Last Thursday, Jordi and I had reservations for the 3pm sailing to Tsawwassen. I’d been up since 6am and did the classic Alexa and Laura Waterfront ride before 8am. I stuffed the following into my large backpack: puffy slippers, Kindle, Switch, undergarments, outer garments, toiletries, towel, and wallet. I picked up some snacks for the journey and packed them up in an insulated tote bag. I even packed my passport in case someone in the big city felt like giving me grief over my expired photo ID.
It wasn’t even lunchtime, and I was ready. I shared my triumph in a text message to Jordi and asked if I should put my shoes on. Alas, Jordi still needed to get his keys to the friends who were to look after Klaus. When 2pm rolled around, my annoyance had bubbled up. There was no way we’d get to the ferry terminal in time for our 3pm reservation.
It was up to me whether I wanted to start our four-day getaway with a fight. As soon as I climbed into the truck, the projection of my frustration was hindered by being in motion. I’m a deaf person with atrophied vocal chords, and I wasn’t about to distract Jordi with a flurry of furious flying fingers.
Once we cleared the toll booth at Swartz Bay–and it was official that we wouldn’t make it on the 3pm ferry–I was still irate. Once we were parked in the lineup, I’d already realized my annoyance was overblown and that castigating him would be unproductive. Instead, I opted for a nap, and this was the right decision as I felt rejuvenated upon waking up.
The lineup started moving a few minutes later, and I said farewell to the my bad mood and the island as Jordi drove us onto the Queen of New Westminster.
The rest of our trip was smooth sailing. I’d arranged to stay at Chez Zoée as usual, but they were dealing with health issues that didn’t leave them with the energy to host. The friends Jordi was staying with, Davy and Maggie, were happy to welcome me into their place and turned out to be incredible hosts.
They’d set up an inflatable mattress in their solarium. I thought Jordi was joking when he said he and I would be sharing the mattress. The only way we could manage to fit on the mattress was if my right shoulder overlapped his left shoulder. I’d lay down to sleep wearing an eye mask, and after 10 minutes, I felt the mattress sink as Jordi got up. I didn’t have to lift the eye mask to understand that Jordi had ditched me for the couch.
On Friday morning, I sat in a chair for two hours while my hairdresser of 20+ years sandwiched my bleach-infused hair between sheets of foil in the name of beauty.
I reconnected with the boys after my beautification, and they took me back to the takeaway sushi place that had already nourished them. They were happy to return for some more food, and we dined at a long table outside.
On our way to Sashimiya, Jordi warned me about the possibility of human feces on the sidewalk. I kept my eyes peeled for this pile of shit about three blocks prematurely. Jordi tried to reassure me by saying I’d smell it before I saw it.
Isn’t that the worst part about poop? Not the sight, but the SMELL?
The boys talked about how shitty it was for the folks who lived in the building to find human shit right outside their doorsteps. While I agree that it’s not an attractive experience, I find it hard to sympathize with someone who can afford a condo in downtown Vancouver. Those folks’ quality of life is most likely higher than that of the person who shit on the sidewalk.
This philosophical blob of runny poop wouldn’t have made it into this post if it weren’t for Jordi’s excessive vigilance. So, I didn’t end up seeing or smelling it, but I sure thought about it deeply.
I swapped out the boys outside the Vancouver Art Gallery for András, who was the reason I planned the trip to the mainland. This born-and-raised Vancouverite has been living in Hamilton for the past two years and was in town for a visit. We’ve been friends since 2008, and while I was thrilled to introduce him to Jordi as well as Maggie and Davy, I wanted some time to catch up with just András. We agreed that the Vancouver Art Gallery would be the ideal location.
Instead of boulevard excrement, we had a spiky pickle to provoke an insightful discussion. The pickle was a part of a bigger piece:
Someone mounted trash onto the wall in the name of art. Also seen at the gallery is a raised platform with a gentle concave surface levelled out by milk. Consumed by curiosity as to whether the art gallery would have the audacity to place something perishable on display, András and I crouched and sniffed around the platform like dogs.
Was it milk? No. But is it art? Also, no.
The feature exhibition featured the works of Montréal-born artist Jean-Paul Riopelle. Like many famous artists, his early works had mass appeal: beautifully done landscape paintings inspiring feelings of tranquility. By the time he was an established artist, he could, in the words of Maury Ballstein, “take a crap, wrap it in tinfoil, put a couple of fish hooks on it and sell it to Queen Elizabeth as earrings.“
My favourite piece at VAG was Brian Jungen’s golf bag totem pole:
My picture doesn’t capture just how much this assemblage of golf bags resembled a totem pole. It made me reflect on how all these golf courses were once land belonging to indigenous peoples. And now there’s a discourse about immigrants snuffing out (white) Canadian values.
C’mon guys, let’s not pretend we were here first.
A part of the Vancouver Art Gallery’s appeal–to me–is knowing you’re unlikely to find yourself sharing space with children. Additionally, I find that art galleries often have some of the loveliest gift shops. I was a little upset to see that an 8″ banana decal was selling for $11.
I picked up a copy of Douglas Coupland’s City of Glass. It captures the vibe of Vancouver and gives you a taste of the city’s history without being overly academic; it tickles my nostalgia for Vancouver.
András and I reconvened with Jordi and Davy at a Vietnamese restaurant, Ahn and Chi, on Main Street. Maggie, who had spent the day at work, joined us. Once again, Jordi found himself enmeshed with MEC employees of yore. While I don’t have much positive to say about the now-American company, I have met some of the funnest, kindest folks through MEC. We shared several plates and practically licked it all clean. The restaurant was Maggie and Davy’s recommendation, and it’ll now be one of my recommendations.
András left to meet up with his other buddies for drinks. The rest of us walked to Davy and Maggie’s place and crossed paths with two cats hungry for attention:
Davy and Maggie had a cat waiting for them at their apartment, a sassy Abyssinian named Fitz. Fitz isn’t stoked on anyone other than Davy and Maggie. Fitz gladly cooperated as Davy slipped a cat-sized brown fleece hoody over his long body. (I should’ve taken a picture.) Fitz joined us outside as we smoked a joint in the adjacent parking lot. I was surprised to see Maggie take Fitz off-leash, but she reassured me that Fitz was good at listening to her.
He was also good at listening to the movements of small critters and bolted after a rat. Davy captured Fitz before Fitz captured the rat. In the process of chasing after the rat, Fitz cut up his paw pad. Back in the apartment, Davy and Maggie mixed up a paste to stop the bleeding. Then, they mixed up some drinks to perk us up for a rousing evening of Canadian Trivia.
During dinnertime, I used the live transcriber app to follow the group conversation. As long as folks don’t treat this app as a substitution for learning sign language, I’m happy to have it as a tool to stay engaged. Otherwise, my only option is to engage in one-on-one conversations in what’s supposed to be a group setting.
This app, which performed well during dinner, apparently got high along with us and really shit the bed during trivia.
“What pop artist from Napanee won the MTV Video Music Award for Best New Artist?”
According to the app, it was Chad Kroeger’s ex wife, Albert Lagoon.
One wall separated us stoned, braying idiots from Maggie and Davy’s sleeping roommate, who was quick to accept our apology the next day upon learning of the enigma that is Albert Lagoon.
On Sunday, the four of us headed to Vancouver’s best–and most kid-packed–tourist attraction: Vancouver Aquarium. Unlike VAG, there were strollers everywhere. But there were also birds, sloths, lizards, monkeys, and fish–lots of ’em. I’m a Vancouver Aquarium superfan. I have fond memories of sleeping in front of the belugas with my Brownies group in the early 90s.
Coupland is also a fan; in City of Glass, he writes, “…I came into the tropical section and saw millions of electric blue little fish; I had a good little cry because I was swamped with the idea of how beautiful the world is. The place can do that to you.”
I am partial to the BC Coast section, where it’s more of a hide-and-seek game with the local marine life. Jordi, Maggie, and Davy seemed to gravitate towards the playful sea otters. The otters were so cute we were able to overlook the stench quickly.
As a somewhat regular patron of the aquarium, I only captured a two-toed sloth traversing a rope on video and this picture:
It was Jordi and Maggie’s first visit to the aquarium. Before we walked out, Jordi purchased a souvenir photo of us standing in front of a green screen, which transplanted us in the middle of a sea otter shindig. If you wish to see the picture, it’s on Jordi’s fridge.
I didn’t have to leave without seeing Zoée and their cat, Greta. Our brief visit had us leave with a tray of flower starts for my garden. I hope to be back in Vancouver at the beginning of July for more time with Zoée, around the time these flowers should be in bloom.
The mainland has two Ikea stores within a 30-minute drive from each other. The island has ZERO Ikea stores. I don’t enjoy shopping much, but I’ll make an exception for Ikea. It seems that Mr. Coupland has nothing to say about Ikea in City of Glass. I can only assume it’s because he’s rich enough to afford bespoke home decor. (As it turns out, Coupland is successful enough to have designed a furniture collection.)
The Simpsons accurately portrayed our Ikea cafeteria experience in this still:
After loading up the truck with affordable Scandinavian comforts, we made a quick stop in deepest, darkest Surrey to say hello to Opa before being one of the last vehicles to sneak onto the 5pm ferry. One of the ferry workers ushered Jordi’s truck so close to another car that the lady in the driver’s seat scowled so hard I could feel it. I noticed we’d inadvertently blocked her in before Jordi and the ferry dude did. At that point, a car was already behind us, so Jordi and the ferry dude just barely managed to move the truck enough so that the lady didn’t have to exit from the passenger side. The look on her face is seared in my mind: her mild inconvenience amused me mildly.
I don’t have as much to write about this weekend. I asked Jen, whom I hadn’t ridden with in almost a year (the last time we rode together, she had to call an ambulance for me) if she was available for a ride on Friday (yesterday). That is how I came to volunteer to set up the Time Trial course (or “Titty course” as Jordi called it) at the Victoria Airport. The best part of my day was the solo ride to and from the starting area. I ran into one of my former riding buddies, Kat, who was also volunteering. She asked me if I was racing.
“NO! I’m here to intimidate people.”
I also wanted to cheer on Jen, but that didn’t happen because I was getting hungry and couldn’t handle being out in the sun for much longer. I saw Dave briefly, who was also volunteering. Dave’s role was to shove the riders one by one out of a little red trailer.
Last night, I realized I’d developed a red neck. I wear sunscreen daily, but I rarely spend more than 7 hours in the sun. What I had put on hadn’t been enough. This time, I did not forget that I own an aloe plant.
And today? Very couch-centric. Tonight I hope to race–from the comfort of my couch.
squaremeat.com 