Vancouver

My non-stop flight from London to Vancouver actually did end up stopping in Toronto because we had to divert south to avoid the volcanic ash. I ended the long flight with a fun welcome back to Canada in which I was suspected of trafficking in child pornography. See, when I went through customs the investigating officer of Canada's equivalent to the TSA (understandably) thought I looked nothing like any of my identification. I helpfully suggested that she look at the eyes since that part of my face looks the same despite the dramatic differences in my hair and facial hair. She asked if I had ever worked in customs, and when I replied that I had not she said she had never had anyone tell her how to do her job before. I was too taken aback by her touchiness to say anything, or I would have apologized and clarified that I simply meant that with my particular face and those particular pictures of me, my eyes are the most consistent factor. I wasn't trying to make a statement about how to identify people in pictures in general. She then started asking me about my recent employment and didn't believe that I'd earned enough from teaching to travel for as long as I had been doing so. My inadvertent insult was rewarded by me being taken into a back room, along with all of the obviously Muslim men, where my belongings and laptop were searched for drugs or child pornography. Oh, profiling. Good times. In her defense, I do look super sketchy with my travel beard. 

Once the airport security determined that I am in fact not a threat, I was able to head out into the city. That day I mostly just trudged out to the hostel and ate some Thai food. I considered signing up for one of their day trips before realizing I could just spend bus fare to get to the same places. 

The next day I went out to the art museum, which had an exhibit titled Visceral Bodies. The main section held a collection of da Vinci anatomy sketches that were mostly instructions on how to make an anatomy book. The sketches were mostly correct, but because they were never published, most of da Vinci's insights wouldn't be reconstructed for another 200 years. Other highlights included the drawing of a torso with its organs exposed that Kati used for poster in Tis Pity, sculptures that including vocal cords and innards on display and others that employed the use of medical tech to make art.

When I finished my long tour of the museum, I wandered China town before checking into by far the sketchiest hostel I have ever slept in (which, if you're a regular reader, you know is saying quite a lot). It turns out that while West  End of downtown Vancouver is a beautiful neighborhood full of trendy shops, well-designed and maintained parks, and delicious restaurants, whereas downtown Eastside is a junky-infested shithole where there's an open drug market a block away from the police station. My hostels in each part of town reflected their locations. In the west end, a couple blocks from the bay, the slightly overpriced hostel was clean, modern, and full of clean modern young people. The hostel in the eastside only cost $60 for seven nights, and was also overpriced for what it was. The dilapidated building was full of falling apart beds with filthy mattresses that were regularly sprayed for bug beds out of necessity, lockers that had been crow-barred open, and a lot of older junkies who were let in despite the sign saying that no one over the age of thirty-five could stay there. A hand-scrawled sign in the common room warned not to bring your laptop into the hostel since it would be stolen: don't sleep with it under your pillow or anything, and when it is stolen don't bother reporting it, just buy one that was stolen from someone else at a pawn shop. Had I seen that sign and the rooms before buying a room for the week I definitely would have gone back to the other hostel, despite my obsessive need to not spend money. I got out of the room to go watch How to Train Your Dragon, which was fucking fantastic. 

I spent a good part of the next day walking the twelve kilometer perimeter of the forest covered peninsula that is Stanley Park. A sign told a First Nations legend about how a particularly impressive stone just off the coast was a man made immortal in stone as a reward for 'unselfishness.' By the way, I love the Canadian term for what Americans call Native Americans or Indians. First Nations is more accurate (humans are not native to the Americas and have never been a singular unified people -- hence nations, plural) and sounds way more badass. Stanley Park was home to giant basalt cliffs and a great deal of wildlife, notably numerous herons and some bald eagles. 

The end of the park closest to downtown had a number of totem poles. 

On the city side of the short bridge was a more modern art in a small park: 

I enjoyed a late lunch at a Mongolian barbecue buffet. I filled up several bowls with vegetables, raw meat, and marinades to be grilled for a couple minutes in a huge swirling metal bowl. Afterwards, I relaxed in the large city library for the rest of the day.

The following morning I finished reading Jack Kerouac's On the Road on a bus out to Lynn Canyon. As soon as I arrived I felt at home in a way I hadn't in over a year. The flora and terrain just looks and smells right in the Pacific Northwest. 

I would be terrified of riding down this mountain bike trail, but it makes me happy that some people can fly down it. 

The forest rang with the concussive sounds of woodpeckers pecking. Gods, I love the Pacific Northwest!

The view of the waterfall is courtesy of the fifty meter high and forty-eight meter long suspension bridge in the park. Had there been fewer people about, I doubt I could have resisted my urge to jump up and down to make it bounce. 

I spent the next few days just relaxing in the library, buying a new book (H.P. Lovecraft short stories) and reading it in  various parks, and wandering around to look at parks and street art. I particularly liked a sculpture of a head whose face was cracked like a desiccated river bed, and which had cool resonance when I stood inside it. 

I attempted to go to Grouse Grind, a mountain overlooking the city, but the trail was closed for restoration. Instead, I managed to walk my way to Lynn Canyon and explored some more trails there. 

After a slow paced week in Vancouver, I took a bus down across the border to Seattle. 

Update: I originally got some of the place names wrong in this post. Thanks to Brook for helping me fix it.