Princeton: Not just an ivy league school.

It’s a small town in the Okanagan that captured our tourism dollars because it was starting to get dark. I’d reserved a hotel room in exotic Langley. Initially, Jordi and I would spend the night in Vancouver, but hotel rooms cost $400 per night. Langley was marginally cheaper at ~$300, but it was conveniently just off Highway 1.

At 8 p.m., we were three hours away from Langley. After convincing the hotelier in Langley over the phone to waive our booking fee, Jordi asked me to find new lodging before the sun disappeared.

Unbeknownst to Jordi, I’ve slept on a mat in a coed dorm room in Beijing. I’ve slept in a windowless room in Airlie Beach where the only alternate exit in case of fire was a porthole in the ceiling. The Hostelling International accredited hotel in Ghent had black mould in the showers. I’ve stayed at the bizarrely named “Sparkling Dolphin Inn” in Kyoto, where the chairs wore baby socks.

I am a connoisseur of dumpy lodgings.

I pointed to a building just off Crowsnest Highway. “But that’s a motel!” exclaimed Jordi.

???

What is the problem? It’s a 4.3 star-rated 2-star motel. We had TWO microwaves in our room:

Two beds, a Keurig machine for those who travel with their own Keurig pods, cable TV, and a shower with a clogged drain!

A window that doesn’t open!

Jordi was a little grossed out. I suppose it was a major downgrade from his dad’s bucolic Millarville farm.

Never mind. We were now in Princeton, and we were hungry. All but one grocery store (out of maybe three?) had closed at 8pm. Only Save On was open until 9pm. Wait, no, it’d closed at 8 too–they’d just posted a note on the door announcing their new hours. Great. Jordi managed to get a meal from a stoned teenager who was working the A&W drive-thru alone. I boiled some water for my freeze-dried meal and ate out of a bag in bed while watching the end of Addams Family Values.

I’d still live in Princeton over Kamloops. Grand Forks seemed nice until we passed a bunch of billboards about Jesus and a house waving a giant FUCK TRUDEAU flag.

Why am I devoting a blog post to Princeton? Princeton wasn’t the point of our trip. It was Jordi’s dad’s 65th birthday, and the whole family and more were invited. I was keen on going to Calgary but not to mingle with 50ish people, most of whom Jordi only vaguely knew.

Twenty years ago, I lived in Calgary. I still have one friend from my Calgary era. Sadly, this friend, Gator, moved to Edmonton in the spring. Happily, she loved me enough to make the three-hour drive from Edmonton. While Jordi and his family celebrated the original 9/11 (his dad was born on September 11) in Millarville, Gator and I spent the night at the 4.3 star-rated 3-star hotel in South Calgary. Our room at Delta Hotel had just one microwave and a window that did not open. Rather than confine ourselves to the hotel, we attempted to induce nostalgia by strolling down 17th Ave.

The disappearance of a bench in front of the Southland LRT station triggered my first memory. “There used to be a bench here: a homeless guy slapped my ass while I was huddled on it!”

Gator was not impressed.

“Why? What were you doing lying on the bench?”

“I was waiting for you to pick me up! It was cold.”

Gator examined the area incredulously. “But why didn’t you wait inside the station? Or in the enclosed bus shelter?”

These are all good questions for which I don’t have real answers. Unfortunately, the only thing that sticks out in my memory is the slapping of my butt by one of Calgary’s unhoused. I was actively blogging during my Calgary era, so I could probably find out more details about that day.

Along 17th Ave, we searched for remnants of its Red Mile era (the street was given this name during the Flames’ 2004 Stanley Cup playoff run). There wasn’t much. I can’t say I’m disappointed the store with the adult baby fetish gear is no longer around. Or the piercing place where I got one of my earlobes cauterized with a hot metal taper.

There was too much sun and not enough sentimentalism to keep us exploring the city. Gator and I returned to the hotel and spent the rest of the evening entertaining people in the hotel’s jacuzzi. As it turns out, “It’s rude to stare’ is not applicable when signing in public. Even parents seemed to tell their children, “Look at these ladies signing! Look! Stare harder! Leer! Gawk! Ogle!”

I no longer encounter rubberneckers on the regular because I don’t really have any deaf friends in Victoria. I don’t miss the staring, but I would put up with it in exchange for the company of a deaf friend like Gator.

Especially Gator.

The most Calgary thing I ended up doing was a trip to the zoo with Jordi, his childhood friend, Chris, and Chris’ child, Nora:

An adult ticket was $45! The weekend after Labour Day was the perfect time to visit the zoo: the animals almost outnumbered the people.

Jordi and I also found ourselves surrounded by animals–but for free–in Millarville:
Two dogs
Three cats (plus assorted farm cats)
Three horses, as well as stuffed and mounted animals

It was my first time meeting Jordi’s dad. He is also the first “in-law” ever to learn some sign language to communicate with me. I look forward to revisiting Millarville and Jordi’s family.

Before we caught the ferry back to the island, Jordi finally met one of my relatives: my opa, who turns 99 next month. It’d probably been a few years since Opa last met somebody new: a fresh face to share old-timey tales with. My heart was full as I watched the two get acquainted.

I did more during the 6-day trip to Alberta and back than during the rest of my summer.