Oh, Canada.
When I was planning this trip, reading my USA book cover to cover and highlighting my road atlas accordingly, I had never really considered going anywhere other than the forty eight states that make up the contiguous U.S. Every state, every national park, and everything in between; that was the goal. Mexico had crossed my mind briefly but oddly enough, not Canada. Looking back now, that seems strange considering how beautiful it is. Still, I guess subconsciously I must have thought about it at least a once or twice since I packed my passport. There I was in Seattle, ready to head off solo once again, passport in hand, and I thought to myself, why not. Off to British Columbia I went, Vancouver to be exact. I had secured a couch surfing host for at least two nights before I crossed the border which was key considering I had no idea if I’d have phone service once I got there. Sure enough, I didn’t. Not that it was a huge deal, I actually rather like going off the grid every so often, although lately it’s been more often than not.
Three hours, a real passport stamp, and $50 exchanged into Canadian dollars later, I arrived at my host's house in North Vancouver. I was greeted by not just my host, Dmitri, but a lot more people; Petra, Rafa, Mike, John, Eugene, Laura, and Leon, the shoe stealing golden retriever. Slightly overwhelmed, I introduced myself and took a seat on the couch. It was clear right away that not everyone was from Canada. Czech was the language of choice and almost everyone had an accent that was casually mixed with the all too frequent “eh?” as if they grew up saying it and it permanently stuck. I couldn’t imagine all those people fit in that house. They didn’t, by the way. Two of the couples lived in their campers parked out front and used the house as a base. I loved that, it only added to the chill community vibe oozing off the welcoming atmosphere. So far Canada was off to a great start. After about twenty minutes Dmitri announced they were going to the beach, at 6PM. I was confused since it seemed a little late for a beach day but also kind of excited. Not thinking I would need a sweatshirt, I did, or pants to change into, I did, I grabbed my bathing suit and towel and headed out the door with Petra, Rafa and Dmitri. The beach, I won’t tell you where since there are hand written signs tacked to driftwood along it asking you to respect it’s privacy, was one of a kind. Short, narrow, hidden behind trees off the side of train tracks, the small black stones filled in the holes where the giant driftwood trees weren’t. It reminded me a little bit of where Thatcher and I had camped on Washington’s coast in Olympic National Park. The difference most notably being the size of the beach itself. We made our way along the white tree trunks scattered along the shore hopping from one to the other until we found our spot. The one sailboat, the Gigi H. (I remember because that’s what my family calls me, Gigi) was bobbing back and forth with the gentle tide of the pacific barely making waves or a presence. The smoke hadn’t cleared yet so the view out into the open ocean seemed to be a vast expanse of nothing as the the bright red sun set over a very faded mountain off to my far right. Rafa and Dmitri kept telling me there were mountains straight ahead as well and I kept jokingly telling them I didn’t believe them since I couldn’t see them. A floating log made for a good source of entertainment as Dmitri and I attempted to stand on it at the same time. It took a while and a lot of trial and error but we finally accomplished it, I have a few scrapes to prove it. Relaxing and talking all the while slightly shivering and wondering why I didn’t bring another layer, Rafa called me over to a large stump and pointed out a sunflower carving in the base of the driftwood half hidden by the water slowly coming in with the tide. Amazing. The beach really was a magical place. It was easy to see why they love it so much and why they go there almost every night.
I didn’t even tell you all the best part - blackberries. Invasive to Vancouver, there is a plethora of blackberries. I don’t use that word lightly here folks because in no way am I exaggerating. On the way down to the beach we stopped for at least ten minutes reaching into every bush we saw and snagging all of the big juicy looking berries. I started to pick the ones lower down and more easily accessible, tossing them in my mouth without even washing them, and had snagged maybe a handful so far when Dmitri made a very good point. Don’t eat the ones below your knees. Take a minute and see if you can guess why… No? Well, the bushes are on the side of the road so, presumably, if someone had to pee and walked over to do just that where do you think they’d hit? Exactly. Little word of advice there should you ever go into the berry picking business or happen upon a bush on the side of the road. I dropped the one or two still in my hand and went back for more, this time a little higher up for cleaner pastures. Fun fact, I smuggled some back with me and they were just as delicious as when I had picked them.
Day two in Canada was amazing. John was so awesome to lend me his bike to explore downtown and it was definitely not made for city biking. It’s heavy frame and thick tires were perfect for downhill and rough on even the slightest incline. I managed, though admittedly there were a few times where I gave up and had to walk it. It was all downhill from the house to the sea bus which was a perfect way to start my ride. I made my way there and struggled with the ticket machine and the new currency weighing down my wallet. Seriously Canada, why must your one and two dollars be in the form of a coin?! Eye roll. Anyway, back to the sea bus. I ferried my way over to the city and took it all in. The only way to see Vancouver is by bicycle. Hands down. The sea wall runs from the convention center right next to the sea bus terminal all the way down and around Stanley Park, a beautiful public park on the tip of Vancouver, then loops back around False Creek which is larger than the name lets on and is filled with rainbow colored water taxis and boats anchored all around. I did it all and biked easily over ten miles that day exploring everything that looked interesting, even places that didn’t. Hugging the tight turns along the sea wall through Stanley Park, I took note of the beautiful apartments/condos along my left and the small pools in front of them with even smaller waterfalls. I looked to my right and watched as sea planes took off along the skyline, the floating chevron lit up behind them and the reflections of the sailboats in the marinas rippling in their wake. Downtown Vancouver reminded me a lot of Seattle which was only a bonus, as you know from my last post I thoroughly enjoyed Seattle. There were so many people biking alongside me it was hard to sightsee without a fear of crashing into a biker ahead of me and triggering a domino effect, which by the way I witnessed more than once. I glanced here and there out at the ocean at the massive cargo ships, small yachts, and even smaller sailboats coming and going as they pleased. The flat bike path came around a bend and just ahead I noticed a rather large crowd gathering, bikes clogging my path to get through. Unable to find a place to stop, I slowly pedaled past them and pulled over in a thinner crowd to see what the fuss was about. Thank goodness I did. A mama otter and her two kids were trying to cross the bike path to the ocean. The two babies used their slippery little bodies to squirm and wrap themselves all over their mom trying to get literally as close to her as possible for protection while every once in a while she’d snarl at the onlookers, myself included. People realized what was happening quickly and took charge, pushing reluctant and ignorant tourists with cell phones back as far as they could to show they weren’t the enemy. The otters made it across safely but not before I died from a cuteness overload. Not a bad way to go, I think. Continuing on my biking adventure, I struggled up and over the Burrard St. Bridge to Granville Island for lunch. The small island was perfect for foot traffic with its shops and restaurants all within the small island limits of a few blocks. One of the shops was a postcard store - a whole store dedicated to postcards! Obviously I went inside and bought five. You probably could have guessed that though. The public market was bustling and filled with every fresh kind of fruit you can imagine. It looked like an old warehouse with its rustic pipes overhead and wooden planks along the ceiling and the waterfront location was the perfect place to sit and cool off after a long morning bike ride. I walked past the street performer standing on stilts and juggling who knows what, living in NY for so long I feel like I have seen it all so I didn’t stay very long to watch before getting back to my bike. Knowing I still had to make it back and I’d rather bike than water taxi, I reluctantly sat down on the bike seat, my butt aching from sitting on it all morning, and continued around False Creek. I skipped the uphill portion of the bridge and instead rode through athlete’s village which now seems all but abandoned to forever be beautiful waterfront housing gone to waste. What a shame. I came around the bend and biked past Science World, a large globe shaped building that I could not get enough of. I ended up going through Gastown before heading back to the sea bus terminal. A more touristy but beautiful section of the city, it boasts cracking brick streets and flower covered street signs. Fighting my way through the crowd with the bike, I headed back to North Vancouver satisfied that I had accomplished everything I possibly could in one day.
I think it’s safe to say I covered all my bases in Canada. I went to Lynn Canyon where cliff jumping is a must, saw Vancouver lit up from afar, walked through a street mural fair in East Vancouver, visited my fair share of nude beaches, and was unpleasantly surprised to find that $1.33 for gas was actually per liter not gallon. I even went on an amazing hike after it finally rained. It rained and the smoke was lifted. Thank goodness, it was starting to get a little gloomy there for a while. Finally, I was going to go on a hike with a payout at the end. Dmitri is one of those people that seems to be up for anything, will make you try something at least once and is never in a rush. He’s constantly putting others first, another awesome quality, and I loved having company on a hike that I didn’t feel like doing alone. We drove some of the sea to sky highway, a gorgeous scenic drive alongside the pacific with mountains stacked back as far as the eye could see and made our way to The Chief. About forty five minutes north by Squamish, a pretty town with rainbow walkways known for its rock climbing, the hike promised a lot of elevation in a short distance. After gathering whatever we’d need and making sure we had enough water we headed out on the hike. There are three peaks of the Chief to choose from. The second is the tallest and for some reason when I saw it on the map it clicked. So that’s the one we headed for. I have come to realize that I am a slow hiker. Not that it’s a race. If you’re racing while you’re hiking then you are going to hurt, let me tell you. I keep a steady pace but it is certainly nothing to brag about. Here I was staring up at the beginning of what was to be a serious uphill battle; stairs. An excessive amount of stairs. Deep breath and the climb began. Higher and higher we went through the forest of huge trees and light seeping in, rock steps unevenly decorating the way up in between sets of steep and tall wooden stairs. The end of the climb reminded me of Angel’s Landing, remember that one from Zion? The chains on the side of the rocks were drilled in tight and I clung to them as I climbed alongside tree roots and in-between narrow rock passages, up a metal ladder and then farther up to the payout. I mean, wow. The water before us was icy blue, so light you wouldn’t believe me unless you saw it for yourself. The clouds left shadows across it that changed rapidly as the sky moved above us, or we moved under it… either way, it was amazing. I loved looking out onto the first peak, a little lower than us, and seeing the people on top of it doing the same thing we were, lounging on the edge of The Chief. Squamish was just below us, logs piled into the docks and homes like tiny squares among the trees. When all was quiet and peaceful a deafening sound came from my right and before I could look, a plane whooshed by us way closer than I would have liked. I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped at the site of it so close yet so graceful, giving us our own personal air show.
Canada is definitely an experience I will never forget and a country I hope to visit again someday. There’s so much I missed! The people are what made the experience, for sure. Especially Petra’s homemade bread. I could and would eat that bread all day long, calories be damned.
I had the option to stay a little longer but I decided not to, there’s a lot left to see and I am eager to get back to seeing it.
- G.
The Photo:
The top of The Chief.
Squamish, British Columbia.
8/13/17.
