Sunday, September 04, 2005

Holiday Diary, Day 3

We wake a little less early today. Well, most of us do - I'm off back to the airport to pick up our transport for the next few days, so I'm up ahead of everyone else; showered and breakfasted in no time at all, I'm ready to go just as the others are getting themselves organised. I've decided to go for the Airporter bus, being the kind of person who enjoys a new experience, and that means a short stroll down to the Marriott just along the road. Sunday morning in Vancouver is like Sunday morning in most places - quiet and sleepy; the only people about are the ones who have to be somewhere, like me. I wait, trying not to peer in the window at the slightly better-appointed Marriott lobby, and soon a bus pulls up with 'Airporter' written along the side. However, this is not my bus; this is the shuttle bus which links up the two main routes. At least, that's how it appears to me from the timetable - I'm not entirely clear how it works.

At any rate, a few minutes later a much bigger Airporter arrives, looking just like the ones on the timetable I'm clutching. I get on and pay my fare (after quickly remembering to stop converting everything to Sterling - I nearly offered the driver exactly half the fare). The bus - not surprisingly - went back out the way we'd come in on Friday, and like many places, the Vancouver suburbs began to look a little familiar the second time through. Soon enough, I was disgorged with my fellow passengers at the International terminal. I spent a few minutes wandering the terminal, as much to kill a little time as anything - I didn't want to be too early with the pickup time, since that would mean we'd have to drop off much earlier at the other end, and I needed to go past Toys R Us on the way back to pick up car seats, and I suspected they wouldn't be open at 9am.

However, there wasn't that much to divert me at the airport, so I scuttled down to the subterranean car hire - sorry, rental - and picked up the car. Now,when I say car, I mean 'minivan', and when I say 'minivan', I mean something only a little smaller than our first house. A Pontiac Montana, it was, and despite its size, it was perfectly comfortable and easy to drive. Of course, automatic, and of course on the wrong side of the road, but I had plenty experience of that this year, and soon I was heading north under signs which read 'Vancouver' and 'Whistler'. Cool doesnt begin to describe it.

Toys R Us was, of course, not open until 10, so back to the hotel, and into the underground car park, pausing only long enough to work out that this monster would actually fit. (Of course it would, they build things to this scale around here). I gathered the crew, and we set off back to pick up the seats. We weren't entirely sure about the rules governing car seats, but we were taking no chances, and if everything went to plan, we'd be needing them again one day...

Seats safely installed, I head off towards Stanley Park, with the intention of taking in a few totem poles. However, I have reckoned without the Vancouver weather. It rains a lot in Vancouver. Specifically, it rains a lot on the first Sunday in September - at least, that's our experience. The rain started gently, and just kept on developing. Just as you thought it could get no heavier, it turned itself up another notch. There are some big totem poles in Stanley Park, but I pretty much drove right past them because I could barely see out for the rain. We decied to press on, since it showed no sign of letting up, and with the wipers on full, we headed for the Lion's Gate Bridge.

Which is spectacular. It's in a wonderful setting (despite the rain), and it's just a beautiful piece of engineering. It's really hard to say why it's more attractive than any other suspension bridge, but it just is. It feels delicate and strong all at once, and the views from it (through the rain) are sommething to behold. We were heading for Capilano, almost entirely because of the adverts on the sides of the buses, which read 'Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh...' I just hoped we'd be able to see something through the rain. We parked and waited for a break, but each minute seemed as wet as every other minute, and there was no benefit in postponing the inevitable - we were going to be soaked, whatever we did. So we made a break for it, bought our yellow rain capes, and paid our reduced entrance fees (becasue of the rain - did I mention the rain?). Fortified by typically Canadian-sized snacks, we set off in search of the wobbly bridge.

Even in bad weather, it's a truly spectacular sight - Capilano is a steep, narrow gorge, with the river pounding through hundreds of feet below (or so it seems) and the footbridge is as wobbly as you imagine it's going to be with dozens of passengers tramping over in both directions. Halfway across, son no. 2 started his own wobble - I guess when you're that small, it might look a bit scary - and I had to help him across the final few feet, all the while pondering how we were going to get him back. Once across, there were woodland walks and trails, including one constructed halfway up the giant pines, allowing a highly unusual close-up view. We thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing, even though we'll have to go back to experience it properly without rain forcing itself through every slight opening in our clothing. The return trip was uneventful from a 5 year old point of view, he being much braver than he looks, and ready for it the second time. However, we did have to endure a lengthy pause, bouncing not entirely gently, while the group in front of us took interminable pictures of each other. I can't yet tell the accents apart, but we just knew they had to be Americans. Canadians don't do that sort of thing.

The rain had eased to a steady downpour by this time, and we celebrated by spending large amounts of time, and no small amount of money, in the vast gift shop - somehow, it didn't feel like a tourist trap, even though that's exactly what it was. Perhaps it had something to do with the high quality of products on sale - much of it good value, none of it tacky.

We emerged, blinking, into - surprise - sunshine. Everything was gently steaming, and a group of musicians were serenading us with Victorian song, including, at one point, 'Loch Lomond' played at hight tempo, like some kind of jig. I was restrained from pointing out that it's actually a lament... An al fresco lunch was procured, and we ate heartily (but when did we not on this trip?). The rain held off long enough for us to get back into the car and get reasonably dry, but started again almost as soon as we set off. This was the first leg of the drive up to PG, and I, for one, was itching to get out on the open road. The first hour or so, however, was suburban, and but for the unfamiliar traffic, could have been anywhere. However, we gradually passed into more and more rural surroundings, and by the time we reached Abbotsford, it all felt new and strange again. We made great sport of pointing out the US, just a few hundred metres off to the right, the closest any of us have been to it. (I've been to Niagara, but I don't think I was ever closer than this to the border - I could be wrong). After this, it was a gradual turn to the north, passing evocative names like Chilliwack and Harrison Hot Springs, before finally descending into Hope.

I shall spare the name of the place where we stayed that night, suffice it to say that it was beyond Hope, and although it had the word 'Resort' in the title, it was obviously missing the word 'Last' just before it. We've been more comfortable; let's leave it at that.

All that remained was a trip back into Hope for some dinner - pizza in a friendly, if basic, restaurant - and the realisation of just how far we'd come. Away from the metopolitan centre, Hope had a feel of the old West to us - it seemed almost primitive in places, although I'm sure it has every modern convenience, it looked so different to what we were used to that we both felt instinctively uneasy there. If every town in BC looks like this, I thought, we're probably staying where we are. Only time will tell..

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Holiday Diary, Day 2

We slept. I was a little worried about this, to be honest but we all slept pretty soundly, thanks to having been kept awake by a tyrannical father until at least 8pm. So we were awake a little early, although that wasn't a problem for the boys, who had Canadian cartoons to watch. One of the things we had all been looking forward to was our Canadian breakfast, and it didn't disappoint - stacks of pancakes and general Canadian goodness. I was a little discomfited by the reliance on eggs, but somehow I managed to negotiate an egg-free breakfast, and we all ate like it was going out of style. Since we were now filled to bursting, a walk was clearly in order.

We were early, but the city was up and about. We strolled down to the water's edge, and headed for the advertised ferries to Granville Island. Now these ferries are a little smaller than you might expect, being only slightly larger than the hot tub we had soaked in the evening before. However, it proved to be remarkably stable (the calm water no doubt helped) and we were whisked rapidly over to the island.

Which was, generally speaking, not yet open. It was only just 9 am, and as befits such a bohemian place, things were only just stirring into life. We wandered for a while, saying hello to cats and peering into intriguing looking wndows until we came upon an open shop. Let it be recorded that the first thing we did upon arriving in Canada was march into a bookshop. Those who know us will find this a little less than surprising, I guess. One reviving drink (and colossal slice of cake) later, we headed for the famous 'Kids' Market'.

The Kids' Market has many wonderful things in it, including child-sized doors, which provoked much amusement. It also contains an indoor play area of the kind which is found in places like Berkhampsted and Watford, and was therefore less than enthralling to the adults in the party. The boys, however, had to be restrained from gazing wistfully at it, and in the end had to be distracted with souvenirs. We even bought presents for the cats in a converted railway carriage. Like you do.

After that excitement, we strolled around the perimeter of the island, past marinas and through boatyards, to the next ferry terminal where we caught an only slightly larger ferry to the other end of False Creek, and Science World. This ferry trip allowed us a better orientation on the city, and I began to identify landmarks and try to align my mental map of the city with the reality I saw all around me. Suddenly my reverie was interrupted by much shouting and drumming; almost as if some sporting event was taking place all around us.

We were merrily sailing through the middle of a dragon boat race. Large crews were frantically rowing towards us in brightly-painted and hugely decorated boats, while a sizeable crowd on the bank of the creek yelled their support. This wasn't the annual dragon boat festival; perhaps it was simply practice, or a minor league race-off. Whatever it was, it was a spectacular sight; the kind of thing which makes you wonder if you've properly woken up yet. But I have photographs; we did see it.

Science World is housed in a giant geodesic dome (as Science Worlds properly ought to be), a relic of the Expo from some years before. It's a terrific place for children of all ages, as you might expect, and a great deal of fun was had by all - yours truly particularly enjoyed the 'Harry Worth' mirrors. (Only readers of a certain age are likely to get this reference, which is just the way I like it.) For the boys, however, I suspect that the highlight of the day was the SpongeBob Popsicles, although they looked thoroughly revolting to me. The word Popsicle is so familiar to us, it comes as something of a shock to realise that it is a brand name, not just what North Americans call ice lollies.

From Science World, we headed for the SkyTrain, pausing only to admire the teriffic kinetic sound sculpture at the entrance. I'm sure that the boys in the party could have happily watched it all day. The SkyTrain has an indisputable air of cool about it, even though it's just an underground train on stilts - not even a proper monorail. It is, as we were rapidly coming to expect, clean, tidy and efficient, and whisked us downtown in no time. The plan at this point was to scour the shops for a decent roadmap of BC, since I was about to set off to drive through large chunks of it. I didn't seriously expect to get lost, given that there are relatively few roads, and essentially only two which went where we were going, but a map is an indispensable part of any car journey, I always feel, so I was going to find myself one.

We were disgorged from the SkyTrain into what was advertised as 'Granville Mall', but which turned out to be a street. This, together with incipient jet lag, and a general sense of dislocation, served to disorient me thoroughly, and my normally reliable sense of direction deserted me. I had to rely on native cunning (and streetsigns) to get us headed back in the right direction towards our hotel. Unfortunately, this seemed simply to take us away from any shops which might sell roadmaps, and instead headed us through a slightly less salubrious part of Vancouver.

Now, these things are relative - it was insalubrious only by comparison to the other parts of Vancouver we had seen, and at no time did we feel uncomfortable or out of place as we marched past the Orpheum (home of the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra and, I discovered later, a 'Walk of Stars' - I can't have been looking down at that point) and back up the hill to where we had started the day. Eventually, we came upon the hotel, and across the road from it a 7-11 store. We went in for supplies to find that they stocked a wide selection of roadmaps to suit all tastes. We stocked up on snackfoods likely to keep us going through the rest of the afternoon (there was a real danger of us all falling asleep before dinner, given how much walking we'd done, and I knew that way lay disaster), and a handy roadmap of bC, which was going to keep me occupied for the rest of the day.

So we whiled away the rest of the day watching cartoons, munching on snacks, reading, and generally just enjoying being in Vancouver. Tomorrow, we hit the road...

Friday, September 02, 2005

Holiday Diary, Day 1

This is what they mean by an air of excitement. There's about half an hour to go before the taxi is due, and the boys and I are pacing up and down the driveway. All the bags are in the hallway (or the living room - we're taking a lot of stuff) and there's nothing left to do but wait.

Now, the day is mainly going to be spent waiting, and it might have been better to spend this time doing something productive, but they're excited, and so am I. I'm also, as always, tense about the time. Even though we've left huge amounts of time to get to Stansted, I'm anxious because I won't be driving.

Taxi arrives early, we pile in - how many times in the next two weeks are we going to manhandle three large suitcases and four carry-on bags? Better get used to it. To my disappointment, we take the same route I take every day to go to work - at least at first. I think I'd have gone cross-country, partly to avoid having to look at this all too familiar scenery on the way. Never mind, I'm not driving, I have my boys either side of me in the back, and we're finally going. The taxi journey is remarkably quick, in truth - in spite of the best efforts of the M25, and we arrive at the airport in more than enough time.

The last time I was at Stansted, it was a bit of a scrum; this time it's a lot of a scrum. I spend a significant amount of time just getting to the front of the pack to find out where we're to check in, and even longer navigating to the far end of the terminal building. But soon enough we're checked in, passport controlled, security checked (and which of us, who has been security checked for flights roughly once a week for the whole of this year, gets stopped for forgetting to take off his watch and belt?) and settled down to wait some more.

And it all goes pretty quickly. I have become something of a jaded waiter-in-airports this year, so I was expecting this part to drag, but there is snacking and shopping to be done. (And if you think I'm going to identify which frequent-flyer member of the party forgot his boarding card and had to do the trek to the far end of the terminal twice just to buy some toothpaste, you're mistaken). Some time before the official boarding time, we decide to take the nifty Stansted train to the gate - as much to break up the wait as anything - and we emerge at the pier ready to settle down for some more waiting. But we are pleasantly surprised by the invitation to step on board; the flight is waiting for us, having arrived from Manchester, and we have plenty of time for boarding, arranging ourselves, and generally getting organised. Extremely civilised, and something I'd encourage all airlines to do. Yes, I know that's not realistic, but I can dream.

Push back, and now the time drags - we want to be under way, but there's the usual amount of hanging about waiting for other traffic to be done first. Eventually, we're lined up, and although this is probably my 30th or so flight of the year, I cannot suppress a thrill as we start to roll - gets me every time.

The flight is 10 hours long, but I'll spare you the full details. Instead, here are the highlights from my notes:

Scotland: It's a beautiful clear day, and all of the west coast of Scotland is laid out before us. I spot Stornoway, where I used to fly to on BA 748s all those years ago, but soon it's all behind us.

Iceland: The captain alerts us to Iceland, and it's stunning - a place I've long wanted to visit, it looks bewitching from the air - all rock and tundra, an alien landscape.

Greenland: Truly spectacular, Greenland seems to go on for ever out the right hand windows - during cloud breaks, I'm peering out for polar bears, but there's only white, as far as the eye can see.

Icebergs: Huge great bergs, the size of medium-sized English counties, float by. Awe-inspiring from up here; what must they be like close-to?

Ice floes: And these are just startling - vast areas of frozen or semi-frozen sea like nothing I've ever seen before.

On we fly - Canada gradually asserts itself beneath us, and only now do we begin to understand the scale of it - we're only halfway through the flight, and there are no more countries to cross. As we go, we explore the in-flight entertainment, we play with GameBoys (well, the boys do), we read things, we eat surprisingly good food, we chatter and change seats, we do logic puzzles (well, I do - a throwback to my own family holidays, when I would spend hours lying on Italian beaches doing these puzzles). There's a note here about a sickbag, but we'll draw a veil over that (no, it wasn't me).

We've been battling headwinds all the way, and we're about an hour overdue by the time we start to descend, but the flight's been so good - for which, read the boys have been so good - we hardly notice it. We try to pick out locations we've perused on maps from the air, but a new country is impossible to interpret from above; you need time to get used to the way it looks, and this all looks alien. There's a big sweep over downtown Vancouver, but it's on the other side of the aircraft, and so we let down over the Pacific - the Pacific! - and arrive without having been prepared for what it all looks like.

Externally, Vancouver Airport looks like any other airport, I suppose - a little disappointing, because I'd been told it was impressive, but inside is a different matter. This is how airports should be - warm, welcoming, efficient - a dramatic contrast to my times at Malpensa - and we're whisked through passport control, baggage reclaim and customs in what feels like no time at all. Never mind that it's nearly midnight by our body clocks; we're in a new country, and just maybe we're embarking on a new life.

Passport control is our first encounter with the general Canadian friendliness - what would be in the UK a surly, mumbled exchange is a real, honest-to-goodness conversation with someone who is really interested in what we're doing, and where we're going. It takes no longer than normal, but it feels so much nicer. Welcome to Canada, they do things differently here...

The taxi driver is Sikh - we could be in London. We could be, except that we're on the wrong side of the road, and London doesn't look like this. The trip downtown is straightforward enough (thinks the person who's going to have to do it again on his own in a couple of days). As we round the final corner, to cross over Granville Island, we're confronted with Downtown - City of Glass, I discover later, and that's exactly right. It just looks so different from what we're used to - tall buildings as far as the eye can see, but so much sea, and so many mountains. Vancouver truly is in the most spectacular setting, especially if seen in good weather - later in the trip we'd see it in low cloud, and it looks quite diiferent ; this is the way to see it.

The hotel is - of course - friendly and welcoming; the boys get to try a little Canadian ("Hi there!") and we decide, having freshened up a little, to take a stroll; try to begin the process of adjusting the bodyclocks. We only walk a few blocks, enough to get a feel for the city. I have, of course, been in Toronto, but for the others, this is their first experience of a North American city, all wrong side of the road and unfamiliar rules - we can walk out in front of traffic, and it will stop. This is going to take some getting used to.

We snack, and wander back to the hotel, weary but happy. Trolleybuses swish by, unnerving in their relative silence, and we begin to grasp that this is a quite different city.

All that's left of the day is a very strange hot tub experience on the top floor, gazing out at the rush hour traffic on the Granville St Bridge, 12 storeys below us, and a meal in the White Spot attached to the hotel - full of calorific Canadian goodness. It's only 7pm, but we're ready for bed. Probably the longest day of any of our lives (certainly so for the boys), but we're here.

And it feels good.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Here we go...

Now, I'm not going to pretend that what follows was done at the time - this is a series of posts which I have composed some time after the fact, and posted back into the appropriate day to create a kind of daily diary of our holiday. It's not all strictly relevant to the move process, but it will reveal what we did, and how we reacted to Canada, and will probably illustrate why we decided to go.


I hope that hasn't spoiled the suspense for everyone.