Well holy fuck on a stick…….. How does one describe it properly? First off- I forgot my bloody camera which is very unlike me- secondly, after about 18 hours of pure panic I felt quite liberated by that fact that I no longer felt obligated to document every blindly vibrant print, classically urban Van moment or dewy yellow lemon in the market. Yes, I am regretful in some small way but in my mind it is all so clear….the only two shots taken are this one which I feel is the epitome of Vancouver and one taken on Susin’s phone while we had beers……
I have folded and put away the copious amount of clothes that I bought, I have unwrapped the plates and the ramekins and the giant ikea frames, I have put away the super awesome and unpronounceable military grade herbal patches that I can only find in Chinatown and I have made our bed with the beautiful hand stamped print that I bought to replace the one I bought there 10 years ago……..
It was fucking delightful. Drinks with Suz in the hot tub after a long day shopping, finding the little Jewish bakery I remembered that sell the best fucking grilled vegetable knish you’ve ever tasted or discovering that the same old Tosco’s Italian import grocery still sits randomly (and just as dusty) as ever in Chinatown or the 70 billion mile olive bar down at Minirvish….
Having dinner and drinks with old friends Lise & Richard or finally meeting and having wine and great conversation with Phaedra (whose sketch done while in Italy is already framed and hung) or loud drinks at the bar I use to run (oh the good old Cambie!- great for drinks- just don’t use the bathroom- it’s nasty as fuck.) Picking up some fruit and cheese on Granville Island and the muscles clinging to the rocks under the dock as we waited for the water taxi.
It’s been 5 years since I lived in downtown Vancouver and I was a little concerned as to what I would find in both the wake of the olympics and the time away. The fact that there are no longer trees on Granville, the inundation of “trendy” spots that are all exactly alike and the fact that buses no longer stop on Granville (WTF!!! HATE THAT! If I wanted to go down Seymore I would have!!!!)
The olympics have definitely left their scar as I knew they would- the woman on Granville Island talking to Suz about the promises made and broken or the dead zones that you see where small but fabulous “mom & Ppop” operations use to flourish. However, I have to say, my trip “home” was better than I thought it would be. I don’t know what I expected.. I left being done with the city, loving parts of it, but knowing that I was beginning to see it as a city of angry people. Over the last week I wandered the streets in the dark and felt comfortable.
I smelled the sea, I had a knish and took in the sights and smells of the place that was once my world and better yet, I did it with my best friend of 30 years and a clear charge card.
Fuck I hate Monday.