Sight, Sound, and Sky

I spent this past weekend visiting people in Vancouver. I attended the Scribblers’ (my writing group) annual barbecue meet-up, and spent the rest of the weekend with my son who’s been living in the city for 8 years.

Due to highway closures from wildfires, the drive to Vancouver required heading north when I normally go west, and added an hour to my drive time. It also put me on the Coquihalla, a fast (120 km/hour!), rolling highway on steep terrain riddled with avalanche chutes and fishing lakes.

I am completely spoiled by my rural region of BC and complain about traffic if I have to wait for five cars at a stop sign. So hurtling down the Coquihalla, where I am unfamiliar with the places to stop (there aren’t any, really, just a few rest stops with varying amenities - a pullout with a pit toilet at the first, a food truck and plumbed facilities at the second), I started feeling it immediately - Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

Fast cars wove in and out of traffic as helicopters circled fire hot spots alongside the highway. Driving at high speeds in heavy traffic (and with two major highways closed and all traffic rerouted to the Coquihalla, it was heavy), can cause the pulse to skyrocket and the palms to sweat. By the time I arrived and headed to my son’s, I was ready to walk, which I suggested when it came time to eat.

“Let’s go somewhere close so I don’t have to drive,” I pleaded.

So we walked, accompanied by revving engines, sirens, squealing brakes and the whoosh of tires as traffic zoomed past us. It was LOUD.

And while I find cities exhilarating in a unique experience kind of way, I also prefer the sound of my neighborhood where chainsaws, riding lawnmowers and barking dogs are the most annoying noises I experience.

I stayed with a friend in Coquitlam, a city that’s apparently been overrun by housing developers who ignore local bylaws and neighborhood covenants to throw up one massive housing complex after another. It never actually got dark there. I sat on a bench in my friend’s cozy garden to smoke a joint at the end of the night, and I could almost read by the light of the towers under construction nearby. I couldn’t see any stars.

Yet Vancouver isn’t just all city and in fact has some great trail systems and forested parks. The son and I spent Saturday walking through the Burnaby Mountain Reserve, traipsing on trails forested with old cedar and fir trees, a gnome forest, totem-like poles from Hokkaido, Japan, a rose garden, and views of Vancouver Harbour and the inlet. Rain threatened but held off, and the trails were barely occupied. We walked for 9 kilometers and had the trails to ourselves for the most part.

Getting to see people in person with whom I’ve interacted with for several years is always fun. I attended last year’s Scribblers BBQ, so it wasn’t my first Scribblers rodeo. Those of us who drove shared tales of the road, while those from the Vancouver area shared recent local tribulations. Our host barbecued chicken and sausages while we guests brought sides and salads, some of which came from home gardens. We ate good food while laughing and sharing our writing and publishing journeys, among other things. Blackberries are rampant in Vancouver at this time of year, and we ate homemade blackberry cobbler from berries picked just over the fence from the backyard where we sat.

Being Vancouver, we got rain. I woke to a downpour Sunday, so the son and I spent the day inside. We visited the Museum of Vancouver, and while I enjoyed the historical aspects of the museum, a special exhibit captured my attention. Becoming: The Art of Gu Xiong traced the career of this artist, from his time as a labourer during the Cultural Revolution in China, through challenges as a Canadian immigrant, and a career as a professor at UBC. The show explored global migration in a striking and personal way. There are sketchbooks and paintings and sculptures, video and blended mediums along the way. It felt personal, moving even, an immigrant’s life journey reflected in images and crushed cans.

After the museum, rain still falling, we fell back on an old standby - bowling. I’ve bowled more since the kids left home than I did when they lived at home. It’s active, it’s engaging, and even more important, none of us are any good at it. So the son and I bowled for an hour - five-pin bowling with balls that fit in the palm of my hand. We literally tied the first game, which felt right. Then the son nabbed the next two, and I took the last. But who’s counting?

Not quite ready to quit competing, we tried pool, which we both REALLY suck at. I can’t believe how awful we were. I haven’t really played pool since I stopped drinking, so it’s been nearly 30 years. And I’d never earned any pool creds prior to that. Luckily, we had our own table, so we didn’t fear that someone would plop down cash to play the winner. We lasted an hour, during which we barely completed two games.

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When in Rome….

Leaving the bowling and billiards we were hungry. “Any place you’d like to eat? Anything new you’d like to try?” I asked the son.

“I’ve heard Jollibee is good,” he replied, pointing across the street to a fast food chicken place.

So we ate across the street at Jollibee, which bills itself as the home of next-level Fried Chicken, Burgers and Pies. I hadn’t had fast food for years, and this place was BUSY.

Was it next level? I’m no judge. But it seemed to be a step above chicken tenders from McD’s (which I haven’t eaten in decades).

We also stopped for coffee, where I noticed that Canadians have renamed a favorite coffee drink. The son tells me that’s quiet common. I guess I don’t drink out enough!

I drove back through wildfires and smoke yesterday, thankful that the highway was open and I didn’t have to drive the Coquihalla. Getting home in the afternoon, I felt exhausted by a trip that triggered all my senses. Next week we leave for two weeks to visit family in Chicago and California, and I’m sure there will be more whirlwinds of exhaustion.

But I’ve tuned up my travel creds and will hit the road with senses alert and ready for the next big, or small, adventures.