Come on baby light my fire

I would like to preamble this blog with the following information: I do listen to the advice of others, especially when it is about safety in countries I haven’t visited before……honest.

If the WTC had struck in epic style yesterday, today the WTC has well and truly hit with catastrophic results (or somewhat hilarious results). This morning we had planned on heading up Grouse Mountain, but thought we’d avoid a repeat of Whistler and check to make sure everything was opened. Low and behold, in true WTC style, the majority of activities up there were closed and the last few reviews on tripadvisor seemed to have a recurring theme of ‘bloody expensive cable car ride with nothing open at the top’. My tight arse tendencies seem to have rubbed off on the others as we jointly made the decision to find something else to do instead.

Our first activity of the day was to get Mr Man Flu to a doctor to ensure he wasn’t too sick (we needed to know he wasn’t contagious). We could have relied on Dr Google, with symptoms similar to pregnancy, but decided expert advice might be beneficial. A case of bronchitis diagnosed (phew at least he wasn’t pregnant) and some medication and rest ordered, the patient was left in bed to rest whilst we headed out. No naughty nurse duties from any of us here.

Stopping by a pub for lunch, I again passed on the classic Caesar cocktail but decided to try the Canadian delicacy known as Poutine. I could literally feel my arteries closing (and my butt expanding) as I enjoyed the dish of french fries dripping in gravy and cheese curds. OMG it was delicious and to be enjoyed if only just the once.

With Mr Man Flu in bed and Grouse Mountain out of the equation (the double whammy WTC), we hunted the net for something to do. It just so happens that whilst googling (what did people do before Mr Google?) a medical centre, we stumbled across the Vancouver Police Museum. With Simon being an ex police officer and the website promising stories of crime and corruption within the original Coroner’s Court morgue, we were on our way.

This leads me to my preamble. On the ship we met a lovely couple from Vancouver who gave some advice on unsafe areas in Vancouver. They suggested we didn’t go further east than Gastown. Here we hit a minor problem. It would appear that we were indeed heading out of Gastown to get to the Police Museum. There were a few clues that perhaps our journey to the Police Museum (one would presume in a safe area) might have been better done via a bus.

Clue one: Walking past a hostel and seeing a partly dressed fellow (who just happens to be arguing with himself) holding a foil (one would presume of drugs) and an intravenous needle. The positive, at least he wasn’t shooting up in front of us.

Clue two: tourist shops becoming a distant memory and replaced by homeless shelters and drug drop in centres. Who would have thought you could miss tourist tat shops so much?

Clue three: the fresh smell of sea air replaced by the distinct aroma of marijuana.

Just as we were about to retreat (that advice was starting to niggle at my safety radar), we were on the doorstep of the museum. Amazingly, it is located right next to the Vancouver Police Headquarters. After being on the verge of crapping one’s pants, it’s amazing how brave one can feel when they are in the safety of a building, especially when it is surrounded by dozens of police cars. The tight grip on the handbag could be released and we enjoyed a couple of hours learning about the history of the Vancouver Police Department and grisly crimes in the area. At least we didn’t become a statistic for the walls of the museum. I can see the headlines, ‘Dumb ass Australians murdered in search of Police Museum’.

Needless to say, my stumpy little legs found unknown speed (who knew they had it in them) when it was time to head back to the safety of downtown Vancouver. I did stop to take a quick snap of a display in a shop window though. I will be having a word with the caffeine dependent members of our group around the effect it is having on their health!

En-route to safety, I stumbled across another Canadian delicacy that has redeemed my faith in the Canadian’s taste buds (I just can’t get past that Classic Caesar). The delicious bar didn’t last long and I will be searching for another before we leave.

That leads me to the king of all WTC moments and blinding proof that the phenomenon does indeed exist and isn’t a figment of my imagination. After our eventful day dodging danger (visions of myself in the next Missions Impossible film), we decided on a couple of hours relaxation back at the unit and a check that Mr Man Flu was following doctor’s orders. I thought I would make the most of the time by doing some much needed washing. In true WTC fashion, the piercing sound of fire alarms put a change to our plans. Evacuating the building wouldn’t have been a problem if I hadn’t previously changed to wash the clothes I had been wearing. There’s nothing like hiking down 19 flights of stairs, in a pyjama top and daggy dress to escape a possible ‘towering inferno’. Thankfully the fire brigade cleared the building and it was safe to return, daggy clothing and all! The upside was the eye candy.

Look no hands!

Today we put the day aside to visit Capilano Park just outside of downtown Vancouver. Yesterday’s two hour bus trip to Whistler had nearly caused Angela to transform into Chucky (would have made an awesome blog) so we were all a little concerned with how she was going to cope with another bus ride. I’m a sympathy spewer, so was keen to do anything to prevent the resurrection of Chucky. Hitching a ride on the free shuttle (got to love a bargain) we were surprised that the trip was less than 20 minutes out of the city so a Chucky crisis was averted. It was surprisingly quiet at Capilano (or perhaps we were just really early) and only took a couple of hours to explore. Mind you, this could have been due to a certain someone setting a speedy pace (more to follow).

There’s something slightly unnerving about venturing out 140 metres on something that rocks unstably and could lead to you plummeting 70 metres down into the river below. Being the brave little soldier I am (who am I kidding), I was more concerned with my glute muscles (glad to realise they still exist under that fat) that were screaming as I walked the incline and tried to maintain balanced dignity as well.

One of us (he shall not be named but was photographed holding onto the side for grim death) has a small (slight under exaggeration) fear of heights and was counting down for the experience to be over. I’ve never seen someone move so quickly, hence the speedy pace setter and only a couple of hours needed. He was even more excited at the ‘Cliffwalk’ (insert a crap load of sarcasm) where you walked along the side of a cliff on very narrow platforms attached by REALLY REALLY big bolts. It was at this point I wondered if our travel insurance would cover a bolt unscrewing.

Although one of us (he who shall not be named) was not enjoying the experience, Jon was in his element photographing nature. There was a frequent ‘where’s Jon’ being asked as he seemed to have magic disappearing powers. I did manage to photograph some wildlife myself…..grown man with not enough hands to take enough photographs.

Stopping in the customary (and overpriced) gift shop, I found the perfect souvenir to take home for my desk at work. If only the bear paperweight hadn’t been so heavy (damn stupid luggage weight allowances). Any comments about my increased body width on my return, would have been promptly responded with a ‘I’m not fat, I’m fluffy’. It must be true as it is written on a paperweight. Perhaps I should have settled on the bear or raccoon hat instead.

Whistle while you’re not at work

When we got home last night, exhaustion had finally caught up with us and the 65kms over four days had resulted in an inability for the body to function. The chance of writing a coherent blog (if they ever are coherent) was pretty much nil so mindless TV quickly gave way to sleep. I’m starting to think I might just need a holiday to get over my holiday. Don’t like my chances of the boss approving that!

Yesterday I ticked off one of my bucket list destinations, Whistler. I didn’t quite get the opportunity to tick off all of the bucket list activities (great reason to return some day) as it would appear that the Westaway Travel Weather Curse has well and truly morphed into what will now be known as just the ‘Westaway Travel Curse’. Actually, it is such a frequent occurrence that I am just going to refer to it as WTC from here on in. We couldn’t have had a more perfect day with amazing blue skies and warmth finally making it’s way through (mandatory bogan tying of jumper around waist called for). The WTC struck in epic fashion with all of the mountains closed (missed it by one day) and the gondolas and Peak 2 Peak being shut for maintenance before the summer season starts up in five days. There was momentary excitement, as one of the express gondolas had people on it (and bikes). On closer inspection we discovered that this was only for the hardcore (lost their brains or too young to care) adrenaline junkies who thought it was a great idea to fly down the side of the mountain with only a metal bar (which just happens to be located between their legs) separating them from the ground. Here we were being discriminated against riding because we didn’t have the balls to risk life and death.

Deciding that we were all too intelligent for that risk taking, or perhaps just too old, we headed out on a hike along the nature trails to ‘Lost Lake’. Considering our run of luck with lakes (I’ll blame WTC) over the past couple of days the prospect of visiting Lost Lake wasn’t over enthralling. It may however work off some of the calories that would later be consumed. Being in the wilderness (flashbacks of The Revenant again) in bear country, we were all a little unnerved by the signs that greeted us. One was starting to wonder if flying down the side of a mountain on two thin pieces of rubber was more appealing. Nothing like a sign telling you to use an area cautiously to make you think about your options of activities. Pondering the thought of how one actually uses an area cautiously, I was once again reminded that I was indeed still the slowest in our group and had again forgotten to pack the knee stabbing knife. When will I learn?

I did manage to get in some practice on how to safely pull off a selfie for any future bear encounters (I’ve got it down pat by the way). The others were more concerned that I was going to electrocute myself on the power box under the sign. I was more interested in preparing for a bear than the ‘Danger Electrocution Hazard’.

Unlike Beaver Lake (the lake you have when you’re not having a lake), Lost Lake didn’t disappoint. Unlike Beaver Lake (where the only sighting of beavers was the female anatomy kind, no grossness intended), Lost Lake was breathtaking. The inability to ride the gondolas was forgotten as we hiked around the lake and soaked up the amazing views. Canadians are truly blessed to have this at their fingertips.

On returning to Whistler Village we stumbled across a place that offered all meals for a bargain price of $5.95 (a win for tight arse Tanya). The food was good, the surroundings enjoyable and the staff from every part of the world except for Canada. Our Aussie waiter, who was also the barman seemed to have chaotic organisation down to a fine art. I think his laid back Byron Bay personality helped. The place was so busy and he still managed to mix up the drinks, chat away to us and explain the Canadian popular drink, the Caesar. I tried my hardest not to screw up my face (don’t need any additional wrinkles) as he explained it was made with tomato juice, vodka, sardine and clam juice, Worcestershire sauce and a few other ingredients I tuned out to (he lost me at sardine). Needless to say I wasn’t a fan and declined the chance to do as the Canadians do. I’ll stick to the maple…..maple pancakes, maple ice cream, maple fudge, maple candy, maple bacon…..and the list goes on.

Lake, what lake?

Thanks to the lingering man flu, today’s plans were altered and we spent the majority of the day in Stanley Park becoming at one with nature. To be honest, we spent the day in Stanley Park as it ensured we were not in a confined space with a certain someone’s germs. Clocking up approximately 16km on foot (needless to say feet are now aching) we had a great opportunity to see heaps of wildlife in the park and the walk around the sea wall.

Having spent the three weeks of our cruise on the lookout for whales, I had spotted many a whale whilst on the ship…..a floating log (now known as log whale)….a rock being hit by the waves (now known as rock whale). I would just like to point out that in the distance any large dark spot in the water can look like a whale (yes I should wear my glasses). In Stanley Park we were lucky enough to add a new species of whale to the Westaway/Sutton vacation, the dog whale. The dog whale is an especially clever breed of whale as it can actually fetch miniature log whales (without even harming them) and return them to their owners.

Being a public holiday there were loads of people around, on foot, on bikes and even on roller blades. It really takes a degree in concentration to not become road kill, bike kill or roller blade kill when sharing the pathways. This isn’t an easy feat for one that has hideous coordination and can trip over air. There appears to be some sort of orderly chaos though, with separate paths for the bikes and the walkers. There also seems to be a rule of staying to the ‘right’ side of the road. The unfortunate confusion occurs when the ‘right’ or ‘correct’ side of the road for us Aussies is actually the left. At least we haven’t been ploughed down or yelled at…..yet.

Whilst we stopped off for the routine caffeine intake (no point in me arguing with three coffee junkies) I got chatting to one of the locals. We discussed our plans for whilst we were in Vancouver and the expected weather. He explained how it is warming up and the locals will be saying it is too hot. Thinking he was slightly (actually considerably) insane I tucked my hands in my fleecy jumper and was grateful for my warm jeans. Low and behold, later in the day, as we sat eating our lunch (jumper still on by the way), there were actually locals in bikinis swimming at the beach. Who wouldn’t go swimming in an icy ocean in 18 degrees….and yes that is a rhetorical question full of sarcasm.

Whilst in Stanley Park we thought we would walk to Beaver Lake. The map we had picked up at the tourist info showed a big mass of water in the middle of the park and we imagined it might be like one of the fresh water lakes on Fraser Island. Note to self: a) never trust a map and b) forget about using imagination. Slightly unsure of where on the map we actually were, we decided to go cross country on what appeared to be a path. There was flattened ground (be it narrow) so either a group of massive bears had tracked through the shrub or we were heading the way humans had previously trekked. Being the shortest of us all, the path worked perfectly for me as unlike the others, I was able to go under the overgrown bushes. Finally, a bonus for being a short ass. One of us, chicken Angela, thought she heard something in the bushes and didn’t think the cross country was a good idea. I don’t know what she was worried about as she definitely isn’t the slowest out of the four of us and would leave me for dead.

Being my first trip to Canada, my understanding of a Canadian lake has been interpreted from photos I have seen of some amazing lakes in the country. After what seemed like a marathon of walking (okay slight exaggeration), we arrived at the lake (according to the sign post) to look at each other rather puzzled and ask where the lake was. Firstly, where were the Beavers and secondly, where was the bloody lake? It would appear that Beaver Lake had been overtaken by plants and we were actually looking at Plant Lake. Perhaps the wood whales and rock whales (and newly added species dog whales) live in the Plant Lake.

Even funnier, when walking out of Stanley Park we found the Lost Lagoon’ which indeed was a mass of water. I think they really need to consider renaming Beaver Lake to Lost Lake.

Jokes aside, there’s a reason why so many people had flocked to Stanley Park today. It wasn’t the hot (you’ve got to be kidding) weather. The place is just stunning.

Watch out for the sauerkraut

One thing we have noticed about Vancouver is that it isn’t exactly the cheapest place. It might be that we have just come off a cruise ship where your wallet stays in your safe (that dreaded cruise card is a great way to charge and forget) or have holidayed in many an Asian country where $3 will get you a huge feed. We’ve lost count of the Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Porsches and Maseratis we have seen flying around the streets. My lovely little Audi appears to be a paupers car in the land of the maple.

We did find a budget style diner last night called ‘White Spot’. As we deciphered the menu and pondered the name of the establishment (some making crude wet spot jokes), we realised even with food tax, alcohol tax and tip the place was in our budget. I ordered the prawn tacos (I’ll add that they were delicious) and death stared the waiter when he asked if I wanted salad or fries as the side. My jean’s waist band was screaming salad but my mouth (never did learn to monitor my mouth) overruled with a fries. What was really intriguing about the fries is that they are ‘unlimited fries’. What I am wondering (being the tight arse I am) is when is the ‘unlimited fries’ cut off. I would love to test the theory of ‘unlimited fries’ (especially because they were awesome fries) and see how many hours they continued to return with additional fries.

As predicted (I missed my calling as a clairvoyant), the inhabitants of the den had a terrible night sleep. Funnily enough the feeling of claustrophobia got to Angela and she relocated to the couch and the man flu has morphed into a semi regular cough and splutter. The bedroom inhabitants weren’t far behind them on the ‘crappy sleep’ stakes, especially when the room lit up brighter than a Christmas tree on steroids once the sun came up. The sun comes up bloody early here. Note to self: when packing don’t decide that an eye mask isn’t called for just because you are flying business class. Additional note to self: wrapping your pyjama pants around your head to block out the light makes it very difficult to breath. Breathing is definitely more important than being blinded by the light.

Crappy sleep aside, we woke up with the mission to explore Yaletown and Granville Island. Deciding we needed a bit of exercise (except for the overzealous one amongst us who got up early and went running), we mapped out our route and ignored the hop-on-hop-off bus. With the help of some caffeine we were all rearing to go, even the one with man flu. Someone (okay I take full responsibility), decided that we would walk over the bridge (I’ll just add the bridge was enormous) rather than take the ferry across the river. Walk we did, and walk, and walk until 1.5km later we got from one side of the bridge to the other side. Whoever said size doesn’t matter obviously didn’t ever walk across a huge bridge!

Granville Island was fantastic. This was probably helped by an early lunch at a German sausage shop in the markets (the sauerkraut should make for some serious aftermath in the den tonight) closely followed by half an Italian cannoli (not quite a full blown pig as yet).

We did plan on stopping at the Granville Brewery for the beer flight (remember not all beer tastes the same…apparently. It would appear that we need to try every type of brown liquid available to argue this theory), but with man flu stepping up a notch and a stomach full of sausage and cannoli, we thought this might be a return trip later in the week.

Having clocked over 7km already, we decided on the ferry back across the river. These dinky little boats were made just the right size to encapsulate the aftermath of sauerkraut. A certain someone was warned to hold it in until he got to the other side.

Another 4km of walking and we decided an old age rest stop was called for. On the way back to our apartment we stumbled across some unusual statues. Simon had seen them on TV last week and rambled off multiple shows he’d watched as he desperately tried to remember where he’d seen them (add in facial gestures that could be either deep thinking or the aftermath of sauerkraut). Finally he remembered they were in the latest season of The X-Files………nerd!

Airbnb virginity all over

Our last day on the ship was spent enjoying a few cocktails to celebrate a fantastic trip, laughing as the crew hosted ‘Are you smarter than the entertainment crew’ (we are officially dumb asses by the way) and living life dangerously by trying ‘sweetbreads’ for dinner (nothing like eating innards).

Although one leg of our journey is now over, the next leg of our adventures has now begun with our arrival in Vancouver, Canada this morning. With Jon suffering from man-flu (a serious illness you know) and Angela going out in sympathy with a sleepless night coughing (along with what appears to be a broken toe after a close encounter with the bath tub this morning), we decided to rest up this afternoon following our initial 10km (got a wee bit overexcited) walking Gastown and Downtown. We were fortunate to have timed our visit to Gastown perfectly (I hadn’t even anally retentively planned it to the minute) as the steam clock chimed for midday. It was a bit of a shock to the system though having to pay for lunch rather than have a waitress serve us three courses without a bill. $2 pizza was appropriate to ease us back into the reality of handing over money.

It would appear resting up will prove easy for some and perhaps not so for others (Simon is sound asleep on the lounge as I type). This will make more sense shortly. Being a slightly anal retentive planner (who am I kidding, I am an over-planner, it’s the school teacher in me), I’ve always opted to stay in hotels as there is a certain amount of certainty (does that make it a double certainty?). Deciding we were unwilling to pay $250-$300 each a night (tight arse Tanya strikes again) for a hotel room in downtown, we decided we would all lose our Airbnb virginity. For half the price we could get a small apartment so we booked. Keeping in mind that we live in an apartment at home, we are used to small spaces. We have spent many a vacation in a tiny Japanese hotel (don’t forget those quality pillows). Added to that we have just spent the last 23 nights in a compact cabin on a ship. How small could the apartment be?

We chose the ‘one bedroom, additional den with double bed, sleeps 6 – 8 adults with stunning views’. I think perhaps Pinocchio wrote some of the description as it is nearly accurate (some stretching of the truth).

Stunning views, tick. The views are great, across the mountains and down to the water. We might even be able to watch our cruise ship sail out on it’s way back to Alaska.

One bedroom, tick. The bedroom has enough room to walk around the bed (not sure where the suitcases are going to go) but is definitely a bedroom.

Den with a double, debatable. Jon and Angela have the joy (trying not to pee myself laughing and wondering why they aren’t arguing the point) of staying in the den. No words can describe the den. You will need to see the photos to believe it (yes that’s Angela standing on their bed). Imagine our ship cabin, quarter it, squint and then you might have the size of the den. To top it off, for a moment we thought there was no laundry in the unit. Never fear, Jon and Angela have it in their bedroom cupboard (makes washing their clothes convenient). So I guess the saying ‘if it’s a rocking don’t come a knocking’ wont be applicable for the next 8 nights. If it’s a rocking in the den it just might be the tumble dryer or washer on spin cycle.

Sleeps 6-8, not unless there is some funny head to toe action going on!