The plane touched down in Sacramento on Saturday, half an hour earlier than scheduled, which was a pleasant surprise. Soon after it landed, the plane decided to lose electricity for a few minutes, freaking out a few passengers who all agreed that it was better it happened on the tarmac instead of a mile up in the air. You just can't argue with that logic.
Evy and Ang picked me up from the airport and we set about looking for dinner. Each time one of us mentioned a craving we drove in a new direction looking for food, until we finally settled on Korean food. It's probably because I'm Korean, but there's something nice about coming back "home" and eating Korean food for dinner. I guess it's something of a comfort food for me, whereas it's semi-exotic for other people who didn't grow up eating it every day. We drove out to Korea House in Rancho Cordova and when we sat down the old ahjummah recognized me. She said she hasn't seen me in a while, which put me into a "Korean panic" and I was trying to mind my manners and adopt my Korean persona, which is still about 12-years-old. It was at that age that I realized I was horrible at being a Korean-American, and so I focused on being just an American kid. I like it better when I go into a Korean place and they think I'm Filipino or something. It lets me act like a normal customer without all the confusing Confucian class shit weighing down on me and making be super polite to old people.
After dinner I settled back into my place and found everything in the same spot. Same pile of old laundry stacked up in the corner, a mountain of unwashed dishes in the left kitchen sink, and various unopened envelope strewn about my computer desk. Without missing a beat, I immediately stripped down to my boxers and put a movie on. It was like I never left and the whole trip was just a figment of my imagination. Then again, all things that occurred in the past are in some respect.
I woke up Sunday afternoon to the familiar sound of the Meadowview-bound light rail announcing its arrival to the station behind my house. I lay there for a while contemplating how weird it was to be in a King-sized bed after spending weeks on greyhound seats, train seats, and hostel beds. I really don't need this much space, but sometimes it's nice to sleep sideways on a bed... perhaps that's just me. Sunday was the third day of the Bicycle Film Festival in Fremont Park -- the small park across the street from my house. I sat out on the balcony with a cup of Mexican hot chocolate from the coffee shop next door, found the place where I left off in my book (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance), and read a few chapters while listening to the live performances. Occasionally I'd look up to see a few families picnicking and waiting for the Amgen tour to ride by on P street. When the peloton finally came down the street, I could only make out a stream of shiny helmets zipping through the foliage that blocked my view, but I figured that was enough for this year. In past years I found that taking pictures of the cyclists was a fun challenge since it's difficult to get a perfectly clear shot of them as they zip by and leave the surrounding scenery in an unfocused blur. My DSLR is still broken and my point 'n shoot wouldn't be up to the task.
The rest of the day was spent restocking my fridge, cooking dinner, and watching movies. Every once in a while I'd stop what I was doing and review the photos on my camera. I guess I really did go somewhere, although you'd never guess it if you saw the "lived-in" state of my apartment. I wondered if work would be any different, but I doubted it. Nothing can make the BSA change the way it does business... at least nothing can make it change for the better. I've seen the situation deteriorate slowly over the years as new statutes, acts, or Paytons added to the bureau's list of responsibilities. Even though the place has about as much going for it as the Hornepayne train station, it's a good job filled with quality people. Couldn't ask for a better group of people to play kick the can -- Hornepayne was a desolate train stop in Canada where the only sign of life was was a pair of kids kicking a can back and forth to each other.
The next morning I got into work on time, or rather, relatively on time. Basically, I made it to work at my usual time. See? Nothing changes when you go on vacation, except the paper coffee cup that started leaking two weeks back and is now glued to the tabletop by a ring of mold. The coffee cup and perhaps my cubie's pregnant belly are the only signs of growth in the office. Everything else remained the same, even the progress on my project. It looks like everyone got reassigned for a brief stint on the prop 11 project while I was out. I'm guessing that's why everyone looks exhausted and somewhat bitter that I'm returning now after everything's finished.
I spent the better half of the day recounting my tales to the people who asked, changed my computer password, and read through the 171 emails I received in my absence. I should probably start working soon, but it's hard to get my head wrapped around the topic. Guess I'll do one more lap around the office and then become an obedient worker drone.
'til the next trip,
Andrew Lee
Sacramento, CA
Monday, May 17, 2010
Delayed Posts
I was reviewing the list of people following this blog and I realized that most of you are going to be attending the slideshow party, so I will hold off on posting until after the slideshow. After the slideshow I will go back and add pictures to each blog entry to spice 'em up.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Filling in Backlogged Posts
I don't know how many of you actually give a damn, or how good Google is about notifying the few of you that are following me, but I'm adding new posts and backdating them to match their correct date. That means, there will be another 5 or so posts added in the next few days that come before this post. I promise not to break the space-time continuum while doing so, so check for entries between May 4th and May 11th. Ok, time to head off to New York.
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Toronto, ON
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Toronto, ON
Yes, I am Alive
A few of you have been wondering if I died somewhere since I haven't posted or been on Gmail in about a week. Well, there you have it. I'm alive and I have a lot of posts that need to be typed into here over the course of the next few days. Right now I'm trying to figure out if I'm staying in Toronto for a night or if I should start my journey to NY. We'll see.
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Toronto, ON
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Toronto, ON
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Keeping Life Spicy
Where did I leave off? So, I was writing an entry about seizing control over my life while I waited around the train station on Tuesday evening. It occurred to me that I was living one of those "movie moments" when the protagonist thinks back to a memory of a smiling stranger and regrets not taking action during that fleeting moment. I decided not to be that guy... instead I decided to be the awkward Jewish nerd kid, but I'll get into that later.
After exchanging my ticket I decided to check into the Comfort Inn that was just around the corner from the hostels. I figured I'd saved quite a few bucks from pushing out the date of my departure, so I might as well indulge in a little bit of luxury and not worry about my shit getting stolen in the middle of the night. I took a 45 minute shower and set out for a night of new experiences. Of course, with my extended stay in Vancouver I felt that I needed to also indulge in the culinary scene of the city. Something I didn’t do during my short stay during the prior two days.
As I walked around downtown I spotted a food stand selling “japadogs” – a Japanese version of a hotdog which tastes surprisingly good. The nori and sweet mayo work well with the saltiness of the sausage, which is absolutely butchered so the dog retains very little juice. The sausage looked as though it were thrown through a field of barbed wire, but it was still pretty good. Nothing to base a new religion on, but a great appetizer.
For my 2nd dinner I decided to try out Guu – a Japanese tapas place that was recommended by someone on the bus between Seattle and Vancouver. Compared to Spanish tapas the portions at Guu were significantly larger, making the cost-to-quantity ratio quite reasonable. The only exception was the sockeye salmon sashimi, which was a special of the day. For less than the cost of those 4 pieces of so-so sashimi, I got a huge plate of pan-fried pig intestines, which were deliciously chewy and some “aigamo” (?), which is basically duck sliced thinly and garnished with a few other things and some hot mustard. I got this dish at the suggestion of some hapa dude named Jason who sat right next to me. The last dish I got was the pan-fried pork cheek, which was absolutely delicious. Note to self, eat more of this when I get back to Cali. I don’t know if it was the quality of the pork or just the preparation but everything was absolutely delicious and I would come back here again in the future.
After dinner I walked the mile or so to Boss, not minding the time. Of course, by the time I got there I was already half an hour late and the class had covered most of the basic moves. I couldn’t see the bus girl around, so I asked a girl who was standing on her own if she wanted to practice with me. She more or less turned me down saying that she was waiting for a friend and rejected my offer to let him take over once he's arrived. I played the rejection off by saying I'd just practice by myself next to her, which I did for a bit. In the middle of my shadow salsa dancing, a spritely blonde girl tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I wanted to practice with her. I happily agreed and we made some brief introductions. Eloise, was a slender blonde girl of about 21 years, traveling the world and doing odd jobs with a program named ARCH. She was originally from Mauritius, a small island next to Madagascar, which I had never heard of before. She took no offense when I scratched my head and had her repeat the name a few more times. Our communication was about as bad as our footwork. We were a mess of twisted joints spinning each other into submission holds on the dance floor. Luckily, we did get two moves down, but those were intermediate steps that followed a series of basic moves that we had no idea how to execute.
After the lessons I bought her a beer and talked to her and her friend for a while. They were both working as caretakers for the elderly. Eloise’s friend’s was a cute half-Turkish / half-German girl named Meltem, who had a very close definition of personal space when talking. I didn’t mind, but it was awkward since her boyfriend was standing almost as close to me while they all spoke. It felt like I was stuck in a night at the Roxbury. Some space freed up when they announced that they had to leave early for work the next day.
I decided to stick around to see if anyone else would like to dance with my rhythmically challenged ass. As I was walking around I saw a girl that looked sort of like the bus girl, but I couldn’t be sure as I couln't really remember her face. Whatever this girl’s name was, she seemed to know how to dance, as she and her short-haired Asian female friend were dancing together. Perhaps I should have gone straight up and asked if her I'd met her before, since I didn’t really know for certain. Of course, that would have been the easiest and least awkward thing to do, but I approached the pair and asked which one was the male lead since I’ve been watching and trying to learn. They said they both were and gave me an icy glare… I only realized after the fact that I'd inadvertently made a lesbian joke, which might have been true.
I stumbled away from the situation and bumped into Sara, who was standing near the bar and staring out at the dance floor. She was a fellow Los Angeles native who was in town for a pediatrics convention. She explained to me the variations of latin dancing (salsa, merengue, and bachata) and explained the basic moves. She suggested that I try out a merengue since it’s basically a simple side-to-side motion that you make which frees yo up to get creative with twirls and stuff. When a merengue song came on we went to the dance floor and I realized it’s more or less what I instinctively do when I hear a good beat and all I had to do was use a few of the twirls that I had just learned. I think I can merengue, who knew?
I’ve procrastinated about taking salsa lessons for so many years, but finally managed to muster the courage to do it once I was in another country. Sara told me that there’s a salsa scene in almost every country and it’s one of the things that she does when traveling. It seems like a handy skill that I can use in the future, but that conversation reminded me that my thing is karaoke and that the Two Parrots bar was doing karaoke that night – I learned this from the same girl that suggested going to Checkers the night before. I took my leave and I swore to myself that I’d sign up to learn salsa once I got back to the states.
The two parrots was a bit more chill than the scene at Checkers since the KJ was an older gent that did a great rendition of Mack the Knife. As usual, there were a few parties that mainly kept to themselves, but once I got on stage and performed “Unbreak My Heart” the crowd warmed up a little and started talking to me. The girl who suggested the place to me the night before showed up, so I asked if she wanted to sing a duet. She politely declined, so I sang “Say It Ain’t So” instead, wrapping up my night with a little frantic pacing and air guitaring. Anyway, the night was pretty excellent and it made up for the countless hours I spent sitting around the train station, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to do with my vacation/trip/life. Overall, I think I did a pretty decent job living in the spur of the moment and making the most of my ever-changing situation. There are still a few days left with no solid plans, so let's hope this continues.
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Vancouver, BC
After exchanging my ticket I decided to check into the Comfort Inn that was just around the corner from the hostels. I figured I'd saved quite a few bucks from pushing out the date of my departure, so I might as well indulge in a little bit of luxury and not worry about my shit getting stolen in the middle of the night. I took a 45 minute shower and set out for a night of new experiences. Of course, with my extended stay in Vancouver I felt that I needed to also indulge in the culinary scene of the city. Something I didn’t do during my short stay during the prior two days.
As I walked around downtown I spotted a food stand selling “japadogs” – a Japanese version of a hotdog which tastes surprisingly good. The nori and sweet mayo work well with the saltiness of the sausage, which is absolutely butchered so the dog retains very little juice. The sausage looked as though it were thrown through a field of barbed wire, but it was still pretty good. Nothing to base a new religion on, but a great appetizer.
For my 2nd dinner I decided to try out Guu – a Japanese tapas place that was recommended by someone on the bus between Seattle and Vancouver. Compared to Spanish tapas the portions at Guu were significantly larger, making the cost-to-quantity ratio quite reasonable. The only exception was the sockeye salmon sashimi, which was a special of the day. For less than the cost of those 4 pieces of so-so sashimi, I got a huge plate of pan-fried pig intestines, which were deliciously chewy and some “aigamo” (?), which is basically duck sliced thinly and garnished with a few other things and some hot mustard. I got this dish at the suggestion of some hapa dude named Jason who sat right next to me. The last dish I got was the pan-fried pork cheek, which was absolutely delicious. Note to self, eat more of this when I get back to Cali. I don’t know if it was the quality of the pork or just the preparation but everything was absolutely delicious and I would come back here again in the future.
After dinner I walked the mile or so to Boss, not minding the time. Of course, by the time I got there I was already half an hour late and the class had covered most of the basic moves. I couldn’t see the bus girl around, so I asked a girl who was standing on her own if she wanted to practice with me. She more or less turned me down saying that she was waiting for a friend and rejected my offer to let him take over once he's arrived. I played the rejection off by saying I'd just practice by myself next to her, which I did for a bit. In the middle of my shadow salsa dancing, a spritely blonde girl tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I wanted to practice with her. I happily agreed and we made some brief introductions. Eloise, was a slender blonde girl of about 21 years, traveling the world and doing odd jobs with a program named ARCH. She was originally from Mauritius, a small island next to Madagascar, which I had never heard of before. She took no offense when I scratched my head and had her repeat the name a few more times. Our communication was about as bad as our footwork. We were a mess of twisted joints spinning each other into submission holds on the dance floor. Luckily, we did get two moves down, but those were intermediate steps that followed a series of basic moves that we had no idea how to execute.
After the lessons I bought her a beer and talked to her and her friend for a while. They were both working as caretakers for the elderly. Eloise’s friend’s was a cute half-Turkish / half-German girl named Meltem, who had a very close definition of personal space when talking. I didn’t mind, but it was awkward since her boyfriend was standing almost as close to me while they all spoke. It felt like I was stuck in a night at the Roxbury. Some space freed up when they announced that they had to leave early for work the next day.
I decided to stick around to see if anyone else would like to dance with my rhythmically challenged ass. As I was walking around I saw a girl that looked sort of like the bus girl, but I couldn’t be sure as I couln't really remember her face. Whatever this girl’s name was, she seemed to know how to dance, as she and her short-haired Asian female friend were dancing together. Perhaps I should have gone straight up and asked if her I'd met her before, since I didn’t really know for certain. Of course, that would have been the easiest and least awkward thing to do, but I approached the pair and asked which one was the male lead since I’ve been watching and trying to learn. They said they both were and gave me an icy glare… I only realized after the fact that I'd inadvertently made a lesbian joke, which might have been true.
I stumbled away from the situation and bumped into Sara, who was standing near the bar and staring out at the dance floor. She was a fellow Los Angeles native who was in town for a pediatrics convention. She explained to me the variations of latin dancing (salsa, merengue, and bachata) and explained the basic moves. She suggested that I try out a merengue since it’s basically a simple side-to-side motion that you make which frees yo up to get creative with twirls and stuff. When a merengue song came on we went to the dance floor and I realized it’s more or less what I instinctively do when I hear a good beat and all I had to do was use a few of the twirls that I had just learned. I think I can merengue, who knew?
I’ve procrastinated about taking salsa lessons for so many years, but finally managed to muster the courage to do it once I was in another country. Sara told me that there’s a salsa scene in almost every country and it’s one of the things that she does when traveling. It seems like a handy skill that I can use in the future, but that conversation reminded me that my thing is karaoke and that the Two Parrots bar was doing karaoke that night – I learned this from the same girl that suggested going to Checkers the night before. I took my leave and I swore to myself that I’d sign up to learn salsa once I got back to the states.
The two parrots was a bit more chill than the scene at Checkers since the KJ was an older gent that did a great rendition of Mack the Knife. As usual, there were a few parties that mainly kept to themselves, but once I got on stage and performed “Unbreak My Heart” the crowd warmed up a little and started talking to me. The girl who suggested the place to me the night before showed up, so I asked if she wanted to sing a duet. She politely declined, so I sang “Say It Ain’t So” instead, wrapping up my night with a little frantic pacing and air guitaring. Anyway, the night was pretty excellent and it made up for the countless hours I spent sitting around the train station, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to do with my vacation/trip/life. Overall, I think I did a pretty decent job living in the spur of the moment and making the most of my ever-changing situation. There are still a few days left with no solid plans, so let's hope this continues.
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Vancouver, BC
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Derailing Plans
So, I signed off after my previous post and threw on a dress shirt and jeans. I was hoping the pub crawl would have a good turnout, since the hostel was supposedly at max capacity, Of course, as my luck would have it there were only six people that showed up in the downstairs lobby. It was an assortment of guys from Germany, England, Finland, etc. We made brief introductions and went to the first pub, which was a tiny little joint across the street that had nothing going for it. Understandably, they featured Irish ales and stouts, but they didn't expand their selection to include any Canadian beers on tap. If I really wanted something familiar to home, I would have eaten one of those amazing double big macs I saw on the menu, but shit, here I am 2 days later without having consumed a Canadian big mac.
Who knows what kind of mind-shattering epiphanies I might come up with after consuming one. Ok, so I've already gone off on a tangent and I'm gonna run with it. Man, this country is pretty fucking cool. I’m not entirely sure why, but it almost seems like a cleaner version of America. I love my country and hometown and all, but shit, things just feel so much safer out here. Even the crazy Nam vet that started having a flashback on the bus didn’t seem too scary. If we were in Oakland I’d think he was either carrying a weapon or I'd be intimidated by his epic beard. I was actually willing to take him down for fun... Canadians just seem less intimidating.
Anyway, I can’t remember where the hell I was going with this entry. Oh yea, so I ended up going to the three different pubs. The 2nd and 3rd locations had nicer decor, fitting for a pub in any country, and they featured varying degrees of live music that ranged from a solo acoustic guitarist playing top 20 hits from varying decades to a full band on a lit-up stage… playing cover songs to an empty crowd. The best part of the set was when the band played a cover of MGMT's "Time to Pretend," which I haven't heard covered before, but it wasn't enough to make me stay.
I took my leave and talked to a random Canuck smoking outside. She told me about a karaoke bar named Checkers, which was a hotel bar for a comfort inn, or "something like that." The bar was filled with a young crowd, a few older guys that seemed to be regular patrons, and the KJ who reminded me of the fat and obnoxious comedian, Louie Anderson. After the first few singers, I noticed that the song selection was vastly different from the karaoke bars in the States. The weirdest part was that I recognized all of the songs since they were all top 40s in the States at one time or another, but I've never them sung before in the States. I jotted the titles down for future reference, since it'd be nice to change up my repertoire and just for shits and giggles. The bar was fun, but the rotation was slow and they ended the night around 1:30am.
It's weird that Vancouver's got this very metropolitan feel, but closes down earlier than some podunk places in California. A minor loss of points, but it doesn't significantly affect my appreciation of the city. Anyway, I was thoroughly tired by this point and I passed out as soon as I got to the dorm sometime, sinking straight into the bed without even washing up.
I woke up a few times in the morning, as each one of my roomies packed up their stuff to leave. The dude from Finland told me that the club really picked up and became full about an hour after I'd left. Figures that would happen, but I have no regrets. At some point I managed to get up and brush my teeth, rectifying my hygienic failure from the night before, but fell back asleep until housekeeping burst open the door a quarter past 11am. She was a white lady in her late 30s that had these very intense eyes that freaked me out as she reminded me that checkout it was past checkout time. I could only wonder what kind of shit she’s seen while doing this gig at the hostel, but I didn't want to find out how she deals with wayward guests.
I checked out of Hostel International and walked across the street to the Samesun Hostel. I had decided earlier that I’d like to stay one night at the other hostel since the people seemed friendly and they've got their own bar. It didn't hurt that there were some cute girls smoking outside the night before. Plus there were other groups of smokers outside who were enjoying Canada's lax laws. Definitely a laid back setting that was more conducive to the high strung operation I'd just checked out of. Unfortunately, the next train to Toronto wouldn’t run until Friday, which required me to commit to an extra three days in Vancouver. This meant I wouldn't have a chance to check out Montreal or the Niagara Falls. I was pretty set on checking out Montreal after hearing people's stories about the place, so I hopped into a cab and made my way to the station. The weather turned sour and started to rain as my cab pulled into the train station. I should have seen it as a sign, but I was dead-set to see everything that I had planned for my trip.
I’ve still got another 3 hours until my train departs and I’m already regretting my choice to leave. I keep thinking about the girl on the amtrak bus that told me she'd probably be at the salsa club on Tuesday night and I can't help but wonder what would happen if I show up. The whole point of this trip is for me to make the most of the present, so I have nothing to regret once it becomes the past. So what the hell am I doing sitting around wondering about things for? The moment is now. Who knows what'll happen and who really fucking cares, but if I'm curious, I might as well see what the hell will happen. I'm determined to live a life where I can live each moment freely. Well… then again, I’m currently $620 in the hole from that ticket... Ok, I'm looking at the ticket right now and I see that it’s fully refundable. Well shit... I guess I can take the Friday train. I just need to get up and do it right now. Let’s see what happens. It’s not like I can’t afford to visit Montreal on a separate occasion. Let’s do it.
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Vancouver, BC
Who knows what kind of mind-shattering epiphanies I might come up with after consuming one. Ok, so I've already gone off on a tangent and I'm gonna run with it. Man, this country is pretty fucking cool. I’m not entirely sure why, but it almost seems like a cleaner version of America. I love my country and hometown and all, but shit, things just feel so much safer out here. Even the crazy Nam vet that started having a flashback on the bus didn’t seem too scary. If we were in Oakland I’d think he was either carrying a weapon or I'd be intimidated by his epic beard. I was actually willing to take him down for fun... Canadians just seem less intimidating.
Anyway, I can’t remember where the hell I was going with this entry. Oh yea, so I ended up going to the three different pubs. The 2nd and 3rd locations had nicer decor, fitting for a pub in any country, and they featured varying degrees of live music that ranged from a solo acoustic guitarist playing top 20 hits from varying decades to a full band on a lit-up stage… playing cover songs to an empty crowd. The best part of the set was when the band played a cover of MGMT's "Time to Pretend," which I haven't heard covered before, but it wasn't enough to make me stay.
I took my leave and talked to a random Canuck smoking outside. She told me about a karaoke bar named Checkers, which was a hotel bar for a comfort inn, or "something like that." The bar was filled with a young crowd, a few older guys that seemed to be regular patrons, and the KJ who reminded me of the fat and obnoxious comedian, Louie Anderson. After the first few singers, I noticed that the song selection was vastly different from the karaoke bars in the States. The weirdest part was that I recognized all of the songs since they were all top 40s in the States at one time or another, but I've never them sung before in the States. I jotted the titles down for future reference, since it'd be nice to change up my repertoire and just for shits and giggles. The bar was fun, but the rotation was slow and they ended the night around 1:30am.
It's weird that Vancouver's got this very metropolitan feel, but closes down earlier than some podunk places in California. A minor loss of points, but it doesn't significantly affect my appreciation of the city. Anyway, I was thoroughly tired by this point and I passed out as soon as I got to the dorm sometime, sinking straight into the bed without even washing up.
I woke up a few times in the morning, as each one of my roomies packed up their stuff to leave. The dude from Finland told me that the club really picked up and became full about an hour after I'd left. Figures that would happen, but I have no regrets. At some point I managed to get up and brush my teeth, rectifying my hygienic failure from the night before, but fell back asleep until housekeeping burst open the door a quarter past 11am. She was a white lady in her late 30s that had these very intense eyes that freaked me out as she reminded me that checkout it was past checkout time. I could only wonder what kind of shit she’s seen while doing this gig at the hostel, but I didn't want to find out how she deals with wayward guests.
I checked out of Hostel International and walked across the street to the Samesun Hostel. I had decided earlier that I’d like to stay one night at the other hostel since the people seemed friendly and they've got their own bar. It didn't hurt that there were some cute girls smoking outside the night before. Plus there were other groups of smokers outside who were enjoying Canada's lax laws. Definitely a laid back setting that was more conducive to the high strung operation I'd just checked out of. Unfortunately, the next train to Toronto wouldn’t run until Friday, which required me to commit to an extra three days in Vancouver. This meant I wouldn't have a chance to check out Montreal or the Niagara Falls. I was pretty set on checking out Montreal after hearing people's stories about the place, so I hopped into a cab and made my way to the station. The weather turned sour and started to rain as my cab pulled into the train station. I should have seen it as a sign, but I was dead-set to see everything that I had planned for my trip.
*****
I’ve still got another 3 hours until my train departs and I’m already regretting my choice to leave. I keep thinking about the girl on the amtrak bus that told me she'd probably be at the salsa club on Tuesday night and I can't help but wonder what would happen if I show up. The whole point of this trip is for me to make the most of the present, so I have nothing to regret once it becomes the past. So what the hell am I doing sitting around wondering about things for? The moment is now. Who knows what'll happen and who really fucking cares, but if I'm curious, I might as well see what the hell will happen. I'm determined to live a life where I can live each moment freely. Well… then again, I’m currently $620 in the hole from that ticket... Ok, I'm looking at the ticket right now and I see that it’s fully refundable. Well shit... I guess I can take the Friday train. I just need to get up and do it right now. Let’s see what happens. It’s not like I can’t afford to visit Montreal on a separate occasion. Let’s do it.
'til next time,
Andrew Lee
Vancouver, BC
Monday, May 3, 2010
Vancouver, je t'aime.
I want to live here. Seriously.... I really really want to live here. I'll marry a Canadian if I have to, just give me a fucking green card already.
So, I woke up and more or less hopped on a random bus that seemed to be heading northwest, the general location of where I thought Stanley Park was. The commuters on the bus were extremely helpful, at least the white ones, the Chinese ones were about as useless as the ones you find in San Francisco. Probably the only minus point I'll give Vancouver, but it's a minor one. I got off somewhere around the Westin hotel and found a bike rental shop with some very helpful ladies who were willing to humor my inquisitive tourist act. It amazes me how willing people are to help my ignant yank ass. Anyway, riding along the downtown Vancouver seawall is officially my favorite bike ride of all time. It's fairly flat, which is a godsend because the headwinds can get pretty hardcore (moreso than the Golden Gate ride in SF), but every single second of the ride is beautiful. There's so much to absorb as you ride around Stanley Park and stare out at the various mountains across the waterway and the bridges that lead out to them. Even as you get out of the Stanley Park area, which is a HUGE park, the entire seawall is lined with random parks here and there, and each one has its own relaxing vibe.
As I rounded the southern bend of the seawall, I pulled into Granville Island and checked out the Public Market area, which is a great place to pick up fresh produce, meat, and ready to bake food items. It's a bit touristy, but there's a good amount of space and the locals also shop there as there's plenty of good food to be had. Picked up some beef jerky from the various meat vendors and walked around the market looking for places to eat. I eventually settled on a clam chowder pot pie, which was basically a bowl of chowder topped with a flaky bread topping that was so soft and fell into the chowder, absorbing the flavor of the soup before melting in my waiting mouth. Good stuff.
Getting out of the Granville Island area was a bit more difficult as I can be a bit weird about backtracking, especially when it requires physical effort to get to a place to begin with. I opted to be a bit crazier and decided to bike across the bridge, but after seeing the signs saying 60 was the max speed, I brought my bike onto the sidewalk... Later I remembered that it's in km/h, which is a bit less intimidating (my iPod says that's only 37.28 mph), but I crossed in one piece and checked out the Hastings/Cambie area. There are some details about the cafes that I won't recount here, but I am convinced that Vancouver has some of the friendliest people in the area. I made another aussie friend (there's no end to the supply of aussies in this country) and eventually decided to return the bike. Cycling on the roads in Canada is very nice, less douchebags which makes it fairly safe to commute across town. Next time I'm up here, I'm definitely bringing my bike.
After getting back to the hostel, I decided to stop by the Samesun Hostel across the street since they have a bar inside the actual hostel. Definitely a chill place with very friendly people. Made an Irish friend and shot the shit with him about Irish people, drinking, and Canadian girls. Good times, so I'll probably stay there tomorrow night after I spend the night I've already got booked here at the Hostel International - Vancouver Central location. The two places are roughly the same price, so I'd recommend y'all stay at the Samesun, which is probably a little more ghetto, but definitely more fun. Then again, after tonight's pub crawl, we'll see what I think. Ok, time to clean up and hit up the town.
'til next time,
Andrew
Vancouver, BC
So, I woke up and more or less hopped on a random bus that seemed to be heading northwest, the general location of where I thought Stanley Park was. The commuters on the bus were extremely helpful, at least the white ones, the Chinese ones were about as useless as the ones you find in San Francisco. Probably the only minus point I'll give Vancouver, but it's a minor one. I got off somewhere around the Westin hotel and found a bike rental shop with some very helpful ladies who were willing to humor my inquisitive tourist act. It amazes me how willing people are to help my ignant yank ass. Anyway, riding along the downtown Vancouver seawall is officially my favorite bike ride of all time. It's fairly flat, which is a godsend because the headwinds can get pretty hardcore (moreso than the Golden Gate ride in SF), but every single second of the ride is beautiful. There's so much to absorb as you ride around Stanley Park and stare out at the various mountains across the waterway and the bridges that lead out to them. Even as you get out of the Stanley Park area, which is a HUGE park, the entire seawall is lined with random parks here and there, and each one has its own relaxing vibe.
As I rounded the southern bend of the seawall, I pulled into Granville Island and checked out the Public Market area, which is a great place to pick up fresh produce, meat, and ready to bake food items. It's a bit touristy, but there's a good amount of space and the locals also shop there as there's plenty of good food to be had. Picked up some beef jerky from the various meat vendors and walked around the market looking for places to eat. I eventually settled on a clam chowder pot pie, which was basically a bowl of chowder topped with a flaky bread topping that was so soft and fell into the chowder, absorbing the flavor of the soup before melting in my waiting mouth. Good stuff.
Getting out of the Granville Island area was a bit more difficult as I can be a bit weird about backtracking, especially when it requires physical effort to get to a place to begin with. I opted to be a bit crazier and decided to bike across the bridge, but after seeing the signs saying 60 was the max speed, I brought my bike onto the sidewalk... Later I remembered that it's in km/h, which is a bit less intimidating (my iPod says that's only 37.28 mph), but I crossed in one piece and checked out the Hastings/Cambie area. There are some details about the cafes that I won't recount here, but I am convinced that Vancouver has some of the friendliest people in the area. I made another aussie friend (there's no end to the supply of aussies in this country) and eventually decided to return the bike. Cycling on the roads in Canada is very nice, less douchebags which makes it fairly safe to commute across town. Next time I'm up here, I'm definitely bringing my bike.
After getting back to the hostel, I decided to stop by the Samesun Hostel across the street since they have a bar inside the actual hostel. Definitely a chill place with very friendly people. Made an Irish friend and shot the shit with him about Irish people, drinking, and Canadian girls. Good times, so I'll probably stay there tomorrow night after I spend the night I've already got booked here at the Hostel International - Vancouver Central location. The two places are roughly the same price, so I'd recommend y'all stay at the Samesun, which is probably a little more ghetto, but definitely more fun. Then again, after tonight's pub crawl, we'll see what I think. Ok, time to clean up and hit up the town.
'til next time,
Andrew
Vancouver, BC
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