Goodbye Tatla Lake

There's a lot of goodbye here. Goodbye to Tatla Lake, goodbye to Canada, goodbye to Fall Tour 2010. As I sit in my hotel room and actively procrastinate packing up to leave, I feel the need to reflect a bit.

I want to talk about Tatla. This is the most unique community I've been to yet. Unfortunately, the nature of small town politics means that stories about some of the unique characters and personalities involved would be inappropriate. The nature of this place makes its people unusual. It's quite a diverse set of unusual too. Sometimes in a small town, everyone is odd, but the same kind of odd. But here, everyone is odd in their own unique way.

We started Monday with 25 kids. This was essentially the complete population of 5-16 year old children in a 50-mile radius. The school was a relatively small building, of course, but not much smaller than some other schools I've been to. For 25 students, only 18 of which regularly attend classes (7 home-schoolers came in to participate this week), the building is a palace. You could spread the kids out and have one in each classroom. There's a lot of specialized classrooms and a rather nice gym. Unsurprisingly, the school in many ways seems to be the center of the community.

That is one of the most odd bits about this week. We didn't just cast everyone who auditioned, we cast the whole school. Classes were shut down this week and replaced with our rehearsals. We effectively gave the two teachers there a week off. But not really, they just worked on coordinating the massive undertaking that the play became.

This is definitely the smallest town we've been to, but the play has, perhaps because of that, been the biggest event we've been a part of. The whole town turned out and I'm almost being literal here. There was a massive, medieval style dinner put together to precede the show. They roasted a pig. A charity auction was held after the show to raise money for the show. I saw a real auctioneer at work. That's a sight to see, let me tell you.

The gym was transformed. A local technology buff loaned us extra lights, the bus driver from two towns over came in and played guitar for us. Rather extensive sound equipment came from...somewhere, I don't know where, it just showed up.

It's strange, I've gotten used to being thanked for what we do for the kids. And for kids that aren't used to any group over 20, being put in front of a hundred people and performing is a valuable experience. So we got the normal group of grateful parents and grandparents that are one of the highlights of my job, but in addition, there were people who told us that we were helping bring the town together.

Towns this small are a vulnerable breed, and having such a small population means that people run away, resisting the middle of nowhere. The young, in particular, flee in search of work, in search of experience, in search of other youth. They used our show to pull the community together and give them something to be proud of.

I'm not taking credit for this, by the way. It was the hard-working people who brought us here who deserve the credit. I am happy, however, that we got to be a part of it. It makes how extremely tired I am worthwhile.

Today, by the way, was very busy in final preparations. Being part of a larger event naturally increased our workload and complicated the production. Also, we started early with the kids, and what would normally be a five or six hour day became over ten hours. There were a lot of difficulties to overcome, but we overcame them. The show went off. The audience laughed and applauded. A lot of those kids were beaming as the show finished. This was a hard week, but it did remind me why this is the best job I've ever had.

The Long and Winding Road or Dining With Death

I'll explain this in a bit.

But now I'm in Tatla Lake, BC. I have reached the point farthest off the beaten track for my entire tour so far. The previous record holder was Plentywood, Montana, which was several hours from Billings and Regina in Saskatchewan. Plentywood is the center of a bustling urban metropolis compared to Tatla. It's about 150 miles of dangerous two lane country highway to reach the next small town. It's got a McDonald's and a grocery store. And because this is Canada, a Tim Horton's.

If one wants more than a grocery store and fast food, it's 8 hours to Prince George or Kamloops, roughly Missoula-sized cities of the Canadian interior (actually, a bit bigger). This means that if you want to buy a new TV, you have to factor in the cost of the hotel room.

Needless to say, the journey here was a bit...complicated. Murphy's Law came into play at several points. We had originally made plans to stay in a small town called Ashcroft, where we would find some people to stay with. Dear old Murphy, however, dictated that in this case where we had the longest to go, the most obstacles would fall in our path. Therefore, my flight from St. Louis was delayed, followed by the most aggressive grilling at the Canadian border yet. Our first two crossings were pretty easy, so my spider sense was telling me that we were due for a difficult crossing. And I was right. Two hours at a border station where I was accused of having a criminal record. "You hesitated before you said 'no.' Why was that sir?" I refrained from saying "because I haven't slept in a bed for 36 hours and 'have you ever been arrested' is not a question I'm asked very often."

After ascertaining that we were neither smugglers, kidnappers, or deliberately flouting Canadian immigration law, we were sent on our way with papers saying "get the hell out of Canada by the 6th of December."

And then it snowed. And then there was a landslide. And we stayed the night at the Yale Motel in Yale, BC. There we learned an important lesson: check the heating before you stay at a motel in winter. You may think it goes without saying that if staying in a motel north of the 49th parallel, there will at least be adequate heating. This is an inaccurate assumption. Coldest night I've ever spent outside of a sleeping bag.

And then came this morning and the rest of the trip. We left civilization far, far behind us. Snowy, crappy roads. Road grit flaring up and blocking the windshield as well as, we later learned, the headlights. We saw signs warning us to be aware of the crossings of bears, badgers, deer, and/or bighorn sheep. While we saw the deer and the bighorn sheep, we only had to stop for a group of horses that were in the middle of the road on the last highway. Don't know what they were doing or where they were going. Probably never will.

I forgot to add, we have been well outside of cell service for 90% of our time since we crossed the border. The region that Trans-Canada 1 (our main northward route) passes through is the Fraser Canyon, and few cell towers penetrate it. Shortly after leaving Yale, we hit one of those rare spots, and learned that our home office was convinced we were stuck in the rockslide and dead. We had seen a section of TC 1 that was a bit confused looking, lots of construction cones and flashing signs, but we did get through. Apparently, this was the site of a major rockslide. The slide had been cleared, allowing us to slip through, but was shortly closed again so that engineers could do some demolition to prevent further rockslides. We got lucky.

We also stopped here:


That, for those with smaller screens, is the Elvis Rocks the Canyon Cafe. It also has a picture of a man in a fedora on its warning sign.

We also had one further diner for breakfast. Our friend from the top of this post.

Finally, however, we arrived here in Tatla Lake, where we are staying at the Tatla Lake Manor. This place has all the perks of a homestay AND all the perks of a hotel. We have our own rooms and bathrooms. We also have a nice older lady cooking meals for us and joining us for dinner. All the guests are together for dinner. I feel like I'm staying at some old English Inn from a Dickens novel. It's gonna be something else. This means we get to meet the other travelers gathering at the Tatla Lake Manor. We already met one old road worker who talked about dangerous animals for an hour.

Ok, this has been a rather longish post for me, so I'm going to sign off for now. Tomorrow I'm going to have some pictures of the area. I'm told it's beautiful, but we arrived in the dark. The sun set at 5:00 today. We are north.

Canada: The Return

So here I am at the close of my first performance here in Oliver, BC

Oliver is, according to the signage here, the wine capital of Canada, a title I can't say I knew was there to be claimed. It's also on the edge of Canada's only desert, another title I can't say I knew was there to be claimed. I have to admit I subscribed to the rather unfair generalization that Canada as a general rule meant mountains, trees, and snow.

My apologies, nation of Canada, you have variety.

Here in Oliver, I'm putting together what may be the best show we've done to date, due in part to the over 30 high school students in the cast. Not only do they do excellent work themselves, but they provide excellent examples and leadership for the rest of the cast. My job was easy this week.

We also did no fewer than 8 workshops. In the average week, we do 3. That's a little extra cash in our pockets, but wow is it exhausting.

Saturday Addendum

Today I have to cross the border to buy tire chains. Because the airlines are jerks, I got a surprise rearrangement of my flight details. I now will be leaving immediately after tonight's performance. This is a pain in the neck, to say the very least. I will driving through the night, through the snow, to arrive in Seattle on time for my flight.

I'm not predicting disaster, just annoyance.

Next week it's back for Thanksgiving. I shall put gravy on everything.

Springtime for Hitler

So, I'm back in Missoula this week, we had no bookings, and as some of you may have guessed from my title, I've become involved in a production of The Producers.
As much as I love working King Arthur's Quest, (and I mean that without irony) it is nice to be working on a "grown-up" play. One of their running crew techs came down with a nasty case of pneumonia and I got called in to be her substitute.
It has been great. I've had a chance to actually talk to and meet people roughly my own age as opposed to significantly younger or significantly older. I feel like my batteries are really recharged for these last two weeks of tour.
The people backstage keep thanking me for my work. They don't realize that this is not work in my book. I'm not managing several dozen children, I don't have an enormous amount of responsibility that I share with one other person. I dress in black and push scenery around while getting to watch a rather good production of The Producers every night. And my time spent as a techie is time spent not building script boxes.
One thing that both this week and Vancouver have driven home for me is that traveling completely alone is a lot less fun than even one more person. Strangers don't want to have much to do with a lone person. A lone person looks sketchy. So being alone is inherently isolating, which sucks, because the lone person needs to break the isolation the most.
That's why I've loved being on the show. I get to socialize for once. I'm new, but I'm not alone. My presence is understood and known and, best of all, appreciated. All in all a good week. I'm kind of sorry to be leaving Missoula behind, as I've run into a bunch of people that in another situation I'd like to get the chance to spend more time with.
Well, that's really all there is. My air mattress is inflated, and the alarms are set. Time to go to bed. I think the girl I replaced is better, so maybe I'll just watch the show tomorrow.

The Local Flavor

There is a myth, perpetrated by The Food Network, that the world is just full to bursting with little culinary gems in out of the way places. They would have you believe that as you travel, that dive around the corner has, I don't know, the best chili fries in the western hemisphere or something.

This is a myth.

Now, while the experts of The Food Network may go miles and miles and find spectacular offerings, the sad truth is that this is actually pretty uncommon.

I have often heard the statement, with dubious logical backing, that "it's the only place in town, it MUST be good."

That is madness. If it's the only place in town, it means it doesn't have to be good. They have no competition. These places usually are serving you poorly prepared food in a crappy environment on paper plates.

On the road, we've actually started preferring chains to local places. Chains enforce a minimum standard of quality that's usually a couple notches higher than the local place.

That being said, here's the way to find the good ones.

1) Ask the locals. The locals always know if they've got a hidden gem. Hankinson, ND had two restaurants: The Hot Cakes Bed and Breakfast or The Dakota Drive-in. When asked, the locals knew for certain which one was better. The Hot Cakes served an amazing breakfast menu and everyone knew it. The Dakota, well, it was ok. And that's what everyone would tell you. If a local isn't bragging about it, it's not worth even the experiment.

2) Know what to order. Most local places have a specialty, the thing that everyone knows to go looking for. There was another place in North Dakota, Steele, I think, that everything on its menu was crap except the excellent fried pickles. Usually, the waitress knows the specialty. If she doesn't, go back to rule #1.

3) Give up on healthy. If you are in a local establishment in the Midwest, The Mountain Time Zone, or south of the Mason-Dixon line, never, ever, ever order the salad. You will receive white to transparent iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing on it. I am being dead serious when I say that McDonald's has a better salad than the average local place.

4) Exception: This rule does not apply to any city with a population over 50,000. At that point, the local competition is fierce enough and the chains have enough presence that the local spots have to be good or they get forced out. Most major metropolitan areas have excellent local eating scenes. They also usually have a website devoted to finding them.

5) When in Doubt, Get the Hamburger. Hamburgers are extremely difficult to mess up, and for most of these places, it's their staple. That makes the hamburger the safest choice on the road.

That's it for tonight, I just wanted to get my "veteran traveler" testimonial out there for the next time I hear someone talk about trying "the local flavor."

Ach, I'm bad at this

And there we had Idaho.

Apologies again for another lengthy absence, brought on this time by odd schedules and a really mean-spirited virus this week. The last two days in particular, I was basically only awake and moving for the 4 1/2 hours required for rehearsal. Fun, I assure you.

We had a nice successful week down in Idaho, where we got our first taste of familiarity this tour. All three of the preceding weeks (Pemberton, Whistler, and Puyallup) had been quite different from our experiences in the Midwest this summer. Idaho proved to a return to form, putting us in a fairly isolated farming community. Ironically, this was a corn growing community.

I also discovered the exact opposite town to Terre Haute, Indiana. Terre Haute, for the uninitiated is a horrible place to be because it smells like a hamster cage. This is due to the many paper mills in the town. We passed through Ontario, Oregon going to and from Idaho. This town is the home of the Ore-Ida plant (named for being on the Idaho/Oregon border, who knew?) and therefore smells like french fries 24/7.

We also got the chance to visit Boise on our last Saturday. Surprisingly, Boise turned out to be an awesome place. We got to sit down at a nice, classy restaurant and watch tons of adults in costume go to the clubs. By the by, I stand by my opinion that "slutty" is not a costume and "slutty ______" is a poor costume. There are plenty of legitimate costumes that are also revealing. I cite for example a very impressive Dr. Girlfriend costume.

And now we are in Wenatchee, WA. Since I'm coming out of my viral coma, I might actually know something about this city tomorrow.

And Here We Have Idaho

As a note, that title is actually the Idaho State Anthem. Nice.

The long silence on this blog (6 days, comparatively long) was due to Puyallup being a psychotically busy residency. There was a lot to do, a huge cast, extra workshops, and the fact that the Seattle/Tacoma area has a ridiculous highway system that made every supply run an exercise in clock watching. It was kind of a shame, as there seemed to be a lot of stuff in the area worthy of interest, including a comic shop and a used book store in downtown Puyallup. Oh well. We ate pretty well, as the Puyallup area had a nice variety of restaurants, I got my requisite Thai food.

It is unlikely that life will ever take me back to Puyallup, but I can imagine far worse fates.

So, funny kid story. This actually happened. There is a piece of choreography in our show where all the kids are supposed to raise their hands towards a single actor in the middle. It's a nice image most of the time, and the actor in the middle is supposed to just soak it in. This time, however, the one in the middle sees everyone raising their arms and thinks he has to as well. And since he doesn't know which way to raise it, everyone to his right is raising their left arms towards him and everyone to his left is raising their right arms towards him, he sticks his right arm straight out.

Now, this is some complicated explanation, but I'll break down what it looked like: a kid standing on a box with an adoring crowd while he made a "zieg heil" salute. Whoops.

I have officially lost my sense of wonder regarding what these kids are capable of. I get reminded on show days, when parents tell me they had no idea their kids could pull off something like this. It's a twofold answer. First, no one gives kids enough credit, particularly regarding their ability to learn fast. Second, children with no experience in the theater have no conception that putting a full scale musical together in a week is impossible, so they just do it.

And that was Puyallup. I'm liking the Northwest so far. The people are quite kind, and it has a heck of a lot more scenery than the Midwest did. Not that I don't like corn, but one craves variety every so often. So now I'm in Marsing, Idaho. Having only seen it by dark, I can't say too much, but it seems to be a farming town. Actually, I think we're back to corn. This is fine, because it's October and I want to find a corn maze. Maybe a hay ride.

Idaho, by the way, was somewhere I'd always imagined as flat, with potatoes and maybe some hills. This is wildly inaccurate, as driving through the state seemed to consist entirely of hair-raising mountain passes till we got down (literally) to Marsing.

Now, I sleep. This was a looooong drive, particularly after the last few weeks spoiled us with short drives.

Working Hard, Not Hardly Working

It's a strange job I have. On some days, I'm in the middle of nowhere, with a ton of free time on my hands. I have 4 and 1/2 hours of work and then have to amuse myself in a town of 1500 with two restaurants and a stoplight. Sometimes, like today, I work over 12 hours, with a densely populated, very interesting seeming corner of Washington State, just south of the Tacoma/Seattle area, just in my far too busy to appreciate it grasp. Oh well.

Today I did 5, count 'em, 5 workshops for the kids. They were all the same workshop too, a workshop demonstrating the wonders of stage makeup. The school principal also nixed my specialty, a set of zombie makeup. Oh well. I completely understand not wanting that particular phone call from a parent. It just meant that I had to get rather creative and try some new stuff. This took a lot of different forms, experimenting with effects makeup, making kids up like The Incredible Hulk, and in a couple memorable cases, making Kindergartners up like David Bowie and Gene Simmons. I even varied the approach: a kid in one session got the big Ziggy Stardust lightning bolt, while another got the Labyrinth look. I was actually kind of proud of how they turned out.

Five makeup workshops were immediately followed by a full 4.5 hour rehearsal. It's weird, it never rains but it pours. We went entire weeks this summer where no one wanted any workshops, and now they want 6 (another one on Friday). Not complaining, mind you, I do get paid extra after all. And really, the makeup workshops were quite fun. It's just that somewhere around the 10 hour mark my brain, reflecting perhaps on recent events, tried to recover its balance, and the thought "you're not as young as you used to be" flashed across my mind.

I usually don't write specifically about the kids in this blog. I'm eager to not offend anyone who may come across it, and even the most gentle of sarcastic comments or complaints may be seen as a dire insult. I don't want to give that image, since most kids are really a joy to work with. In this case, however, I've got to write about how bright these kids are. We've only had one group younger than this, but this has been one of our most dedicated and enthusiastic casts, very fun to have around.

Strange that my "crazy busy day" is the one where I make two blog posts. Odd.

Belated Own Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday abroad. A chance to celebrate the not-so-interesting age of 26. Now since I am 1000 miles away from the nearest person I know, the celebrations were limited to me, Starry, and my phone. Special thanks to Facebook for a huge number of birthday wishes.

So here I am in Puyallup, WA, where yesterday I had my second biggest audition of my career: 105 children. We could have cast the show twice. As it stands, we wound up with a very strong cast of K-6 students. We've also run into a place that is almost bizarrely organized. These guys almost seem to know the job better than I do. All contingencies are accounted for, all aspects are planned, everything works, it's crazy.

Also, they want us to do the makeup workshop 6 times.

I've started to vary the approach just to keep it interesting for myself..

Later today, I'm making a kid look like David Bowie.

Goodbye Canada! For 4 weeks.

Well, here I am, last night in Canada. Tomorrow, it's back across the border and on to Puyallup, WA. For those of you following along at home, that's "Pooh-All-Up" as near as I can tell.

Tonight was both of our Whistler shows. It was also to be a trip up to Pemberton to revisit my awesome homestays up there, but alas, in a move that should be a surprise to no one I managed to make a series of flaky mistakes rendering it impossible. Very sad.

I'm going to miss Canada. I mean, I'll be back in 4 weeks, but still. All three cities I've stayed in have been great in their own way. I wish I'd had a bit more time to see Whistler when one is meant to see Whistler, either 1 month ago or 1 month from now, and I wish I'd had more money to enjoy Vancouver, and that I had more time in Pemberton. All in all, though, it's been a good 3 weeks up here.

I come to places expecting to be able to generalize about them, for positive or negative. To be able to say "the French are real jerks," or "people from North Dakota are really nice." Why I would come to these places expecting that is beyond me, as I can't generalize like that back home, with its even balance of saints and assholes. BC has proven the same, it's a mix. To go to Canada expecting every single person you meet to be a friendly, helpful, and welcoming is to set yourself up for disappointment. That being said, BC is running a tie right now for friendliest state/province I've traveled to on this trip, sitting equal with the very friendly people of North Dakota. AND, British Columbia beats North Dakota on "places I'd like to go back to" on the virtue of actually having scenery rather than barren flatness.

On an only slightly related note, check out the awesome hat that the parents in Whistler gave me.





That's right boys and girls, I've got a Jayne hat. And a doofy expression, but what do you want, it's my webcam.

See you stateside!

Whistler

Whistler is a town a lot of Americans might remember. It was the site of just about any event requiring a mountain during the 2010 Winter Olympics. And trust me, if you had forgotten, just drop on by to Whistler and you will see constant reminders. It's on all the signage, it's on half the buildings, the stores all still have the merchandise, as do most of the residents.

Whereas, most of the time, Pemberton felt like a quiet, sleepy mountain village. Whistler is almost bustling with activity. It's like someone put an upscale suburb (think Clayton, MO) on top of a mountain 80 miles from the nearest metropolitan area. The population, as well, seems significantly more busy in addition

Today, however, was the first day i got to see why so many people go to Whistler. We've been covered in rain and fog for the last couple of days, and a visibility of 20 feet is not conducive to the appreciation of mountain scenery. I finally got to see the mountains and the well sculpted ski-trails today.

I've never seen a place so devoted to the tourist trade. The over-abundance of navigation signs, making the assumption that most people on a given road have never been there and such a concentration of hotels, restaurants, and little touristy shops like one rarely sees in such a small town. To make another comparison, it's the mountain village version of a Fisherman's Wharf or Navy Pier.

Right now, I'm staying in a suite of sorts. Many of the homes have attached, separate suites which get rented out to tourists. It's a little bedroom with attached kitchen. I've been experimenting with cooking, mostly taking the form of Thai kits and Kraft dinner.

There really isn't much of interest to report, though we did have to stop the truck while a bear crossed the highway. According to one of the locals, "you never quite get used to it." I've mostly been relaxing after the hectic latter end of my Vancouver stay. Also the schools want a lot of workshops and need coordination, we are actually working three elementary schools.

Alright, I'm off. Time for rehearsal.

An Ode to the Cambie Hostel

I'm glad I stayed here.

There are any number of reasons. Good location, affordability, comfy beds. But the real value has been the interesting people I've met. To wit:

-3 German tourists offering conversation and bear spray
-An Australian nurse from Melbourne, looking to work in Canada
-An Australian SCUBA instructor, also from Melbourne, touring around most of North America in one very long go.
-A German accountant, looking to work in a Canadian hotel.
-A German student on her way home from working in a Canadian hotel.
-A pair of girls from Ecuador and Japan, both studying English.
-Their Swiss friend. Also studying. Them.
-A Swiss tourist, who talked about his government provided Swedish assault rifle.
-An Irishman touting the wonders of Jameson.
-A former member of the Singapore armed forces, looking for work in the same field as my mom.
-An American college student with a bad haircut, in the middle of an existential crisis.
-An extremely friendly Quebecois musician, with a gift for making friends with everyone.
-An extremely intense Australian "bogan" (redneck) with too many tattoos, trying to get to Cuba.
-A verbose, friendly Quebecois filmmaker
-An American from Washington D.C., showing off his photos from Washington state.
-An Englishman who kept trying to throw pennies into everyone's drinks.

And that's just off the top of my head.

Now, will I miss the mice? No. The nails in the floor? Of course not. The noisy drunks at 3 am? Never.

Would I come back next time I passed through Vancouver? In a heartbeat.

Perhaps I didn't do the full Vancouver tourist round. I never saw the aquarium. I never went to the art museum. I took a three hour bus ride to do "The Grind" today and it was CLOSED. (Very Griswold family vacation). But I feel like I got a much more intimate glimpse at the life of the city. More than that, at the Cambie, I got a chance to see not just Vancouver, but the world through the eyes of it's fascinating and varied clientele.

I think Americans have the wrong idea about hostels. They are "sketchy" or "cheap". They are places where people get knifed or robbed. But I really came to enjoy it. It's a setup full of travelers. And since we are all mixed together, we get to meet each other. So much better than languishing alone in a hotel room.

So, here's to the Cambie. I love it. But I hope it's not too unique. I can only hope the rest of the world has places like it.

A Night On the Town...Sort of

Last night, after having more or less wasted the better part of the day, I decided to really take advantage of the evening. Finding that the other long term stays at the hostel all had plans that evening, I opted to wander on my own.

Big surprise, I know. The story of this week has essentially been "Ted wanders around Vancouver for a week."

But things happened. My wanderings took me to Granville Street, the seeming center of Vancouver nightlife. Tons of bars and clubs and theaters. As I had arrived a bit too early in the evening, the "night life" hadn't really picked up yet. But there was one big crowd on one side of the street.

It would seem that I had wandered into the VIFF, the Vancouver International Film Festival. All month, theaters throughout Vancouver are showing independent films from across the world. It was pretty cheap, so I gave it a look. I wound up seeing an import from Great Britain, Down Terrace. This was a slick movie. It's 50% Guy Ritchie (Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels or Snatch) and 50% Cheech and Chong. Sort of. It defies description and told a story that I really hadn't seen or heard before. I'd recommend it, but I have the sad feeling that it will drift away, never to be heard from again. The world is full of little movies, made on a shoestring by small groups that, even if they're good, simply fail to take off. Regardless, an excellent night at the movies.

Not much else to say, really. I also explored a few of the other places on Granville, but nothing really came of it. Observed some material for a story I'm gradually puttering along about writing. The people watching in these places is amazing. I shocked a girl who was told to dance with me on a dare. I think she was expecting me to rub up on her like some kind of dog in heat and instead I pulled her into my half remembered Lindy moves. Wound up garnering some not unpleasant attention and pulled me out of my occasionally awkward observer role.

It's fun the odd little skills that being an actor has helped me acquire. If techno songs ever were in 3/4 time I'd have waltzed with someone. For the most part, being a stranger in town kind of sucks. Lone males are, perhaps justifiably, eyed with suspicion by all. Still, it's a good way to break out of a shy mentality. If I introduce myself to random people, as I must to keep myself from cracking up with only the internet to keep me company, they either accept me, ignore me, or tell me to f*** off. And if they do the last two? So what? I'm out of town in three days.

Number 3 has only happened the once. And I wasn't even talking to him. Actually it was just this psycho in the park who was mostly talking to himself.

...There are a lot of crazies kicking around here.

Why, yes legs, I do remember that I walked all day yesterday

Uggghhh.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I should remember that I am not in the shape I once was, and more to the point, that I was never in that great a shape to begin with.

Take yesterday's little walking adventure. As of my yesterday afternoon post, I had walked halfway across the city. Twice. And wandered for a couple miles of trail in the park. Immediately after posting I walked halfway across the city again, went to the same park, walked until sunset (a very beautiful sunset, into the bay and sinking into the mountains of Vancouver Island), and then walked halfway across the city back to the hostel. Needless to say, I've done some brighter things in my life.

I woke up this morning with my calves and knees urgently reminding me that I walked around 25 km yesterday. As if I had forgotten.

Well worth it, though. The second leg was around the perimeter at high tide, somewhat dull on the eastern side, with nothing to look at but the city and the water, but the far side of the park begins to become more rugged, with cliffs looking out at the inlet and rocky beaches and paths cut into the base of the cliff. It's all very cool. I even took pictures. Due to...technical difficulties, they're on my facebook account for now.

Meeting more interesting hostel residents. This time around, it was another German, I only meet Germans out here it seems. Nice lady from Köln, she even joined me for dinner.

Speaking of food, time to go hunting for lunch. I'm hoping to see more of the city, but I've still got a few more days for that, and my legs are killing me. Another relatively sedentary day may be in order here.

But at least I had breakfast...

This is the story of a failure.

This morning I had the opportunity to demonstrate what a spontaneous, adventurous person I am, and failed utterly.

As I was waiting for my breakfast to come at the little cafe next to the hostel, the schön Deutsches Fraulein staying on my floor, happened to walk in. On her way out, she said she was going to Stanley Park, and wasn't I going too, and would I like to accompany her? In a spirit of adventure, I said that I was waiting for my breakfast, would she care to wait for just a moment? Alas, she had already eaten. Maybe I would see her at the park? Maybe.

Now this isn't some kind of lost love, oh I just let the girl of my dreams slip through my fingers kind of thing. Hardly. I'm not so desperate or crazy as that. Still, I could have had a traveling companion through the park, one from a culture which interests me, and who I know I share some interests with. And all I had to do was skip breakfast and give up on the $2.75 it had cost me. Here comes adventure, there goes adventure. Oh well.

I soon learned that the idea of running into someone, at random, in the park was nigh inconceivable. The park is huge, the largest municipal park in Canada, covering an entire peninsula at the end of Vancouver. Walk for five minutes into it and you forget you're in a city. There's a walk around the perimeter of the peninsula, some 8 km long, which I opted to skip, as it was low tide (low tide stinks). So I got to go through this primeval set of forest. Tall trees with the sunlight creeping through. They actually describe it as a temperate rainforest. It's really great. I'm planning on going back in just a few minutes. I think it's high tide now.

Would have been more fun with another person, though.

The less I'm doing, the more time I have to write about it

It's hard to be unhappy in a Canadian city. At least if you're me. The reason is a very simple one.

Jaunty Canadian walk signs.

Wherever the dude on the walk sign is going, he is absolutely thrilled to be going there. Look at the upturned toes, at the energetic set of his arms. This is not a walk sign, this is a strut sign.

Last night I took a walk around the waterfront. The hostel is right next to the part of the harbor where the cruise ships dock. It's really a beautiful city. I wish I had more money, because I kept walking past really nice smelling, but rather expensive restaurants. Today should be my last day of aimless wandering, reading, and writing. Staring at pigeons and reading Proust (no, really) may be good for the soul, but I could have done that in Missoula for cheaper.

I mentioned yesterday the odd feeling of being an American abroad. I couldn't quite put my finger on it then, and it's still a little elusive, but I'm going to try again.

Basically, everyone has an opinion on America: American politics, American culture, American celebrities. If you asked me for an opinion on Canadian politics, whether I thought the Liberals or the Conservatives had a better policy, or whether I thought the Bloc Quebecois had strayed from its separatist roots, I would shrug and say I had no idea. Most people here have a good idea of what's going on in the American political system, and they have an opinion.

The Canadians seem to regard us like you might look at a twin brother, who gets a lot more attention, and while you're a little jealous, you're mostly relieved that you're not getting all the bad attention. The metaphor is a little off. Jealous isn't the right word.

Can't put my finger on it. What a failure I am, can't summarize a whole culture after a week and a half.

Tomorrow, then.

Pictures!

A few select pictures from Pemberton:

My lovely host family, Angela and Jason, in front of dramatic Mt. Currie. Ignore the power lines.





The beautiful Pemberton valley. My chintzy cell phone camera does not do it justice.



And that's me. Yep, it's my proof. I was there. I climbed a mountain, a small one, to get a look at another, bigger mountain.

The trail we were hiking to reach all these scenic vistas had the amazing title of "Lumpy's Epic." It was a few miles long, maybe 4 or 5, not sure. Mostly forests that then opened up on huge scenic looks at the mountain. It's amazing what you can get used to. The kids around here have no idea they are surrounded by truly epic natural beauty. I couldn't walk out of the elementary school without a part of my brain going, "oooo...mountains."

This is my second mountain in four months after joining the company. What is happening to me.

Morning of the friendly Germans

This morning, I awoke to the rustling of bags and conversation in German.

I am presently staying in an 8-bunk, dorm style room, which I shared last night with one Canadian (from Ontario, I think) and three Germans on holiday from University. I'm saddened, though, as this is to be their last day before flying back. They all seemed like nice guys. They also were giving away stuff that they didn't want to take with them. This included a nice fabric bag, some bottled water, and bear spray.

After checking the ingredients, I discovered that bear spray is essentially MACE with a bear on the can. Hence the can's advice to aim for the eyes, then run.

Now, why did I think it advisable to take the bear spray? Because in British Columbia, bears are a pest species. Back in St. Louis it was deer and rabbits, here it's bears. In fact, when I was in Pemberton, the family I was staying with advised me to make sure I was making noise if I was walking back late, as it would scare the bears away. The bears had been coming up to the house and stealing apples off the tree. My host told the story that he had been in the tree one day, picking apples, when he noticed that there was a bear cub in the tree with him.

And I will only be going to more isolated pockets of BC, inclining me to think that I haven't heard my last bear warning. And who knows what kind it will be. Apparently the most common kind are relatively harmless black bears, but some people talk of seeing grizzlies. Unlikely? Sure. Would I buy bear spray? No, of course not. Am I going to turn it down when offered? Also no. Besides, it probably works on muggers too. Also, since it's apparently just capsaicin (the active ingredient in chili peppers) maybe I'll just use it to spice up some of the blander food I come across.

Time to breathe and think

Here I am in the Vancouver Public Library. I have a power outlet that my increasingly fussy laptop doesn't give up on. I have a reliable internet connection. I have a comfy chair and nothing but time.

At present, I am staying at the Cambie Hostel, in the middle of Vancouver's Gastown District. I would identify the whole place as a having a kind of touristy skeazyness to it. It reminds me a bit of Camden Town in London. There is a huge variety of people, from foreign tourists of all descriptions, eccentric locals, and a complete set of vagrants and panhandlers. These are the most conversational panhandlers I've ever met, they walk with you a way, give unsolicited directions and advice, then ask for a dollar. Were I not broke, I'd even consider it.

Vancouver has a lot to do, it seems. Museums, ferries, shopping, and restaurants. However, the nature of my visit here requires frugality, so I'm gonna do the research before I start making choices.

Speaking of money, the dollar coins all have ducks on them. Or Loons, I suppose. People here really do refer to them as "Loonies" without a trace of irony. It's a little difficult to not snicker when having to seriously refer to money matters and "counting our loonies."

I'm going to do a bunch of separate posts now, break this down into manageable chunks.

First: The Germans

So long Pemberton, Hello Vancouver

The internet at the house I was staying in decided that the week I was there was the week to go on the fritz, so I had very little posting that I was able to do. It will have to be all at once then.

Pemberton, as it turned out, was absolutely beautiful. We were in a mountain valley, with big, impressive mountains on all sides. The mountains there were actually more dramatic and impressive than those surrounding Missoula. I even got the chance to spend Saturday hiking in the mountains with my homestay family.

My internet is still crappy, in fact, it's somewhat worse. But I have more patience with it at the moment due to a lack of much else to do. I also have some good photos and stories, but I can't seem to upload them without my connection giving up on me.

Changing my mind. This won't be all at once. Tomorrow, I will find a library or an internet cafe and do this right. I hope. $24 a day, Canadian. What do I expect for a pittance?

Welcome to Canada

Since I will be spending this fall in places that are a bit more interesting and a bit less connected, I've started this little blog. It's going to be an account of what happens to me as I wander the wilds of the Pacific Northwest working for the Missoula Children's Theater.
So, introductions aside, here goes.
I am presently in Pemberton, BC (that's British Columbia). We are about 2 hours of north of Vancouver. As I write, I am in the kitchen of the very nice family who has taken me in. Starry (my partner) and I are in separate houses, and I appear to be the lucky one, as she is staying in the middle of the woods and I am in walking distance to the school.
This is beautiful country, with scenic mountains covered in trees and wisps of fog rolling in off the ocean. The "Sea to Sky Highway" that ran up here from Vancouver was one of the most amazing drives I've been on, rising and falling as it ran along the Pacific coast. It reminded me a bit of California Route 1. Whoops, gotta go.