Day 2, Part 1

We awoke on day two in a single story house outside just of Seattle. We got up, showered and dressed, and helped my uncle make breakfast. As we finished eating, my aunt rose and joined us. We took a quick morning trip to a nearby park which they like for bird watching. Most of the birds had already left for the day – we saw some scattered (what were those little yellow birds again? Golden somethings?), a few ducks, a hunting osprey, and a very still heron. We had a great time with it, but had to head on our way.

Following the highway north was a breeze. We turned the audio cd back on when we’d passed the bulk of the Seattle area, and passed through Everett and Bellingham lost to the words. We hit the border with no trouble, and probably should have realized that something was up.

Luckily, we had received our passports a week before the trip – a full 6 weeks earlier than expected. We handed them over dutifully at the border, answered some basic questions about our marital status, intentions in Canada, and occupations. The businesslike lady at the booth, who clearly became a border guard after a stint in some airline at the check-in counter, directed us to pull across the border, turn to the left, park, and speak with someone in immigrations.

We did as directed. A burly man took our passports, asked us the whole barrage of questions again, and told us to sit down in the row of 5 seats which comprised the waiting area for immigrations. He left the counter, returned in a few minutes, handed us our passports, and told us to be on our way.

We did. With a mere stop at the information center just inside the border to look for an the ATM they claimed to have (a cruel hoax) and to exchange the cash that hadn’t yet burned holes in our pockets, we were on our way. The trip to Vancouver was short as we tried to work out just how many kilometres are in a mile and other such oddities.

And then we reached Vancouver. I must break in here to note that the last time I visited this region, I was 15, and certainly not tasked with navigation or any other vital role. My role was merely to sit in the front, eread my book, growl a bit about the embarrassment of being on VACATION with my PARENTS, and harangue my brother.

So when I proposed going to Vancouver, it was with the Impression that this was a city about the size of Portland. As I navigate Portland with minimal trouble the three times a year that I choose to do so, I expected very little trouble in Vancouver.

My expectations were completely and thoroughly dashed. The route which we had mapped through Vancouver to our hotel was not, as it appeared on the map, a limited-access freeway, but rather a highway which wound through city streets. After sitting in endless traffic in downtown Vancouver and getting detoured down some other street entirely to avoid a crane standing in the middle of the street holding up part of a building, we finally made it to Lionsgate Bridge. And found yet more traffic. Bridge traffic, at least, was navigable. No-one tried to walk out in front of the car, no one tried to cut into the lane in ¾ of an inch – it simply moved very slowly across the bridge. We finally made it to our hotel, checked in, and sat down with a huge sigh of relief.

EDIT TO ADD:
A couple of hours later, after resting up and reviewing our dining options for the evening, a matter which required no less than three phone books and two maps, we headed out for our first stop: the Van Dusen Gardens in downtown Vancouver. Armed with directions from the web site and a local city map, we navigated through evening traffic – an hour long process – and arrived at the garden gate. A lone sign swung from the gate: CLOSED. Stuck next to it on a sheet of paper was a notice indicating that the gardens were temporarily closed due to labor negotiations.

I gnashed my teeth, rent my garments, and pulled my hair, but no management of any level mysteriously appeared to harangue for neglecting to update the website with a notice regarding the situation. I left a note in the suggestion box suggesting that perhaps updating the website with future unexpected closings would prevent other visitors from navigating the hour long hurdle that is Vancouver traffic in vain. It dawned on me later that perhaps the webmaster was among the striking workers, and with this kind of management, who can blame them?

On the zig zag path we had been forced to take to avoid various road construction, we had passed the Elizabeth Gardens, where they have a lovely conservatory of exotic flowers. Or so I’m told; sadly, the same combination of sign and notice dangled from a much busier glass door on the conservatory. Some harried worker had crossed out the words “labor dispute” on the notice and replaced them with “management intransigence”, which indicates, I suppose, that the gardens will not be open to the public in the immediate future.

The rest of the Elizabeth Garden was pleasant, we had a quiet little stroll and took some portraits of each other in the gardens. I headed down to a nice shady little spot, arriving just seconds before an entire wedding party looking for a place for formal portraits. The bride’s mother wore a beautiful turquoise traditional kimono while her father and the rest of the group wore traditional Western garb – tuxedos, a long white gown for the bride, etc. We stepped back to let them have the area, and continued our saunter around the grounds.

When we left, we were much calmer of mind and less likely to be unnerved by the unexpected closure of two of the places we had looked forward to seeing in Canada. We drove to a pleasant waterfront restaurant – which I had previously jotted down directions to – for dinner. The neighborhood looked a bit off – the blocks surrounding the restaurant were dark and filled with looming warehouses – but the restaurant was quite classy and the food quite good.

A short drive back to our hotel and an exhausted end to Day #2.