Monday 20th June

Well, yesterday we did the blue route, through the city. We hopped off at a place called Granville Island, where there is a farmers market, and food stalls. Also the odd crafty store.

Sarah wanted to also hop off at the Police Museum, just past Chinatown. As it happens, it is not an actual stop, so we missed it. We were watching an ambulance crew working on somebody lying on the pavement as we drove past. The driver said this is a popular area for the homeless and for drug-addicts. Not the best place in town to be getting off the bus, methinks.

There are quite a few beggars here. Surprising, really, being Canadia and all, eh? I don’t know if they are all homeless, but there were a lot of people asking for change for a meal or a bus-ride, or a drink (there are a few Starbucks here). Some seemed to be well presented. Some, not so much.

Another place we didn’t stop, but decided to come back to, was Gas Town. We did a wander around there this afternoon. Sarah says it looks a lot like The Rocks in Sydney, and I agree. Souvenir shops up the wazoo. Stopped at a wee pub for a drink and a sit down. Very nice.

Gas Town is right down next to the waterfront, which is where all the tour buses leave from. It is also where the Alaskan Cruise ships leave from out of Vancouver. Five minutes walk, so perfect for the short attention span of most Amrikan cruise inmates. Saw another Celebrity ship parked here, along with another Holland Amrika Line ship.

This morning, though, we decided to do something a little different. We had read about a place called Punjabi Market. Lots of Indian clothes and sari shops. As Sarah is running short on clothes, we thought it would be worth a trip. It was my job to figure out the transport options.

With the help of Mr Google, I established that it was about 6 blocks from a train station. Actually, the station was on the line from the airport. Simple. The six blocks could be then covered by bus if required, or walked.

So, off we go. Buy the tickets head down the escalator, and there is a train right there. “Is that ours?” she asks, as she heads for the door. I hold back for a moment to read the sign. Airport Line. “Yes it is” I say, and she is through the door, with me close behind.

Not close enough, apparently. My arm in the door didn’t seem to dissuade the door from closing, so I withdrew my arm and watched, as the train, with Sarah started moving off without me. She had an odd expression, really.

Bugger!

Had we planned for this eventuality? Actually, no we hadn’t. It had never occurred to miss retentive that we would get separated in a foreign subway. Mmm. Note to self.

So, what to do? Where would she go? The next station to wait, or the station we were heading for? Don’t know.

OK. Another train due in 3 minutes, but it wasn’t going to the airport. Check the map. Find a map. There’s one. Ah, as I had hoped. Same line, but branches off to somewhere else just before the airport. AFTER the stop we are headed for. Excellent! So, every train from here goes past the station we are aiming at. Too easy.

First stage completed. Now lets try to find the wife.

Train arrives, I get on, and we are off. Did she get off at the next station? Would she wait there, or catch a return train? Here comes the first stop. Door opens. No sign of Sarah.

Stick my head out the door, just in case she is waiting at another door. Nothing to the left, nothing to the ri... n\No wait, there she is. Wave, call out, hurry along now. She makes it back onboard. Phew!

Well, that was fun. Now lets be off to Punjabi Market.

The rest of the journey is uneventful. We get off at our station, get our bearings, and head off for a walk. Nice day.

Funny thing about the weather here. Usually raining when we get up, drizzling at lunchtime, and sunny for the afternoon. Today it has been fine all day, so not a bad walk through Canadian suburbia. I did see one odd house. It looked like somebody had wrapped it in an indian blanket. American Indian, not Honest Injun.

Well, we got to Punjabi Market. Three blocks of shops, and, yes, there were a lot of clothing shops. The first one is the largest, and lots of stuff stacked to the roof.

I sat down on the steps between mezzanine floors while Sarah went trawling.

This is something that I think all women's shops need. A Husband chair, or a Man chair if you prefer. Somewhere for the husband to sit while her indoors is spending his money. Surely the shops want to make it comfortable for him while he waits? It is certainly in their best interest if he is not nagging her to leave.

Some shops do it well. Farmers in Northlands have been doing it for years, with the chairs next to the changing rooms. Despite the disturbing aspect to that, it is handy for the hubby to be handy when she wants an opinion. "Do I look....?" Don't be rediculous. Don't ask a question if you don't want an answer. Blokes don't do rhetorical questions. Far too many syllables for us to get a handle on.

Some of the better shops in Sydney also have the husband chair. I remember being relieved of many hundreds of dollars in David Jones one day, while sitting comfortably on a well-placed chair.

They even have one on each floor, so you can fulfil your parcel-carrying duties as she napalms the entire store.

I am told they have red ants in Australia. I haven't seen any, but they can't be as distructive as a gaggle of wives in a David Jones sale.

Back to the saris. Had a good look through a couple before Sarah got bored.

Had lunch at a restaurant that seems to specialise in indian sweets. Brought a few back for the afternoon snack.