended to feel the inclination to go. What can I say, I’m the city-girl daughter of an urban planner. I assume walk-able is a given for anyplace sizable enough to merit its own area code, and the worse case scenario would involve a straightforward bus route. Not so.
Long story short, fare zones were a new ordeal, as were the intricacies of “concession” or student pricing. Pretty much any home base I could find myself staying in would qualify as being in North Van, which automatically merits a double fare to cross into the downtown zone (read: just about anywhere I want to go). And bus service is a bit sporadic when you get all the way out to areas with lots big enough to encompass actual backyards. Anyways, after a bit of research on the internets that I think actually made me more confused I successfully hopped on a bus to Powell and Commercial.
Commercial drive is one of those seedy-cool areas most easily likened to Kensignton Market in T.O., or the less yuppie-ridden areas of Queen West (that have also not been completely over-run with hipsters and still have the odd raving homeless guy hanging out on the corner). The Drive, as its called, is a melting pot of ethnic grocery stores, chic boutiques with expensive pretty things in the windows, vegan and whole food stores and cafes and all manner of used, vintage and exotic storefronts to peruse. I am in possession of this neat little guidebook called Secret Vancouver that has info on some less mainstream things to see and do in the city, and it recommended a vegan restaurant called Sweet Cherubim on the Drive that I thought I’d try. They’re famous for their samosas- available baked or fried, and are adjoined to a whole foods store by the same name. The chickpea/rice samosa and energy shake I grabbed were pretty hype-worthy and the vibe of the place made for some great people watching. As I was finishing up it got pretty crowded and a “professional graffiti artist” named Jude and a guy in full drag who were buddies and grabbing lunch joined me at my lonely table for four and we hung out for a bit, they were really nice. I’m all for spending time in my own head but I’d definitely say the highlight if not the point of trips like these are the characters you meet along the road.
I spent near-preposterous amounts of time browsing though a couple cool used bookstores and this awesome shop called Wander that seemed to be an amalgamation of everything new-agey that I would willingly spend money on- the highlights of all my fave Kensington haunts combined. As of late I’ve gotten some more insiders tips from my Auntie Marie of spots worth checking out along the Drive so I suspect I’ll be back before my time here is up. Maybe I’ll get my palm read or something. Maybe I’ll buy more harem pants. Maybe I’ll never leave.
Tuesday was a bit more low-key and close to home. My cousin’s inlaws came to my uncle and aunt’s house for lunch and we went on a short walk along the trail at the top of their street. This trail, if followed a bit farther, will apparently bring me to Lynn Canyon and the suspension bridge therein that is generally understood to be Capilano’s kid sister (cept this one’s FREE). Def something I’ll pursue at a later date.
As the afternoon wore on and our company departed my aunt and I went on a hike to Quarry Rock in Deep Cove. I remembered this one vividly from my last trip out west when I was about 11, as the honest to god first real hike that I’d ever been on at that point (the Ravine only counted until I was 10, and even by then it was wearing thin), so I spose you could say it sparked an era for me. It really is a beautiful view from the top, and the winding, root-filled trail that took us there was vaguely reminiscent of Costa Rica, what with the thigh-deep ferns and optimistically graded trails paved with mud. I have had some serious weather luck so far, but with the lack of rain things were a little dry and dusty.
Today (Wednesday) I borrowed a bike and went on a cycling adventure through Stanley Park and along the Seawall to English Bay and beyond. I hate blogging a day behind but it’s pretty late for me and even later for you lovely Ontario folks back home so I’m going to leave that story for now and try my darndest to get it to you my morning, your afternoon tomorrow.
Thanks, as always, for reading and sweet dreams Toronto!
Hello my lovelies, I’m sorry its been so long.
In one of those random, wonderful twists of happenstance that is almost par for the course when one is travelling with a backpack, a guide book, some phone numbers and not a whole lot else, I spent the past week on the sparkling shores of Lake Osoyoos, just over the border in the American side of Canada’s only desert. I was piggy-backing on a tradition that has been part of many members of my West Coast family’s summer since some of the participants were just a few years older than their own children. All in, for more than 20 years my cousins, aunts, uncles and their family friends have spent a week in August camping at a family-owned site within a stone’s throw of the border crossing (and also a massive Homeland Security complex but that’s another story) and I went along for the ride.
Reaching our destination involved some passing through of the Rockies until we hit the less lofty hills of the interior, and some more passing through of that until we were driving through desert country that gave me the greatest sense of “elsewhere” that I have encountered thus far in my wanderings.
Suddenly it was nearly 40 degrees under a vibrant sky that one would expect to house vultures and, though the valley basin we were winding through was carpeted with discordantly deep green orchards and vineyards, the hills that rose up along the sides were a harsh, parched ochre and dotted with low-lying sagebrush. Aside from the obviously man-made miracle of lush green fruit-trees and the singing power lines, the only divergent aspects of the scene (which would otherwise fit in nicely with the backdrop of every low-budget western in existence) were the low, open-walled, wide-awning-ed fruit markets fed by the orchards directly opposite, their shaded pseudo-interiors marked by buzzing flies, buzzing coolers filled with Coca Cola, wicker baskets brimming with peaches, out-dated community message boards with posters advertising classic car shows held in 2002 and dusty cash registers manned by middle-aged, pony-tailed, tank-topped Hispanic women flipping through crackly back-issues of US Weekly.
Whew.
Run-on sentences are my first language.
Sorry for the dripping, pulp-fiction setting description. Just wanted to emphasize the marvelous unlikeliness of my first experience of the Okanagan valley, especially considering my recent immersion into the damp, misty wilds of North Van.
The winding highway through the arid hills eventually took us to the tourist trap of Osoyoos, BC, a desert town filled with surf boutiques that really seems like it should have a Starbucks but doesn’t. It wouldn’t have felt at all out of place somewhere south of San Fran- terracotta roofs and false-fronted building leading down to the blue smear of Lake Osoyoos. The lake is actually half in Canada and half in the States, so you can drive your boat through to the other side but if you go ashore or anyone boards (or even converses with) your boat border security will show up in big black cars straight out of every spy movie ever and bust your butt. Fun times, living on the border.
I originally thought that it would be all of my cousins at the campsite and my uncle’s cabin next door, but due to everyone’s busy lives we started the week with a bunch of people that I had previously met only in passing once or twice but who were a joy to get to know. I won’t burden you with all the inglorious details, but there was plenty of beach time and Miller High Life and quite a bit of pushing one another off the raft.
Some morning-after wreckage
The first night was probably the most dramatic I’ve ever seen outside the realm of the discovery channel. A storm had coiled itself around us so there was a tropical-level lightening storm on every side but not a drop of rain. It was fiercely spectacular- great split-the-sky flashes until one bolt ignited a forest (I’m using the term liberally, there were maybe 100 trees on the mountainside to start off with) fire directly across the lake from where we had all pulled our chairs onto the sand to watch the show. We watched it spread down the slope and the headlights from all the cars evacuating wind down the highway. It smoldered and smoked for three days afterwards. The storm closed in that night with heightened drama that left everyone else dripping and me rather glad that I’d holed up in the cabin. The next night actually brought a storm that resulted in some refugees turning up on a soggy air-mattress in our kitchen the next morning,
Wind-prevention measures
Other highlights were a jaunt to town (there were several of those) and visits to the local department store/grocery store/hardware store called Prince’s. They had about twice as many styles of cowboy boots available for purchase as brands of cereal, and an astonishingly wide selection of slogan-ed trucker hats to match. Once in a a while an voice crackles in over the P.A. system announcing a sale on one obscure product or another, from air fresheners to ladies underwear. You could occasionally forget you were even in the States, especially since so many people in town were Canadians visiting for the summer, but then you’d see a guy with a gun strapped to his hip buying pool noodles and renting a movie and it would hit you.
About halfway through the week a few of us went on a day trip to a place locally referred to as the Ghost Town- an abandoned frontier town up in the hills named Old Molson (New Molson is just down the road and only slightly larger). It was more than a little post-apocalyptic and creepy looking and we were half anticipating zombie encounters.
Scratch the zombies, apparently we’re all getting murdered by killer dolls
If you ever want to figure out which of your friends have addictive personality types just set up an 1500 piece jigsaw puzzle. We worked on it for NINE. CONSECUTIVE. HOURS. Brief breaks but there was always someone tearing their hair out. We will probably make a therapist very happy and wealthy one day. We also lost one piece. It still makes me a bit twitchy to think about it, which can’t be a good sign for my sanity.
If you look very carefully, you will realize that one of these pieces does not belong
Last notable and fun thing we did that comes to mind was the group’s little rafting adventure down the Semilkemine. Here are some safety tips for unguided white-water rafting.
That we did not follow.
Sorry mom.
1) Scout out the ENTIRETY of the run beforehand, and keep in mind that conditions can change very quickly
2) Take proper, sturdy inner tubes, preferably with solid bottoms
3) Do not attempt to float a cooler down with you
4) You should really probably wear helmets
5) Every member of the group should be adequately informed beforehand that this ain’t no lazy river to avoid panic and give them the opportunity to change their minds
6) You should keep in mind that young children may find the experience more traumatic than thrilling at times, and should really probably not subject them to it
The rapids really were not extreme, I would say Class II at their gnarliest, and they were broken up by more lazy river-esque pools. But it did get a little stressful once in a while. All in all it was a crazy fun day, emphasis on the crazy. I don’t have any pictures unfortunately, as I did make one good life decision to not bring my camera.
Things winded down by Friday as people started to hit the road back to town and real life, but my cousins Cam, Melia and baby Mason made it up for the weekend, which means I’m three for three on the Walker bebes. I am so lucky to be part of this massive, lovely and majorly insane extended family, and I am so grateful for you all.
That’s about it for Oroville, it was way too much fun and the vacation from my vacation that I didn’t even know I needed with an awesome cast of characters in a really cool part of the world that now has me all hyped up for Arizona with the ‘rents come October!
Hugs to you all!
I’m pretty sure the world would be a better place if we all had lightsaber battles and played superheros more often.
So after my day at the races I headed out to spend some time in the ‘burbs with my cousin Ashley and her three hilarious little dudes…
Berry picking, mini-golfing, road hockey, dinner at the beach and so so so much running around. Those cuties must be solar-powered or something, because the batteries were NOT running out. They had me hitting the sack at 10 and for anyone who knows me, that is a feat. Got my fix of baby time as well with sweet, zen (well, 85% of the time) little Oscar. Growing up is pretty rad but once in a while a girl just wants to put on a cape and compare ninja moves.
Luke: Kelsea if I ride my bike can I go as fast as the Flash?
Me: I don’t know buddy, do you think you can go the speed of light?
Cohen: Maybe if he practices some more…
Underwater camera fun at the beach
I’m not usually one to photograph my meals but I had to preserve this awesome “hot sauce french toast with egg, strawberry and tomato on the side” that the bigger littles made me for posterity
Nabbing Ashley’s picture for those of you who can’t see it on the facebook
I’m headed out on a road trip bright and early tomorrow down to “the lake” (Orville, just over the border in Washington) with a whole motley crew of fam and friends! I won’t be blogging as its a camping more than a internet-ing sort of place, but apparently I can literally walk down the road and get close enough to the border to check my cellular device sans horrendous roaming charges so if you need me (and please do try to refrain from needing me, just in case) shoot a text my way. I’ll give you all the sordid details when I make it back to civilization some time next week!
And lastly a huge thanks to Ashley and James for the hospitality and for raising such sweet, goofy, zany-fun kids!
So yesterday I got on the train to Vancouver, after a short stroll to the station with my massive 70 litre backpack over my shoulders, my daypack slung over my front and my duffel bag and some groceries for the trip in my hands during which not one, but two different biker-looking dudes scoffed and asked me if I could carry all that (the second was kind enough to add that I looked like a pack mule. I was angling for Sherpa).
It’s funny, over the course of my many interactions with other travelers with all sorts of diverse backstories, more people than I had expected have seemed almost affronted to hear that I was travelling alone. And the first question out of their mouths is, more often than not, “But aren’t you scared?”
I mean, first off I’m travelling in my native country and staying with family and friends just about the whole way which seems, y’know, fairly low risk when there are people who do development work in war-torn countries and who take wild cats on multi-day jungle walks on a volunteer basis (http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/travel/i-walked-a-puma-through-the-jungle-voluntarily/article12314228/). But even besides that, why should I be scared? Because I’m on my own? Because I’m a chick? Because I’m on my own and I’m a chick?
I’m scared of plagues and tornadoes and malevolent spirits and plane crashes and war and bad things happening to the people I love and also sometimes very big spiders that get the jump on me. These are things that I have zero control over and that can happen just about anywhere. But if this trip was a boat I’d be the captain. And I have a good head on my shoulder, good feet in my shoes, fast reflexes and legs that have carried me up mountains. Why would I be afraid of something when it has the only person in the world whose motives, experiences and abilities I know wholly and entirely and who I trust implicitly at the helm?
If there’s only one thing in the world you can be sure of, make sure it’s you. I am not afraid to be alone because I know myself and I have faith in my judgment, my preparations and my ability to react as things arise. Never be scared of anything that you can learn to understand and avoid, it’s so tragically limiting. I do my research; I carry maps, first aid and extra food. I keep an eye on my drinks and a hand on my bags. My secret inner gunslinger has a canister of pepper spray stashed where she can get to it in a heartbeat.
I know I might make mistakes, but I know I’ll learn from them. Nothing is risk free. Travelling alone as a woman sure isn’t, but neither is travelling period, or crossing the street for that matter. Never let fear of preventable things stop you from doing what makes you blindingly happy, just be smart and be someone on whom you can rely. If you can’t, figure out why and do the prep and research and practice you need to learn to.
And yes sir, I can damn well carry my own stuff.
I’m still finding it hard to believe that this trip is actually happening. The first leg of it being over is more than my ecstatic brain can fully process at the moment, please stand by.
I had such a fun time in Jasper, and I’m pretty sure they pump something addictive out into that fresh mountain air. Every year thousands of young people from all over Canada and the world (tons from Australia and New Zealand for whatever reason) flood into town to work in the hotels and restaurants, as park rangers or tour guides and live in staff housing, and many end up putting off real life (as my friend Adam at the Whistlers Tramway said it) for a few more years and just staying.
If you’ve been reading the blog you’ve already gotten most of the highlight reel, but I just wanted to take a sec to plug some of my favorite spots in town, because I haven’t really touched on that.
SnowDome Café
SnowDome’s sign advertises it as a café, while at first glance it appears to be a Laundromat. Both of these are deceiving- it is also an internet café. And they play really good music. But seriously, it’s a full Laundromat with a coffee bar at the front that I’ve been assured is the best in town (and it measures up to the hype), not to mention the quirky-cool factor. Definitely worth a visit.
Parks Office Lawn
I don’t know if this grassy area in front of the pretty old house that houses Jasper’s Parks Canada office has a more official name, seeing as its more or less the town square, but on a sunny day campers and backpackers in varying states of grubbiness sprawl out on the grass or on the building’s front porch with their laptops mooching off Park’s free Wi-Fi and eating takeout. It’s a great spot to claim a bench, drink your SnowDome latte and watch confused families of tourists wander back and forth in front of the train station.
Patricia St. Deli
Discovered this super-fun sandwich spot because Melissa picks up some hours there and offered to make me a wrap between tours on Thursday. I had to come back though because everything was yummy and fresh and featuring things that pull on my heartstrings like curry mayonnaise and cranberry chutney. The owner was in when I picked up snackage for the train today and he is hilarious, always so fun to see someone loving what they do.
Willow Tree Gifts
Little store tucked in a walkway between Patricia St. and Connaught Ave. that sells all manner of prettiness, from pjs to scarves to cards and home décor stuff. Laughed forever at the genius of the Urban Aid kits in there- especially the Shame on You kit (everything you need for an unanticipated overnight). Almost bought their other kit which had all the essentials like clean undies, toothbrush, etc to be stuck in your carry-on in the unlikely event of your luggage being sent somewhere you are not (like Dusseldorf) while on vacation.
Nutters
A health-food store after my own heart, it also has a bulk section which is probably the best and cheapest way to obtain trail mix in a town that caters to (read: occasionally rips off) desperate hikers. Lots of other yummy healthy snack stuff perfect for 20 hours on a train to Vancouver. Hot chili plantain chips? Si vous plait!
J&D Gifts
Just kidding. We have no idea what this place is. At first it appears to be a weird, dark and rather dusty souvenir shop featuring really creepy crying First Nations dolls but now I’m pretty sure it’s a front for something.
Old Fort Point
This is the hike I did on the first day. It’s short and easy (if you aren’t overly opposed to stairs in the first segment) and provides gorgeous views right outside of town. A great first day activity to give you the lay of the land.
There’s so much that deserves to be seen- Whistlers Mountains, the Icefields, Patricia Lake, more than I have time to touch on. Go see the lovely folks at Sundog Tours though, and they’ll help you out with some really fantastic tours (they ran everything I did so if you’re headed to Jasper and liked my pictures check ‘em out). And I solemnly swear I’m not being paid to say that (Is that an option though? Can we work something out?).
Special thanks to my hostess with the mostest, Melissa (and Ryan too!). You were so awesome and way too good to me. We have a slightly scary amount in common and I am so glad we managed to connect because I had so, so much fun. You rock girl!
And now I’m back on the train… I feel like an old hand at this now… Because it’s only about 20 hours (Only! Hah! I can say that now after the trek out here! This is nothing!) I’m just doing economy class which mostly means no bed, no showers and you’re kinda restricted to 3 cars on the train. Not a hardship whatsoever so far though! Tons of legroom, big seats (and as far as I can see no one actually has anyone sitting next to them, so extra space and a chair for your stuff) access to one of the dome cars, and an outlet! Yipee!
We’re just over the border into BC and we’ve already left the dry alpine biome of Jasper behind. The cedars are the size of skyscrapers and the greenery is pressed right up to the tracks, looking more and more like the West Coast Rainforest I like so much every minute. Vancouver here I come!
Update:
Arrived safely in Vancouver and headed straight to the… racetrack?
Not even kidding, attended my first horse race! And it was really fun! And I lost $2 on my one bet and swore off gambling! I am what may be referred to in some circles as a “sore loser”. This is nonsense. Utter poppycock.
Went out for Italian after with a big crowd of fam and friends, which had me feeling very excited for the camping/cottaging trip to Oroville, Washington on Friday with the whole gang! Tomorrow I’m going up to my cousin Ashley’s for a couple days to hang out with her three little dudes and get my baby fix… So much to be excited for!
Seems like folks turn into things
That they’d never want
The only thing to live for
Is today
I’m gonna put a hole in my TV set
I don’t wanna grow up
Open up the medicine chest
And I don’t wanna grow up
I don’t wanna have to shout it out
I don’t want my hair to fall out
I don’t wanna be filled with doubt
I don’t wanna be a good boy scout
I don’t wanna have to learn to count
I don’t wanna have the biggest amount
I don’t wanna grow up
I would say that roughly two thirds of all the locals I’ve met share a common story- they came to Jasper for a weekend, a week, a month and just never got around to leaving. And I get it. I really, really do. You walk outside of the train station into the cedar-scented air and look up at the mountains and turquoise lakes and realize that you’re already falling in love. Even though it’s crawling with tourists half the year and home to coffee shops and pretty much all the other creature comforts you could want, this part of the west still feels wild.
Maybe its because this place still holds fresh in its muscle memory the spirit of all the men and women who crossed these rivers and climbed these mountains, not so long ago, paving new trails and looking for the coast. Or maybe its the fact that “There was an angry elk on my lawn” is a viable excuse to be late to work in these parts. But just driving past the canyons and valleys and gazing up at the peaks feels like an act of defiance and adventure.
I promise I’ll come home (deep breaths Mom and Dad), but no promises I won’t come back!
So I totally goofed, and my tours were not on Wednesday but on Thursday, as I discovered after waiting for my pick-up in front of Melissa’s for about half an hour. Since I had a free day ahead of me I decided to explore the network of trails out behind town. I also wanted to try out my new barefoot shoes, which are the dorkiest things ever but oh my god you guys, they’re so comfy. And I love that you can grip stuff with your toes. Thanks Gram!
I totally didn’t follow the advice I give to people when I sell them the darn things though… For future reference you really shouldn’t take them on a five hour uphill adventure without breaking them in properly if you want to be able to straighten your legs without your calf muscles going on strike the next day.
I decided to take a big loop that would lead me past Cabin, Upper and Lower Mina, Riley and Patricia Lakes because my spidey senses told me they would be spectacular. I started out from the trailhead at the curve of Pyramid Lake Road and headed up a ridge that gave me a good view back over the townsite, bear bells a-jinglin’.
Good thing too. I was headed down the Cabin Lake fire road when I came over a rise and saw a black bear cub about the size of a St. Bernard about 50 m down the trail and running away (which is sort of the ideal bear encounter). Of course, “where’s momma?” was the first though on my mind, so I backed away down the trail until the cub was out of sight and then speed-walked right out of there, loudly singing Jingle Bell Rock because I had the festive background music courtesy of my bell and what the hell, it’s the only song that came to mind. Took another trail that lead in the other direction when I got back to the split and I have to say, that was pretty darn cool. I saw a bear!
Approx. 40 seconds pre-sighting
And no, I didn’t get any pictures. There are plenty of people around here who would’ve run after the bear though, just to get that perfect shot. They’re the same people who block traffic on the highways to stand maybe two feet away from highly unpredictable bull elk who are heading into the mating season and are thus hopped up on testosterone and sporting antlers that they have been known to stick through car doors. I like to think of it as natural selection. I have so much respect for the rangers and tour guides who have to put up with people like that, especially when they’re the sort that get angry if you suggest that getting their nine year old to stand right in kicking range of a 500 pound animal for a picture is possibly a terrible idea. Stupid people bum me out.
It’s pretty funny though, a lot of people who come visit here just do not get that, even though they occasionally wander down the main street, these animals are still wild. My fave Jasper story so far is one Melissa told me the other night. There’s a really nice golf course up at the Jasper Park Lodge, and they fence it off in the winter. One day this family of tourists comes by the front desk and says “Oh, we noticed that your caribou had gotten out of their pen, but don’t worry, we got them back in.” Lo and behold they went down to check and there were indeed several very confused elk locked on the golf course.
Even now I just picture the front desk clerk’s face and lose it.
I continued along and passed all the aforementioned lakes-just as stunning as anticipated. I’ve been extraordinarily lucky to have been to many beautiful places in my life, but I have to say, Jasper might just be the most scenic.
I made my weary way back to town and watched my SECOND bear of the day cross a highway in front of me. A highway that was a valley and two ponds away, thankfully, because this was not a cub and I was tired and not keen to deal with potentially problematic wildlife. I took a little spill in the trail and skinned my knee, which is one of those sucky injuries that you have constantly when you’re a kid and then never experience for the majority of your adult life. I guess the assumption is that you have that walking thing under control by now. Reason number five thousand, four hundred and ninety-eight why I love Jasper? I walked through town in toe shoes, sweaty and covered in mud with blood running down my calf and people still smiled and said hello.
After cleaning out my war wounds and lying semi-comatose on the couch for a few hours I met Melissa and Ryan at the local Legion to watch a country-folk artist named Hayes Carll play. Totally fantastic show. And hey, $4 beers! Drinking age is 18 in Alberta in case you were wondering, though so far the average guess for my age has been 23. It was awesomely stereotypically western- girls in cut-off jeans and cowboy boots on the dance floor and all. He even covered my fave Tom Waits song (see above)!
So Thursday was indeed my tour day- a shuttle ride to Maligne Canyon and Maligne Lake at 8:30 and a wildlife tour in the evening. Our guide, Marie, was a hilarious young woman from Montreal, and I have never seen someone who seemed so happy to be doing their job, but as she said, “the mountains are my office!” Before we even got to the canyon we stopped at the viewpoint over Medicine Lake. I have seen no small number of dramatic mountain vistas in my time here but this one was pretty darn grand. I was a couple steps down the staircase to the water when we heard shouting and looked up to see AN ENTIRE HERD OF BIGHORN SHEEP trot right through the parking lot. They were obviously accustomed to being fed by humans (*aggressively bangs head against wall*) and were all too comfortable until Marie gave them a bluff charge of her own and scared them off. Otherwise the rams might have challenged an unwilling human participant to a head butt contest or just spent hours licking the mineral dust off the bus.
We had just got back on board when we spotted a black bear near the side of the road munching on Buffalo berries and looking really cute for something I’m rather really scared of.
SHEEEEEP
The canyon was incredible- more of those dramatically carved limestone layers that I had seen at the Athabasca Falls but plunging head-spinningly deep. I would have love to have more time to explore the network of trails that run around the canyon, and if I ever make it back in the winter I will definitely have walk along the frozen river in the bottom to check out the cave system that’s hidden from the trails and bridges and ice climb some of the frozen-over falls. The pictures really don’t do it justice, the lovely sunshine was a little to bright for my camera to cope with. The whole Maligne River System remained a mystery to local native populations and early explorers for many generations before some experiments involving water-insoluble dye determined that the fast slowing water that leaves Maligne Lake and travels down the river to Medicine and then seems to disappear (leaving Medicine Lake to drain slowly over the course of he summer, earning it its local nickname of Bathtub Lake) actually exits through the world’s largest “karst”, or underground river system, and re-emerges in the canyon as well as some other unexpected places in the valley.
After spending some time following in the footsteps of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and some other notable names who have visited this canyon searching for inspiration, we continued on our merry to Maligne Lake and the boat tour that would take us to Spirit Island. I would probably have lots of interesting things to tell you about the lake and it’s history and whatnot, but it was super stuffy in the boat and I stepped out on to the back deck area, got caught up in the views and sort of forgot to step back in. You have to wonder if it ever gets old, driving a boat through those mountains every day or if you can still appreciate it every time.
I feel like I spend a lot of time (too much time?) waxing poetic about mountains and views and overusing both of those words horrendously, so here, see for yourself! One of those “what the hell did I do so right in a past life to merit the good fortune to be able to come here?” moments. I’m thinking I saved some orphaned puppies from a burning building or something guys, ’cause I am feeling pretty blessed.
I grabbed an awesome wrap at the Patricia St. Deli and ate on the lawn in front of the Parks Office where all the hikers and campers congregate to mooch off the WiFi and met up with the Wildlife tour at 5:30. We saw plenty of elk and our guide, David, explained why it is that it is extra extra extra dumb to place your nine-year-old in trampling vicinity for a Kodak moment these days- the bulls are only weeks away from heading into the mating season, or rut, in which they will wrangle up a harem of about 15-20 sows and protect it until everyone’s knocked up. But in order to attract and protect said harem, the bulls grow massive racks of antlers that are essentially bone without the marrow, and are thus both very heavy and kinda pointy. This, and the upcoming mating season, have them pumped full of hormones that have them chewing grass and posing for pictures one moment and giving someone a serious wake-up call the next.
This is what is locally referred to as an “elk jam”, where masses of tourists pull off to the side of the road to look at wildlife which makes the locals laugh and the truckers pissed
Elk
Bald Eagle
Elk crossing!
Sheep!
Osprey and nest
We also watched the Bighorn Sheep of the day’s earlier incident graze peacefully down by the lake’s edge, this time with two little lambs in tow (cue the awwww’s) and saw a Bald Eagle and an Osprey in their respective nests. Very cool all around, even if there was lot of watching David tell off tourists and being ignored. Natural selection, I’m telling ya. Had a pretty early night after getting in about 10 as I was pretty burnt out from all that sitting on a bus.
My original plan had been to climb Whistlers Mountain today, a steep five hours of switchbacks, but my calves still really, really hate me and I all of a sudden have the biggest, most painful blister in all of time and space so I wimped out and took the tram up to the top. I did hike up to the summit and along a ridge from there though. All the alpine wildflowers were starting to come out and it was totally spectacular. You’ll have to take my word for it in the meantime though. Did I tell you I forgot my camera charger? I forgot my camera charger. But my mum mailed it out so all’s well. Camera did, however, kick the bucket before I could pick up the charger and thus all the pics from the summit are on my phone. I’ll set up a separate gallery post or stick the pics in this one when I can bring myself to email them all separately to myself.
I wanted to go further, but the weather turned and a storm started moving in. Summits of mountains are all sorts of not the place you want to find yourself when there’s electricity in the air, so I headed back down to the tram drop-off ad made it in just as the rain drops started to fall. After saying goodbye to my new friends in the BBQ tent (often travelling solo means striking up a lot of conversations with the servers, which is half the fun yknow?) and took the shuttle back into town.
Upon my return, Melissa and I made dinner and watched a certain Beatles tribute movie that I may be a little obsessed with and then I tagged along to the Jasper Brewing Company with her for a girl’s night out. It’s a pretty cool spot, they make their own beer on site and boast some cute cocktails with local namesakes. Lots of fun!
And lastly, today was my whitewater rafting trip! We were on the Sunwapta River, which is a Class 3 run and “the best whitewater in Jasper” according to the brochure I have in front of me. It was a gorgeous, sweltering day, which is precisely what you want when you’re looking to get majorly splashed with water that stays at a balmy 3 degrees Celsius. Lots of splashes and waves and I never once felt like I was going to fall out of the boat. Which was good, cause our guide, Jerome, hadn’t dropped anyone in 4 years and I didn’t want to be the one to tarnish his record. Oh to be a raft guide… I’m sure there are some not-fun parts behind the scenes, but as Jerome said (while gesturing at the rushing river and the mountains and the trees- “Thank you for stepping into my office.”
They do make pics available to buy, so I’m going to go pick them up today and tack ’em up here later.
And today’s my last day in Jasper. I know. I’m so excited to get to Vancouver and see my “out west family” but I’m sure going to miss this place…
The Wander Year 