Lakeside love

In 48 days I will be home. And boy, is that time ever going to fly! In fact, it's hard to believe I've already been in Vancouver for two months. And even harder to believe that I flew out of Halifax a distant nine and a half months ago. A person could have gotten pregnant and had a baby during that time. Not me, of course - no biological clocks were installed in this particular body, but I'm sure you know what I mean. Still, I did have a chance to ooh and aah over other people's babies recently - one of my cousins had her second baby at the end of May (oogled him via online photos), and I had a chance to visit a baby beluga!


Heather, a friend of mine from NS who lives in Abbotsford, BC right now, was passing through Vancouver with her mom and nephew and we decided to meet up for a visit to the Vancouver Aquarium.










We saw belugas, dolphins, sea otters, and lots of other crazy underwater marine creatures - including weird sea worms, distinguished seahorses, and my favorite, the captivating jellyfish.
















That night I attended a much anticipated concert by The Dan Band at the Commodore Ballroom with three friends, all Aussies (Kat, Jesse, Dan). In spite of the overpowering reek of pot and the fact that the humor didn't quite convey to my friends, I enjoyed it, as did most of the crowd. Buuuuut I probably wouldn't pay to see them in concert again.Canada Day rolled around and, although I hadn't had the foresight to book the day off from work, I was keen to get out and celebrate. There's nothing like extensive travel to make you appreciate your home country even more.




The following morning I set off for Whistler on a Greyhound Bus with another friend (Akane from Japan). Only about two and a half hours away from Vancouver, I think it's a fantastic getaway destination. The hostel at which we were going to stay (Hostelling International) was booked out for a wedding the following night, so we decided to stay for just one night, giving us the better part of two days to explore the mountain resort town. The bus pulled into Whistler Village and, backpacks in tow, we inquired at the information centre for the best way to get to the hostel. They suggested the local bus, which only runs four times a day. We decided to explore the town for a bit while we waited for the next bus and stopped at a place by the name of Caramba! for lunch. Shaded by an umbrella, out of the eye of the scorching sun, we sat at an outdoor patio table munching on homemade flatbread with roasted eggplant tapenade and guacamole, and La Rua pizza...homemade crust topped with tomato sauce, roasted Roma tomatoes...garlic...spinach...asiago cheese...baked in a wood-burning oven, but I digress.



We wandered around a bit more after our delicious lunch, but it was hot and carrying the packs impeded our enjoyment a bit so we eventually opted for a cab ride to the hostel. And we drove. And drove. All in all, it probably wasn't really that far - by car - but I had hoped the Village was within reasonable walking distance. It wasn't. Even by bike it would have been at least an hour's journey. Just when I started feeling pricks of despair, the taxi driver found our destination...well, almost. See, you can't really reach the hostel by car, as far as I could tell. We were dropped off at a little parking area at the side of the road by a sign for the hostel, from where we had to descend many steps and cross some train tracks to get to the hostel. Thank goodness we were travelling light. With all the hassle to finally get there, you'd think my dread would have continued growing. I mean, what kind of place can't be reached by car nowadays? And exactly how far from the Village were we, anyway? Still, there was something enchanting about those tree-lined steps, something calming about the natural sounds drifting from within...


When we finally crossed those train tracks and walked onto the property all was well with the world. We were standing beside a wooden cabin situated mere feet from a beautiful lake (Alta Lake). The sky was so blue, the sun shone so bright, mountains rose like friendly giants in the distance all around the lake. A feeling of pure tranquility and settled over me, of peace, and of calm. It was absolutely lovely. I used to think I was an ocean-girl. Don't get me wrong - I do love the ocean, but I'm almost positive that, deep down, I'm really a lake-girl. We couldn't check in until 5pm (that's how laid back this place was - the reception wasn't staffed between 11am and 5pm) so we had over an hour to wait. No problem! We were quite happy to immediately fall into the groove of the place. Kicking off our shoes (which weren't allowed inside the hostel anyway), we dropped our bags, grabbed our books and headed outside into the sunshine to be near the serenity of that water. Akane zoned-out up on the porch, eased down into a big sofa in the shade. I sought out the square, wooden dock and sat with my feet dangling into the water, daydreaming as I gazed across the lake. I lapped up the beauty of the landscape, the tranquility, the gloriously absent sounds of city noise. I watched dragonflies darting about just above the water; ripples flowing across the water as the odd fish surfaced and broke the water line; an eagle soaring in the distance, crossing between backgrounds of dark, green trees and distant mountain tops.
People in canoes and kayaks paddled the lake. I even briefly chatted with someone passing by who was undertaking a water sport that's new to me. He was standing up, balanced, on a surf board, or maybe it was a windsurfing board with no sail or mast, gaining distance simply by paddling. Interesting.
New water sports aside, those moments smacked of summers of old. That is what summer is all about. I felt waves of nostalgia, but happily so because I was experiencing the very feeling for which I was nostalgic. I had gotten so caught up in the intricacies of work and life in general these past few years I think I forgot how to enjoy little moments like that. Sure, I've sat lakeside and really enjoyed myself, but never to this degree, save for when I was a child and free of responsibilities and worries and burdens. Oh, it was divine to recapture that feeling!
I could go on, but I won't. Our bubble of timelessness eventually creeped towards 5pm. We checked in, got ourselves sorted, and headed back into Whistler Village on the bus to do some more exploring. It's a very charming town. As Lonely Planet put it: "...the temptation to go completely commercial must have been huge, but instead they did it up right. The architecture is the way a mountain resort should be, with lots of stone and logs." We checked out the sights, had dinner and browsed in shops. I bought a small magnet that says (very fittingly, if I may say so myself): "Dance like there's no tomorrow." A uniformed RCMP officer (can you see the red button-up coat, the dark belt, the tawny round-brimmed hat, the knee-high brown boots?) roamed the streets, sometimes on horseback, sometimes walking with his horse, always accompanied by his trusty RCMP dog. For some reason, visions of Dudley Do-Right, and Rocky and Bullwinkle sporadically flashed through my mind. And, I must admit, little bubbles of Happy occasionally swelled up in my chest.
We bussed it back to the hostel for a restful night's sleep and then spent a relaxing morning enjoying the hostel's surrounds a bit more. We ate sweet watermelon, oranges, yogurt, and Kashi granola bars for breakfast - sitting outside by the lake in the morning sunshine, of course. We paddled our way across the lake in a canoe. Then I got in some more dock time, chatting with other hostel guests, while Akane relaxed in the swinging hammock.


The day was going to be a hot one: someone said the "feels like" temperature was going to be over 30 degrees with the humidity. But we had planned our trip well. And the universe must have been happy with our plans, because everything kept falling into place. For a day of such high heat, we were going to find respite. We were going to do the Peak-2-Peak Experience - a gondola ride between Whistler and Blackcomb Mountains. Up there, the temperature reached a high of 16 degrees that day - which may not sound all that warm, but the sun was so hot we were still quite comfortable in capries and tank tops. We went up, and up, and up...it was crazy!




We rode a gondola up Whistler, took a glass-bottomed gondola from Whistler to Blackcomb, hiked through an alpine forest trail, traveled back to Whistler, went on a scary chairlift ride to a higher point on Whistler and back, then returned back down to the Village. We had a bite to eat, reclaimed our backpacks from a storage locker facility we found for the day, and reboarded the Greyhound Bus that would bring us back to Vancouver. Ah, it was a great trip. Brief, yes, but maybe that's part of why it was so good.





"How passionately we love everything that cannot last: the dazzling crystallory of winter, the spring in bloom, the fragile flight of butterflies, crimson sunsets, a kiss, and life."
~ excerpt from the book I'm currently reading: Brother Odd by Dean Koontz