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..
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..
posted by Richard at 9:03 pm
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