Notes on New Zealand

Back in Christchurch after a fleeting 7 day tour of New Zealand's south island, my main impression of this vastly underpopulated country is just how beautiful it is. Ranging from sandy beaches to flat plains, vast mountains and gorgeous blue glaciers, there is a whole lot to see, explore and experience. The weather can sometimes be off-putting: we had a joke on the bus that there was a rain cloud that had fallen in love with the blue Connections logo; but you can still do a lot despite the rain.













Missing out on skydiving in Queenstown was really sucky; but as I kept telling my new friends: you can jump out of an aeroplane almost anywhere. Milford Sound in the rain was also a rather nice, calm experience – the rainfall makes more waterfalls appear out of the rock and gives everything a very misty, ethereal look. Not being able to see the peak of Mount Cook was a bit of a bummer, but the surrounding scenery was still pretty spectacular and what would you know, but when we finally arrived back in Christchurch it was sunny.

Not for long...my final full day here has been a massive rain fest. Not a rain storm that blows over, but one long, dreary damp day when everything gets wet – shoes, coat, bags.... Thankfully I have a rain coat! Sometimes it looks like it's letting up, but as you adventure back outside you realise it is just raining slightly less than before and there are more unfortunates passing without umbrellas than about 10 minutes ago. Christchurch, as I mentioned before, is quite a small little town. I had thought it economically depressed until I went out for a few drinks last night. The place was thriving! There are quite a few bars, pubs and clubs and after about 11pm the streets were busy with revelers from different parts of the world. The one thing that struck me the most, however, was how...uncomfortable I felt. I was not scared, nor did I feel threatened, but the overall feeling or vibe of the place was of people hunting. Mainly men. Unlike Queenstown, there were men everywhere: old, young, drunk and slightly more sober. All seemed to have one goal in mind – to kiss (or more) a girl. My friend Dewi & I even saw one gaggle of men carrying a cardboard cut-out, much as you'd see promoting a movie – of a woman in the streets. She was probably a famous actress but I didn't recognise her.

New-found friends... one of the best things about traveling, after or maybe joined with seeing new places (often ones you have thought of visiting for a long time), is meeting new people. Admittedly this can sometimes be a tiring experience, but there are many benefits. I primarily chose to do a tour of the south island because I knew it would be easier than me trying to find my way across and around the country, organising places to stay and eat along the way. (I am even happier with my decision now that I know how expensive internet access is here. I still can't really work it out, other than to think that you are pretty far from anywhere.) The Connections tour had another great advantage though – traveling with other (hopefully) like-minded people. It's always interesting to be thrown together with a group of strangers, and little did I realise when I joined the tour in Christchurch that many of those on the bus had actually already spent 8 days together in the north island. I met many fun and interesting people and got to appreciate them all to different extents and for different reasons. Some I wasn't so sure on at first meeting, others I got to know quickly, some slowly, some barely at all. However all were friendly, approachable, and cheerily said good morning to one another when we'd meet, invariably around 7:20am, to eat breakfast before packing ourselves back in the coach for a long journey to another spot to stay. So, my memories of New Zealand will be of endless, arresting scenery (as my photos attest to) of mountains, lakes, green plains, rolling hills, sheep, snow and ice, and a whole bunch of new friends and acquaintances whom I wish all the best with their further travels, returns home, exams, love lives and general life. It was great to explore the south island with you all and share different experiences, not to mention learn more about myself in the process of getting to know you and reacting to different circumstances. Thank you all, and thank you New Zealand. I wish I had learned more about the Maori (there was a stay with them on the north island tour) and I have no idea how to say goodbye in their tongue, though I am sure Google would help if I could afford the internet right now, but that is what I say. I am not sure when I will be back, but I hope that when that does roll around I have a bit more sunshine and as great friends and encounters as this time.

Snippets from the South Island

As there is so much to see in New Zealand and I (still) don't drive, I decided to go on a tour instead. This would also be a good opportunity to meet some people in addition to exploring the South Island - exciting!


Dec. 14: Fox Glacier
Surprisingly blue, surprisingly craggy, surprisingly 'dirty' (dust etc. on the ice). Walk up through light rain forest and rocks until reach the ice...pretty cool but very much on a trail. It stretches out and out and seems to get craggier the higher it gets.
Was great to just concentrate on walking; although at times I was a little nervous it felt like a good achievement. I've missed and should do more physical exercise...I hate the gym so much: it makes me feel like a farm animal. If there was a glacier on my doorstep would I walk on it though?

Dec 17
The landscape from Queenstown to Milford Sound (through the Southern Alps) reminded me of South Wales. The same low hills (with mountains in the distance though), scrubby bush, valleys and rivers. New Zealand's South Island truly is very unpopulated, and everywhere you look there seem to be mountains, lakes and waterfalls. NZ used to be a land full of birds who evolved not to fly as there were no predators) and evergreen trees. Any grass, mammals (other than some bats) and deciduous trees were brought here...crazy to think. Even the widespread foxgloves are not native.
I try to imagine what it was like before the European settlers came. Trees all over, many kinds of bird running around; the land theirs. No sheep. It's hard to picture.

Fifth stop: New Zealand

Arriving in Christchurch, I am struck by how English it all looks. It's so strange to have traveled so far a distance yet be somewhere that feels oddly like home. It is so green, the buildings really quite similar - especially near the hostel I am staying at. However, as I walk around I realise that it also has a lot of American influence - not just the wide streets but the town centre, away from the cathedral, is like most in the States: quite ugly blocks with shops arranged by type. A row of furniture stores, a pride of outdoor outfitters...there are several 'adult' stores (which somehow don't even seem that seedy), but all in all the city seems more like a small town seeking bright lights. Maybe the economy has been hit hard here, but so many of the shops are closed down... It feels like an odd small town - where the restaurants are all closed or in the process of closing by 7pm and a 7 minute walk from the city centre takes you to either suburb-style bungalows with gardens of a concrete jungle of big outlet-type shops (think car retailers, ugly supermarkets etc.). Maybe it is the gardens that really do it, though. What city has space for 80% of the homes to have a garden? Yet that is how it seems here. Perhaps that's the real reason Christchurch is known as the Garden City, not because of it's supposedly abundant parks.

The atmosphere however, suits me well. Since I left Montreal my partying mode appears to have been switched off and most nights are spent reading, researching stuff to do the next day and eating. AmＩold, or have I just not felt the urge to drink? Or even just go out? I feel that I could drink anywhere - as in it is not a unique thing to do, unlike seeing x attraction or wander new streets - but must admit that I do sometimes long to walk into a bar and just get chatting to some locals and let the randomness start. Must overcome my terrible shyness, I suppose! Which seems surprisingly hard at times.



Off to Brighton Beach
How do all suburbs manage to have that same feel about them? Of a place asleep most of the day, just waiting for life to return. Somehow, although I've never really lived in one (Hemel + Nottingham were the closest I got, I guess Brossard too) they always make me think of those bored teenage years, when going to the supermarket was something to do and the whole world felt like it was on hold.

You can't ever really imagine anything terrible happening in a suburb (though it undoubtedly does) - just families living their lives out happily, waiting for that yearly 2 week holiday, a promotion, new TV, death. I'm not all that sure how city or country life is all that different, but it is to do with energy...


I went to stay in a nice place in New Brighton because I wanted to be near the beach and also somewhere relatively quiet so I could do some work on my letter of intent for university. It was SO nice to have my own room, and the beach was only a 10-15 minute walk away down suburban streets. There was even a library on the pier with stunning views of the sea - a great place to go and take advantage of free internet. While there I got to thinking about photos. Do you take photos for yourself, as memories, or for other people to see? With the advent of social networking sites, I am sure it is more the latter, especially when you yourself are in it. I wonder too if this has changed how people see things around them if they have a camera lens and viewers in mind. (With that, here are some photos I took :p)

Fourth stop: Fiji

What other airline would greet you with a hearty 'Bula!" and stewards wearing bright orange hula shirts and exotic flowers in their hair?


Fiji was the first stop where I felt like a real tourist - probably because most people who come here and are on the kind of tour I am on are all from elsewhere (and usually on their way to somewhere else). However, most people are friendly and we all have stories and tips to share. What strikes me is to go so far just to meet people from the same country as you. You can really get a good look at different personalities and characteristics when people are surrounded by strangers from home in a strange land. I wonder what they think about me. In fact, I've noticed a few of my old social paranoias and fears coming back - more along the lines of if people are talking about me (why on earth would they be?) or dislike me or think I am weird (well they may be well founded with that one...)




Fiji is amazing. Stunningly beautiful, with friendly people who sing to welcome you and once again when you leave. It is hard to find words to describe the lushness of the greenery and the clarity of the water here...there is beauty all around and it is intensified, in part I think, by how far away you are from anything you've ever known. Smack in the Pacific, this island nation has long had an allure for me. As for the Fijians themselves, they can be really quite attractive until they reach middle age, when something then goes terribly wrong. Gravity takes hold in quite unkind ways and suddenly you're left with a very large, round, very smiley person.

It is so relaxing here, nothing to do other than decide whether to drink or swim or kayak. Fiji time should be taken up all over the world: things will get done when they get done.
Vinaka Fiji!
At Smuggler's Cove, mainland (after having been on a great boat for a few days)

I think what I loved about the boat was that it was (surprisingly) possible to find moments of quiet. It seems wrong to say I am sick of hearing this tumult of British, American, Canadian, Aussie voices clamouring on about what they've 'done' or are going to 'do'. You cannot 'do' a country. You generally do a chore, like the washing up, or taking the bins out, or a baby's nappy. It seems so disrespectful, not to mention thoughtless, and it it really gets to me.

*** Some perspective *** My first 2 nights in Fiji were spent on a tiny (as in walk around it in maybe 5 minutes) island which was very picturesque but the overall experience depends a lot on who else is on it while you are. There was a group of young (20 - 24) Australian guys staying there and I was lucky enough to be in the same part of the dorm as them. As in on the bottom bunk of one, basically next to the two others. Their aim seemed to be to get as drunk as possible and come in to the dorm, shouting and singing and then try to make inane conversation with me. Not much appreciated, especially as each morning I had to be up and ready for 9am to go elsewhere. Amazingly, these guys managed to get up at about the same time too.... I guess I am getting old.
The Wana Taki cruise (I was on the boat for 2 nights) was amazing; the crew were great and the other people on board were super nice and we formed a great group, we talked, got drunk and laughed a lot. When I got to Smuggler's Cove, however, I had really bad earache and seemed to also have a fever and feel generally shit. Whether this was the start of an ear infection from diving 4 times (the water is CRAZY clear in Fiji, not to mention pretty warm and there are tonnes of coral, fish and more to see; I even had my first night dive!) or a cold/flu (not sure how you get one in the tropics) or the first signs of dengue fever I did not know, all I knew was that I felt mingy and uncommunicative and sick of tourists. Even though I was one...

Alcatraz and thoughts on leaving

I seem to have a problem sleeping in hostels. Sound familiar? Anyone who's spent any time away from home knows the strange sensation of sleeping in another bed, and anyone who's stayed in a hostel knows that combining this with sleeping with strangers is a sure recipe for little sleep. Maybe this whole problem started with my last week or so in Montreal – stressing out about not being ready, finding someone to take my room, and my application to do a Master's all contrived to reduce my time in the land of nod.

You can therefore imagine that I was not best pleased, Sunday morning, at the prospect of waking up at 7am after going to bed around 1:30 that same morning; not to mention the mean thin mattress I was sleeping on that made a shifty crunkly noise when weight was put on it, suspiciously similar to the sound of a mattress protected against kids wetting the bed. My goal was worth getting up for though – the island of Alcatraz awaited and I was set to catch the first ferry over there. I thought for some horrible moments that I wouldn't actually make it since the #10 bus, driven by a slouching mass of a man who looked like he would have to roll many parts of him up before getting up himself, lumbered slowly along the streets; so slow in fact that we barely overtook a couple walking in the same direction.

Waiting in line to get on the ferry I was struck by the short-sightedness of the tour operators. Instead of creating a wonderful opportunity to simulate what it may have been like for prisoners sent to this island jail, they instead slowed everyone down by taking a photo of each person or group in front of a vinyl backdrop of Alcatraz (the island, not the prison). Yours to buy for only $22! Bear in mind that while on the boat you have ample opportunity to take a photo in front of the real thing.

The ferry ride offered gorgeous views of the city, its buildings shrouded in mist as the sun started shining. It was a gorgeous day, and I was all set for a prison visit. Alcatraz has a whole lot of history – it was a military fort until money was tight and it became a prison (until money got tight then it became a national park)... who knows what might happen next?! There's a steep incline to the prison which sits imposingly on top of the rock. Walking amid ruined and abandoned buildings, the place felt desolate, much like I would imagine prison would feel. There's a great audio tour of the prison included in the cost of admission, and it is well worth it. With the headset on you can almost forget all the other tourists stopping at the same places and looking up at the same time as you.

Although it was warm outside, inside the prison was a completely different matter. This place was cold – and full of so many stories, dreams, deaths and hopes for something else. The cells were really quite small and there were, of course, no TVs, though prisoners did have access to 2 radio stations. Interestingly enough, the meals served had to not only be nutritious, but well-presented too – wonder if that is still a rule these days? Perhaps the most poignant thing about Alcatraz was the proximity to the outside world. San Francisco is a 10-minute boat ride away and is clearly visible and often audible, depending on the direction of the wind. Imagine being locked up on a rock, only allowed out of your cell for a certain amount of time each day, and outside the prison building for a short span of time in that day, but all the time you know that your old life is just beyond your reach. Must have been heart-breaking and infuriating, maddening... so maddening that people would scheme and plot and try (jury is still out as to whether any succeeded) to escape.

I did almost get stuck on Alcatraz when I tried to take the 'Agave Trail' back to the dock but instead ended up on the other side of the prison, surrounded by the stench of bird pooh (the island is now a bird sanctuary – learn from my experience and look before you kneel) and the only way out being up some steep, crumbling concrete steps to the exercise yard. I eventually found my way to the boat and joyfully set sail in the sunshine for San Francisco, wondering how it must have felt for prisoners who got off the Rock to their freedom.

The rest of my time in the city was spend riding the cable cars - awesome! - and doing mundane chores like posting things, trying to get back the music lost on my iPod, and attempting (unsuccessfully) to finish my letter of intent for Concordia. As I prepared for my departure to Fiji (via L.A.), I got to thinking about how, although I wasn't too keen on San Francisco to begin with, which I think was due in large part to the mingy hostel I stayed in in the ghetto my first two nights, I had now, like Vancouver and Seattle before, got used to the city somewhat and was slightly nervous about the next move. Traveling is fun, of course, but it is also stressful. After a few days you have to get used to a new place, new bus systems, new people, new beds. The place you would think you should go to get photocopies is not the place where you can actually get them... But my next stop is Fiji, how could I be nervous?

Sitting in the departure lounge (this is too kind a word for what this actually is, I think they are in the middle of refurbishing it, or if not they should be), I can't believe I am on the move again and I can barely believe where I am going. Although I thought out the trajectory of my whole trip about 5-6 months ago, I have not done extensive research on any of the places I am going and in fact only booked my Fiji accommodation a week ago. I am stoked...I am looking at all the other people here and trying to figure out who is Fijian, who is on vacation, who is backpacking... I have no clue how long the flight is, I only know it's currently 21:02 on December 01 and I arrive at 05:45 December 3rd. I wonder how it will feel to cross the dateline...will I even notice? Will time be all screwy for the next while, or will the relaxation (and partying?) of Fiji mean I take to it like a duck to water? Only a few hours until I find out!

This will of course be posted once I actually have access to the intetron, which may not be for a week!

Golden Gate Bridge

So after one adventure in Golden Gate Park, today I decided to walk across Golden Gate Bridge, symbol of San Francisco. After about 5 hours sleep, I first had to change hostels - am now staying at one in Fort Mason, surrounded by 4 acres of national parkland and with gorgeous views of the bridge. After climbing up about 100 steps to get to my new 'home', the bridge didn't look so far away so off I went.



The walk was long, but worth it. Going along the waterfront I could see yachts and birds and walked through a marshland conservation area where I spotted a heron among the coots. To the left of me were huge houses facing the water, to the right the bay, Alcatraz and the bridge, of which I took many, many photos. After a rather winding, long walk to get up to it, I was finally treading its metal frame.

It's strange to be on a monument, a romantic idea you had of a place, something that speaks to you about a destination. When the bridge was nearby, it seemed like something from a film, but walking on it I could not deny where I was, and wondered about the people who built it. By the time I was nearly at the other side I was quite looking forward to getting the bus back across it...my feet hurt (probably due in part to my wanderings around the park yesterday -- after-effects aided by some drinks in a cool Irish pub near China Town). Could I find where to catch the bus? No. So, I walked back, faster this time, other than a few moments when my right foot decided to send shooty ache pains up my leg. My thirst was great and I felt a bit dizzy and stopped at some over-priced cafe place to buy a cup of tea and some caramel-coated popcorn to fuel my journey to the bus-stop I could see outside. It was surrounded by people. Coralled like a misbehaving horse, the thin metal pole gave hope that the bus would arrive soon. It did, and hardly any people got on before it left, packed. Crap. The sun was getting low, I was starving, my feet felt like hell and I had to get back to the hostel. Walking it would be. Half brain-dead, trying to focus on the glorious landmark of the Fort Mason Center (with Safeway right near by - score for dinner tonight!), I caught myself mumbling - yes I fear I might have gone a little insane with the continual ache in my feet. How do refugees do it when they flee from their homes on foot, carrying all they can of their lives to a new place? I was wearing shoes and only a shoulder bag (pretty heavy but still, nothing in comparison).
Stumbling (believe me I nearly gave in to crawling) up the hill towards the hostel, I could only think of one thing.... sitting down. Now I am, and am nearly too lazy to get up to eat. This place is nice. The kitchen is vast, there's a wood-burning brazier-thing in the common area I am currently seated in and laundry is free (if you use the staff washing machine by accident like I did).

I guess

this is the problem of having a blog that lots of people have the address of - that sometimes, when something happens that you know they may not be best pleased with, you battle with whether to write it or not. I am getting over that hurdle by deciding to write it here, but leave the decision about posting it until I have got to the end.

After various set-backs in getting stuff done this morning, I decided to head off to Golden Gate Park for a relaxed afternoon. There's no denying that San Francisco is one hell of a beautiful place. The buildings all seem to have special attention to detail with ornate doorways, window frames and other accents. The hilly streets make a dipper ride to one side of Market while they flatten out somewhat to the other. Everywhere I turn there are things I want to explore... However downtown shopping is not one of them - it being 'Black Friday' (the day after Thanksgiving, where most everything goes on sale and people have actually been trampled as others rush to grab something that just yesterday they would have paid more for) this experience is even more stressful. So after some false starts in the Union Square area I instead head to Golden Gate Park.

San Fran, by the way, is massive. It stretches long and fills in the land toward the water like a child's colouring book where they don't want to miss anything out. The bus system is pretty easy to navigate though, and once I got to the park a guy on the 71 said he was going the same way so we walked together. He told me about tunnel nearby where all the stars in the 70s used to go before they were famous to smoke pot, so we walked through there and then around a path to 'Hippy Hill'. This guy was from Pittsburgh and as we kept talking and he told me about the conservatory and some other spots to see. We sat down for a bit and, surrounded by the smell of pot, I wasn't too surprised when he asked 2 older longish-haired guys nearby (who I had earlier overheard waxing lyrical about the 'golden age' and what seemed to be a sound belief in the factuality of aliens having come down to earth and showed or left us a whole tonne of stuff) for something. Now although I used to smoke quite a bit when younger, in recent years I've found that a little puff generally makes me a tad paranoid when around other people, so although I have absolutely no problems or feel weird about other people smoking it, I don't usually partake any more. 'But you're only in San Francisco once' I thought, and these people had not alerted any weird or dangerous radar at all (funnily enough I had earlier been browsing through a book about birth dates and your personality - apparently those born on Sept. 20 have a tendency to believe their own powers far more than they should and have to learn from their mistakes etc. There was good stuff too but I don't remember it now. Anyway, back to that later). So I had a puff, and whoah, I forgot that pipes were a bit stronger than a joint. I was all happy and calm and everything seemed a bit funny, the sun was out, these people were friendly.... then I decided at some point to have another little puff. I knew this was probably not a great idea before I even put it towards my mouth, but well, I had an interesting time.

So, if you are wondering why there aren't more photos of this glorious park (and it deserved a lot, it is outstanding, full of so many different areas and buildings and smaller gardens within it), it's because I was wandering around switching between mild to medium paranoia, self-analyzing, observation, and feeling like I had backed away from myself and had become a clear film or lens through which I could observe, or view (not only in terms of with the eyes but with the mind, perspective) life in front of me being played out. That is to say, like when you look at a see-through drawing of a cube you can make it go away from you or come out towards you, I felt like I could experience life through many different perspectives just by shifting my mind a little.

To cut a long story short, after getting very confused about where I was on the map I had; thinking children, families and others were sending me secret messages in things they said to one another; that nature was trying to communicate with me and that I had gone so far away from myself I wasn't sure how to put the myriad things that make up me back together again, I found my way out of the park and headed on a bus back to the hostel. On the way I managed to see the outside of the observatory, a really cool pond covered in algae (I think) to the point that the ducks looked like they were glued on to green cement until one of them moved and you would see a trail of silver as the sky reflected in the water wake, Music Concourse, the outside of De Young Museum and the Japanese Gardens which are, by the way, stunning. It was there, however, that I started to realise I was pretty cold and hungry. People seemed overwhelming and I noticed numerous ones posing for photos in front of pagodas, or statues, or bridges and thought scathing thoughts about them -- these recordings of a place with them in it, not the place as they saw it. 'This is me here' compared to 'this is what I saw here'.














I had come to San Francisco thinking I would really love it, but right now I must say that I'm not sure I do, and I feel disappointed; whether in the city or in myself is a whole other question. The fact is, I wish other people were here to explore this place with, it would be so much more fun! I miss my friends, I miss all the good times we had, I miss knowing I can go down the road or take a bus or just walk around and see people I know and enjoy spending time with. I miss the comfort of knowing a city, I miss my own bed, I miss being able to turn the heating up when I want or wear whichever clothes of mine I want or sleep in a room by myself or have a bathroom where I can stay under the shower for ages. I don't really feel like talking to random people right now, but it might be the only way out of feeling this bleurghhh. I'm tired, it's that time of the month and I don't feel like making an effort to do anything other than drink lots of tea and nap off this post-hash haze.

I know that later on or tomorrow or in a few days I won't feel this way but today, my friends, my family, Morpheus, good old Montreal - I miss you. And am almost back to earth...

Third stop: San Francisco

As soon as I started to board the plane, I felt excited. San Francisco!! Throughout the journey here (with maybe the most precocious child in the world sitting behind me, piping up authoritatively about shiatsu massage, balsamic vinegar and which parts of some film her Dad enjoyed the most, and she was all of 7) when I felt tired or blahhh - imagine trying to call someone special and the phone not working properly and losing about $5 trying to get to Directory Assistance to be constantly told by the person who picks up the phone that the numbers must have got crossed and to dial the same number again, while you are feeling hormonally unbalanced and tired and a bit nervous - I just kept remembering where I was headed and had a huge grin on my face. Let me explain... much like Chicago 'The Windy City', San Francisco has long evoked romantic images and is a place I have wanted to visit and explore since I was a teenager.

So far, the west coast has amazed me with their transport systems and friendliness. San Francisco is no exception.... it cost $5.35 to get from the airport to the hostel on the BART and apparently you can travel one way for $1.75 and get a transfer to travel on as much as you like for the alloted time afterwards. I am contemplating however a 3-day pass for $18 which lets you ride the cable cars (!) normally $5 a ride, and all buses.... doesn't seem too bad of a deal but I am honestly not sure how much I will use it as the weather here feels gorgeously warm: today it's meant to reach a balmy 15C. The hostel I am staying at until tomorrow is downtown (near the Civic Center) whereas Saturday I move to one near Fisherman's Wharf. There are lots of ESL students here, the majority of whom seem to come from France, so it is a tinsy tiny bit like being in Montreal (albeit populated by loud, eager 19 yr olds). Am I getting old?!?

There is a lot to explore though so off I go!

Second stop: Seattle

Famous Pike Place Market, Seattle


People on the west coast seem so much friendlier than those out east. I'm not sure if this is because I am in a different frame of mind than when at home, or if they are truly nicer, more community-minded. It feels like coming home - people ask how you are and actually take the time to listen, and it doesn't feel like a social nicety but something they genuinely want to hear about, even for just a few moments. Such a welcoming atmosphere can only make visitors feel more comfortable (or maybe there are some who get freaked out and paranoid and run back where they came from). I guess it could be disarming, and on days when you feel all scratchy and irritable it could get a bit jarring...but so far it just makes the whole place seem so much more human.

I have been wondering if this feeling also comes from the rain. Now, in Vancouver it rained too and I hated it, but so far here it has been this mizzly greyness and, what with the Christmas lights and lack of wind it feels oddly like England. This may add to the feeling of home, but I think it is greatly aided by Kathy. I met Kathy through couchsurfing, an interesting website where you can find people all over the world who are open to you staying on their sofa. Although you can read about people and see their level of verification (regarding their address) and recommendations from people who have stayed with them, I was still quite nervous about the whole experience. However, Kathy set me completely at ease and made me feel very welcome in her home. In fact I came a stranger, and feel like I left having made a new friend.

Goodbye Vancouver, hello Seattle

Vancouver is by far the most beautiful North American city I've ever seen. The architecture may not be all that hot, but the mountains rise majestically above the skyscrapers and the Pacific is at your door. The air here feels so fresh and good...I can imagine if I lived here (yes, that thought came naturally) I'd be so fit - not as a lifestyle choice but by necessity - the surroundings inspire you to run, walk, enjoy. You can breathe deeply here and feel connected to nature, feel like you can fly...
Seattle awaits, a short train ride away to a whole other country.

Some Stanley Park shots (before I got semi-lost in a marshy bit)

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The start of my trip to Seattle did not go all that well, as apparently my apples were hazardous and had to remain (in a bin) on Canadian soil. It would have been hilarious if they were grown in the U.S., but these were good old British Columbia fare and unwanted down south. No Canadian contamination! I managed to save one by asking if I could eat it: the man said that was fine but I had to consume it before I reached the border. Honestly! Tempted to ask for the other one back from the bin, I instead continued and any incredulity at such a rule was whisked away by the sheer size of the train in front of me. This double decker behemoth has so much leg room (I am in seat 7, car 2 in case that makes a difference) that I can only reach the footrest by slouching so far down in my seat I can barely see out the window. Note - I later discovered the footrest was adjustable...sweet!
Yes, I know I'm short, but this is leg room for giants! At only 30 bucks I truly do think, lack of love for apples and all, that this may be the best way to get stateside. There would also be stupendous views...but the sun has gone down already so my sea-view window seat may only show a glimmer of what is meant to be one of the most gorgeous train journeys in North America.

Like Snow White I shall take a bite of this apple and maybe have a snooze before hitting Seattle....

***********
A few minutes later...

Get out iPod to have some tunes to accompany me. Somehow there is no music on there. WTF! Seems like when I charged it up yesterday it deleted everything on it. Nothing...nada..zilch.
Wow. This sucks.
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Upon arrival in Seattle, after having played Frozen Bubbles for about 3 hours (I don't know why either, to my defence it was dark outside and well, I had no music) the station is closing down and I need to call the woman I am staying with. After scrambling for change (WHY don't they have $1 coins here???) I dial just to hear that the number is no longer in service. What to do? I try to call 411 but I need 75c to do so. Hmm...dial 0 for the operator...nothing happens.
The taxi driver outside was ultra-friendly and nice and, thank to Josh, I knew there was a Days Inn downtown where I could stay for cheap. I head off there with a friendly driver, mulling over what to do and enjoying what I can see of the city. Days Inn is a real bargain - $69 a night with free breakfast! (I haven't eaten it yet so don't get mad if my opinion changes tomorrow.) Furthermore, it seems that bus travel in the downtown core of Seattle is FREE!! I am stoked - can't wait to explore tomorrow.
I try calling the lady again from my freezing room..to no avail. Then...DURRHHH it hits me - I have to dial 1 before her number. Meh...

My queen bed is calling. Although I have one at home, this seems like massive luxury after uncomfortable hostel bunks. My God, it's only been a few night and I'm already sick of the beds :s How am I gonna cope for another 8-odd months?! Thankfully I bought some teabags in Vancouver so can lie back with a plastic cup and watch some crappy TV. Aahhh, luxury!

First stop: Vancouver

I would be lying if I said that yesterday morning I didn't wake up with a slight sense of panic and dread. The day had finally arrived, the one I had waited so long for, had dreamed about and imagined...and my heart and mind were in a state of turmoil. I mean, 8 months! What was I thinking?

So I walked around Montreal not really believing that this was the last time I would see it in quite a while, trying to imprint it in my mind. Waiting in line to get through security at the airport, however, it hit me. This was it, I was taking that first step and it felt good! The way I am coping with it at the moment is to take it day by day, or destination by destination: if I think of the whole 8 months ahead of me then I start to freak out but taking it a chunk at a time is far more manageable - something I've never been that good at achieving with other challenges but it across the Lions Gate Bridge before arriving at the attraction.

It was beautiful. The weather really helped, but then so did all the trees and the stunning views. We wandered in the tree tops and took lots of photos (coming up and is the only way I can handle this one!

I was really lucky that Helen, a lovely lady sitting next to me on the plane, offered to give me a lift to the youth hostel, saving me a lot of time, hassle and probably money. The hostel is comfortable, the rooms are surprisingly warm and I have already met more British people in the last 12 hours or so than I have in the past 8 years I lived in Montreal. All I am wishing was that it wasn't quite so damp and that I had had the foresight to pack a few teabags....


Nov. 22 - Exploring Vancouver

Vancouver is known for its rain. Yesterday was no exception. The day started off a bit overcast, and after a late start I decided to go with some other people from the hostel to Granville Market and wandered around the produce, clothing and toy markets. I was very tempted to buy lots of tasty things, not to mention stop off at the brewery for a pint (or 2) but one of the people I was with didn't drink and I kept thinking about the rest of the trip ahead of me, so took things easy. The colours here seem so saturated after the early winter greyness of Montreal. The grass is particularly jewel-like - I felt like Dorothy in technicolour Wizard of Oz splendor. Then the drizzle started and I understood the 'sacrifice' to pay for all that lush greenery. Needless to say, the bus was a far more tempting prospect to return to the hostel than walking over the bridge again.

Despite not sleeping well at night (the bunks are quite uncomfortable, but the rooms blissfully warm), I awoke this morning around 8 - again! My intention was to go back to bed for some shut eye - damn the free breakfast - but I realised it was sunny outside and I had no choice but to get up and take advantage of it. I am lucky that there is only one other girl in the 4-bunk dorm I am in, and even luckier that she knew of a free shuttle bus to the Capilano Suspension Bridge. Kelli & I headed off after brekkie and the bus ride took us through some of Stanley Park and probably to be on Facebook) before getting the next shuttle back into town. What I am still left wondering is why anyone built a bridge there in the first place - nothing I read there could shed light on the matter (I am resisting the urge to Google it as I type). Upon our return to the city I decided to wander through Gastown to China Town, where I intended to eat some cheap yet tasty food. Gastown was quite picturesque but I was pretty cold by this point so didn't dawdle (although I did find a shop selling British sweets and bought some Ginger Bonbons...they melt in your mouth and are very gingery - yum!).


While walking to China Town I met Samantha, a 'high class' escort, who after commencing conversation by proclaiming "Someone smells bad" continued to tell me about a terrible date she'd been on a few nights previously where the guy (who was apparently very well off), had her loading two crack pipes while he drove, still a little drunk from his previous partying, towards a police road check. It dawned on me, yet again, how lucky I am. Not only to be on this trip but to be able to get paid for my time in a more complex manner than selling my body. Nevertheless, Samantha had a smile on her face and did seem genuinely happy - however that may have been because she was on her way to the Compassion Centre for some discount pot. I wished her luck as we parted ways. I was surprised by the amount of really poorly looking people in this area of town - many of them seemed to have mental issues combined with drug addictions, terribly painful looking sores and scabs on their faces, and hundreds of shopping trolleys.






Today was one of those days when I could really understand why someone would want to live in Vancouver. The city feels friendly (the people here are generally very helpful and nice), there is a lot of different stuff to see and do and, overall, it is beautiful. The mountains in the distance, the city hugging the water, and the lure of the Pacific just a bit further out. The air was fresh, the sky clear and I had a smile on my face. Thank God it isn't forecast to rain again until Tuesday! (My fingers are still crossed.)