Saturday 18th

Well we made it to Canadia, eh.

We survived the Dash 8 dash to Vancouver. 

After passing a herd of PIGS to get onto the little bug‑smasher, Sarah survived the journey. She wasn’t best pleased when she first found out that it would be Air Canadia Jazz, not Air Canadia. But hey, we got row 3, so that’s close to the door. Not so much. The noisy propeller is RIGHT THERE!

I took a couple of pictures out the window, because the view is kinda nice. I expected the photo to show just what I saw, a bit of view, and a blur of propellers. But no, we got a weird abstract view of those noisy buggers. 

See one of them even has some kind of logo on it. Bazaaro dude!

But we made it. We got off at the arse end of Vancouver airport, and did a bit of walking down these fabric tunnels. Kind of like the regional terminal at home, but at least the entrance is obvious here.

 

Eventually, we made it into the real terminal, and it’s nice and airy. I am comparing it to LAX, which is the lowest common denominator for airports at this end of the world.

Speaking of airports, did I mention that we stayed overnight at AKL airport. I think I did, but I don’t think I said that the terminal looks really tired now. I am comparing it to CHC, which is really nice.

Did I say tired? Let’s be honest, it’s rubbish. The food court is crap now, nothing like it used to be, and there’s nothing else to do. After customs, duty free is OK, but that’s your bleeding lot!

Anyway, back to Vancouver.

From the customs queue, we can see shopping above, and baggage claim beyond. Lots of space, lots of light. Nice.

We were in a queue with 2 customs agents. One a young Asian lad, doing about twice the throughput of the guy next to him, and we got THAT guy.

Grey hair, straggly goatee, ponytail. The guy is a hippy. Welcome to Canadia. I’m not in a hurry, why should you be, eh? Nice enough guy, but the eyes weren’t in the conversation.

Pick up the bags and we are out of there. Follow the signs to the train. I had already done the homework, and the place we were heading for was a dwarf-toss away from a train station, so we will go that way. We got across the road, and up 3 floors to the train station. No staff, and the largest note the ticket machine will accept is $20. We’ve only got $100s. Not being clever, that’s all the bank in CHC had. As it was, we had to wait 3 days while they got them in for us.

So, back to the terminal, Sarah bought a drink to break the $100. Retailers just LOVE giving out $98 in change, but not our problem. Back to the station, buy the tickets, and the train will be here in 5 minutes. From my research, I knew that the ride to our station would be 24 minutes, and it was.

Too easy.

Saw on TV that there had been a riot here on Wednesday night. Something to do with a Canuck game, whatever that is. Anyway, lots of shop windows broken, and a few cars tipped over and set alight.

But this is Canadia, right? That stuff doesn’t happen here. Were there some visiting Amrikans, or Pommy football fans? Who knows? Very surprising behaviour, from what we all hear about Canadians.

Weird enough, but what follows defies belief.

By the next morning, all broken windows were covered in plywood, as you would expect. But then everybody came out. All of the plywood got completely covered.
In messages.
Not graffiti, but messages of love and support for the city.

But wait, there’s more. We have CCTV at home, right? 
They have more. Many images were televised, not only of what happened, but of who was doing it. Unlike at home, these guys turned themselves in. Those that didn’t, were turned in. By their families! Awesome!

There is a police car parked in a corner, and it is buried under post-it notes, all thanking the police for protecting its citizens. Now THAT’s Canadian!

We did a hop-on-hop-off trolley today. There are 2 routes, the blue through the city, and the red through Stanley Park. We took the red today. Nice drive, great views. Strange trees. As you drive through the park, there are some trees with hollow trunks. It’s like the root system started 10 feet above ground, and snakes down to find dirt. That’s because it does. Trees are cut at about 10 feet from the ground. The tree feller (not an irish joke) cuts a notch in the trunk at eye level, and then puts a board in to stand on. Then he cuts down the tree at the higher waist level. A few years after it is gone, another tree starts growing on top of the stump. 

The roots wrap around the stump, heading for the ground. Jump ahead a few more years, and the stump rots away, leaving a hollow base. 

The one in the photo was once photographed with a VW in the gap below its trunk.

There is another tour option in the park, being pulled by a couple of horses. 

Sarah says she doesn’t need to pay somebody so that she can look at a horse’s ass!