One thing about Vancouver that has surprised me is the large number of beggars that are to be found around every corner. I won't call them homeless because very few of them are actually homeless. Some have friend's floors, a shelter, maybe a cardboard box even, but they have all found themselves in a state of financial askyness. Meaning, they ask others for money. On one afternoon walk, I think (A) and I were asked 7 times for money by different people. This is a new experience for me. I've lived in a city before, but have never had to say no to so many people. I don't know their stories and they certainly don't know mine (or maybe even care to?), but it's still hard to refuse somebody help when they have asked for it. It's a tricky thing. Everybody has choices in life. Some, you get to make, others are made for you. But very few outcomes are irreversible. I worked my little butt off to raise the money to fly to be with (A). I have never had a proper holiday in my life. I had to quit my jobs to have the time to come here. And I will freely admit, that by some peoples standards, I had a shitty childhood. And I don't just mean I didn't get the Transformer toy that I wanted for Christmas. The point is, the people coming up to me and asking for my spare change, are doing so without knowing what that money means to me. They are making an assumption about me based entirely on my appearance. Just as I am making one about them. You and I are far more likely to give money to a smelly, bearded guy in torn clothes, than we are a clean, sharp looking guy in a suit. Don't believe me? Why don't beggars ever hassle other beggars for money? Because they assume they have none, just by their appearance. Just as I assume the same about them. But the truth is, I don't know if that person has had a tough, unfair life, or has squandered money on drink, drugs, or even perhaps even drowned kittens or murdered people? It's impossible for me to tell. I have no problem if they are polite, but a couple of times in the past, I have had abuse because I have politely said sorry, but no, to someone asking for money. I like helping people. I get a warm gooey feeling every time that I do. I believe that everyone can help others if they wish to. The world would be a better place if we did, but do we owe each other help? I don't think so. Some of the stories people tell to try to get you to part with money are really quite amazing. I've heard ones with action, sadness, plot twists, romance, I even heard on guy claim to have helped blow up the Death Star. I appreciate that a lot of people are genuinely nice people that have had a tough time of life and I wish I could help them all (only the nice ones), but it can't be done. I do still give change to people now and then, much to my own annoyance. And I'm a sucker for buskers. If you want money from me, play music. For some reason, I feel comfortable giving my change to people that can afford a guitar and amplifier?
Why have I just blogged about this? I have no idea? It's late and I think I lost my point somewhere? At least I'm honest? I guess I just don't like it when someone comes up to me and asks me for change. Then if I say no, I get to feel crappy about it.
Maybe if I showered less and didn't change clothes so often, they would stop asking?
It's a thought........
Tuesday 12 May 2009
Wildlife encounter
(A) and I were walking through Stanley Park. It was a pretty nice walk and I had already had a fun afternoon. Little did I realize that my day was about to involve WILDLIFE!
Dun-dun-DUUUUUUUUUUUN!
I'm not normally good with animals. Infact, ask my friends, and they'll happily tell you how I'm not much good with anything. Since arriving in Vancouver, I have seen oodles of seagulls and crows. Crows are everywhere in Vancouver. How they haven't ended up running the place, is beyond me? Anyway, I don't "fear" animals and insects (except spiders and horses!!!), but I just don't like to mix with them if I can avoid it. Most of the time, my imagination takes over and I fear the worst when it comes to wildlife (SPIDERHORSES!!! EEK!).
But I AM fully insured, so it's not a huge deal if a bear rips my arm off and uses it to beat my screaming head in.
See what I mean? I always go over the top.
I'm sure bears are calm, gentle creatures. And I'm sure they're more scared of me than I am of them? But I can't get the idea out of my head that the bears are lining up to attack me, with a baseball bat that has a black widow spider taped to the side of it. I'm stupid and my own worst enemy sometimes.
Anyway, we stopped to nibble on snacky goodness by a lake, when (A) noticed a Raccoon that was being papped by a couple of tourists. Tourists that had cameras with lenses that were far too healthy to carry around. They were calling and cooing at this Raccoon, trying to get it to look round, vogue, work it, etc, but the little thing was having none of it. I say little, but all wildlife appears much bigger to me. It's a disease. I exaggerate size when it comes to things that scare me.
Anyway, this little, 12 foot tall Raccoon just continued to ignore them, happy to rummage round in the mud of the lake shore. Defeated, the two photographers slowly walked away, dragging their oh so heavy cameras behind them. Once they had left, (A) removed from her pocket a small bag of nuts, goodness, and woodland that she had been carrying around with her. I asked her why she was carrying that? She said it was incase of squirrel attacks. If a nasty group of the little nutters ever went for us, she would through the bag of nuts, goodness and woodland towards me, while she made off in the opposite direction (to get help).
(Help for me).
(Help to find whatever the squirrels leave of my corpse quicker).
I kid!
(A) loves me and would never leave me during a squirrel attack. She had just carried those nuts, goodness and woodland that day incase we found some wildlife to feed. And we had. A lovely, adorable, tiny, 20 foot tall Raccoon.
As soon as he/she (let's not be gender specific here) heard the little packet rustle, he/she started to make his/her way over to us. I have never seen a Raccoon before. Although my fear of wildlife was well and truly kicking in, this tiny little grey and black guy/gal was ADORABLE. He/she had these tiny little black fingers that he used to feel around and pick up the N.G.W with. He was really brave and seemed to have no fear of us. Which was good, because I was pretty scared of him. If it came down to it, he could take me. I know he could. Just as long as HE didn't know that.
Oh crap!
When did he become a HE?
*le sigh*
Anyway, he/she was totally lovable and gentle. The N.G.W seemed to attract all sorts of wildlife, with (A) getting the chance to do her Disney Princess (tm) bit, with a little bird eating out of her hand. It was a very Aww kind of moment.
The guy/gal loved the food and took away some of my fear of wild animals by, once he had finished his N.G.W, leaving us without tearing my face off and returning back to his home.
Aww.
It was a lovely moment and I really enjoyed meeting my first Raccoon.
Aww.
Dun-dun-DUUUUUUUUUUUN!
I'm not normally good with animals. Infact, ask my friends, and they'll happily tell you how I'm not much good with anything. Since arriving in Vancouver, I have seen oodles of seagulls and crows. Crows are everywhere in Vancouver. How they haven't ended up running the place, is beyond me? Anyway, I don't "fear" animals and insects (except spiders and horses!!!), but I just don't like to mix with them if I can avoid it. Most of the time, my imagination takes over and I fear the worst when it comes to wildlife (SPIDERHORSES!!! EEK!).
But I AM fully insured, so it's not a huge deal if a bear rips my arm off and uses it to beat my screaming head in.
See what I mean? I always go over the top.
I'm sure bears are calm, gentle creatures. And I'm sure they're more scared of me than I am of them? But I can't get the idea out of my head that the bears are lining up to attack me, with a baseball bat that has a black widow spider taped to the side of it. I'm stupid and my own worst enemy sometimes.
Anyway, we stopped to nibble on snacky goodness by a lake, when (A) noticed a Raccoon that was being papped by a couple of tourists. Tourists that had cameras with lenses that were far too healthy to carry around. They were calling and cooing at this Raccoon, trying to get it to look round, vogue, work it, etc, but the little thing was having none of it. I say little, but all wildlife appears much bigger to me. It's a disease. I exaggerate size when it comes to things that scare me.
Anyway, this little, 12 foot tall Raccoon just continued to ignore them, happy to rummage round in the mud of the lake shore. Defeated, the two photographers slowly walked away, dragging their oh so heavy cameras behind them. Once they had left, (A) removed from her pocket a small bag of nuts, goodness, and woodland that she had been carrying around with her. I asked her why she was carrying that? She said it was incase of squirrel attacks. If a nasty group of the little nutters ever went for us, she would through the bag of nuts, goodness and woodland towards me, while she made off in the opposite direction (to get help).
(Help for me).
(Help to find whatever the squirrels leave of my corpse quicker).
I kid!
(A) loves me and would never leave me during a squirrel attack. She had just carried those nuts, goodness and woodland that day incase we found some wildlife to feed. And we had. A lovely, adorable, tiny, 20 foot tall Raccoon.
As soon as he/she (let's not be gender specific here) heard the little packet rustle, he/she started to make his/her way over to us. I have never seen a Raccoon before. Although my fear of wildlife was well and truly kicking in, this tiny little grey and black guy/gal was ADORABLE. He/she had these tiny little black fingers that he used to feel around and pick up the N.G.W with. He was really brave and seemed to have no fear of us. Which was good, because I was pretty scared of him. If it came down to it, he could take me. I know he could. Just as long as HE didn't know that.
Oh crap!
When did he become a HE?
*le sigh*
Anyway, he/she was totally lovable and gentle. The N.G.W seemed to attract all sorts of wildlife, with (A) getting the chance to do her Disney Princess (tm) bit, with a little bird eating out of her hand. It was a very Aww kind of moment.
The guy/gal loved the food and took away some of my fear of wild animals by, once he had finished his N.G.W, leaving us without tearing my face off and returning back to his home.
Aww.
It was a lovely moment and I really enjoyed meeting my first Raccoon.
Aww.
Store Wars
Okay, maybe more coffee shops than stores, but there are two major players fighting for control of the streets in Canada. Starbucks and Tim Horton's.
These are the two big hitters of Canadian bevergyness.
And some of their customers get quite prissy about where they drink too. I walked into the middle of a gang fight the other day between rival drinkers. They were throwing skinny lattes and frappucchinos at each other. It got quite ugly at one point, when one guy was taken out by a biscotti to the eye. Another hospitalized by a particularly strong ,mexican blend decaf to the face.
Just chill people!
Drink tea.
These are the two big hitters of Canadian bevergyness.
And some of their customers get quite prissy about where they drink too. I walked into the middle of a gang fight the other day between rival drinkers. They were throwing skinny lattes and frappucchinos at each other. It got quite ugly at one point, when one guy was taken out by a biscotti to the eye. Another hospitalized by a particularly strong ,mexican blend decaf to the face.
Just chill people!
Drink tea.
Order please?
I have since realised that the blog entrees have no hope of ever being in order. Maybe one day, I will be bang up to date? In which case, they have a slight chance of being in order.
Perhaps.
Maybe.
What do you want from me, blood?
Perhaps.
Maybe.
What do you want from me, blood?
Chopsticks
Since being here, I have been introduced to a wide variety of sushi restaurants and take-aways. You can't crash a car in Vancouver without knocking a millionaire through a sushi shop window. They are everywhere (both millionaires and sushi shops). This is fine with me, and I had never tried sushi before, so I was looking forward to a new culinary delight.
However, this brought back an age-old enemy of mine,
THE CHOPSTICK!
TWO of them!
ChopSTICKS!
Twice the terror.
I just can't use chopsticks. I just can't. If you're gonna laugh, just go ahead and do it. I can't do the tongue curling thing either, or the bloody Vulcan "Live long and blah blah blah" thing from Star Trek. When it comes to mastering tasks that others find easy, I appear to be handicapped. Infact, why can't I qualify for disabled parking? You seem to be a second class citizen if you are unable to eat sushi with anything other than two sticks of wood (plastic).
And why? Just what do chopsticks offer that a fork can't give? If two pieces of wood (plastic) are so great, then why did the fork ever get invented? And I happen to know for a fact that the fork was invented by an Asian gentleman. Because they think up and invent everything! They just do. They know that the fork is where it's at. The chopstick thing is just for the tourists. Once the Westerners are out of sight, they whip out their knife and forks. Infact, while we are trying to prove how sympathetic we are to their cuisine, traditions and culture by chasing an eggroll around a plate with our sticks, they're eating in a more efficient manner, using something else that they've invented, something that probably uses microchips or something?
I just can't use them. (A) patiently tried to teach me. But after 1 minute 38 seconds (roughly), her patience was exausted. I think she realised that I'm just not cut out for chopsticks? And while she continues to encourage and guide me ( "Why won't you just learn!?"), I know it's not for me. So I have to bravely soldier on, enduring the sniggers and sneers of other diners, as I kindly ask for a fork. And maybe sometimes a knife too.
However, this brought back an age-old enemy of mine,
THE CHOPSTICK!
TWO of them!
ChopSTICKS!
Twice the terror.
I just can't use chopsticks. I just can't. If you're gonna laugh, just go ahead and do it. I can't do the tongue curling thing either, or the bloody Vulcan "Live long and blah blah blah" thing from Star Trek. When it comes to mastering tasks that others find easy, I appear to be handicapped. Infact, why can't I qualify for disabled parking? You seem to be a second class citizen if you are unable to eat sushi with anything other than two sticks of wood (plastic).
And why? Just what do chopsticks offer that a fork can't give? If two pieces of wood (plastic) are so great, then why did the fork ever get invented? And I happen to know for a fact that the fork was invented by an Asian gentleman. Because they think up and invent everything! They just do. They know that the fork is where it's at. The chopstick thing is just for the tourists. Once the Westerners are out of sight, they whip out their knife and forks. Infact, while we are trying to prove how sympathetic we are to their cuisine, traditions and culture by chasing an eggroll around a plate with our sticks, they're eating in a more efficient manner, using something else that they've invented, something that probably uses microchips or something?
I just can't use them. (A) patiently tried to teach me. But after 1 minute 38 seconds (roughly), her patience was exausted. I think she realised that I'm just not cut out for chopsticks? And while she continues to encourage and guide me ( "Why won't you just learn!?"), I know it's not for me. So I have to bravely soldier on, enduring the sniggers and sneers of other diners, as I kindly ask for a fork. And maybe sometimes a knife too.
Vancouver
Well, I made it to Vancouver. And (A) was there to meet me, so things were looking good.
It was so good to see her again. After over a month apart, I was just about ready to swim to Canada if I had to. I really missed her. Skype helped, but it's not substitute for seeing and feeling. And I mean that in a non-creepy way. She's been wonderful while I've been here. It seems like every day, she goes out of her way to make sure we go somewhere or do something to make the most of my time here. My dear old gran made me promise not to walk on rocks or go in the sea. But after paying for travel insurance, that seems kinda silly? I mean, what's the point of having insurance, just to be careful about things? My policy refused to pay out if I injure myself jumping from a hotel balcony, OR if I commit suicide. That sounds fair. The hotel balcony one sounds kinda specific? And I can't help but wonder if they had to pay out one time to some idiot that cloud surfed off of a balcony?
Anyway, Vancouver is very big. Bigger than anything I'm used to. The college alone seems to be bigger than Stratford. It is a great place though. It has mountains, beaches, wildlife, rich people, homeless people, poor people, poor people pretending to be rich people, and even rich people that are soon to be homeless people!
The one thing that I loved though, was the "self flushing' toilets that can be found in most retaurants and public bathrooms. EVERYTHING is automatic. Which for a germaphobe like myself, is pretty damn cool. You don't have to touch anything to flush. You just stand up and walk away (after pulling up pants). It flushes automatically. How neat is that? In Britain, you have to go to the nearest well, fill a bucket with water, bring it back, throw a handful of straw down the loo, followed by the water, just to flush. Plus you routinely catch scurvey and the Plague from public toilets in Britain. Even if you survive going to the lav, you'll just be stabbed by a teenager as you leave. They don't even try to mug you anymore. Nobody has any money. So they just save themselves (and you) all that time and hassle, and just go for the stabbing right away. Plus it's bloody embarrassing when a mugger asks you to hand over all your money and all you have on you is 27 pence and a receipt from Starbucks. You deserve to get stabbed just for drinking in Starbucks. Not that I can afford to drink in Starbucks. I found the receipt. I just 'accidentally" whip it out now and then in socially awkward situations, so I look more "hip", "happening" and "one of the trendy crowd".
Starbucks IS still trendy, right?
Anyway, the toilets here are really neat. And the taps and soap dispensers are nearly all automatic too. I say nearly, because on some rare occasions, I find myself stunned and confused by taps that I actually have to turn on and off with my own hands. When I go back to England, I'm taking taps and toilets with me!
It was so good to see her again. After over a month apart, I was just about ready to swim to Canada if I had to. I really missed her. Skype helped, but it's not substitute for seeing and feeling. And I mean that in a non-creepy way. She's been wonderful while I've been here. It seems like every day, she goes out of her way to make sure we go somewhere or do something to make the most of my time here. My dear old gran made me promise not to walk on rocks or go in the sea. But after paying for travel insurance, that seems kinda silly? I mean, what's the point of having insurance, just to be careful about things? My policy refused to pay out if I injure myself jumping from a hotel balcony, OR if I commit suicide. That sounds fair. The hotel balcony one sounds kinda specific? And I can't help but wonder if they had to pay out one time to some idiot that cloud surfed off of a balcony?
Anyway, Vancouver is very big. Bigger than anything I'm used to. The college alone seems to be bigger than Stratford. It is a great place though. It has mountains, beaches, wildlife, rich people, homeless people, poor people, poor people pretending to be rich people, and even rich people that are soon to be homeless people!
The one thing that I loved though, was the "self flushing' toilets that can be found in most retaurants and public bathrooms. EVERYTHING is automatic. Which for a germaphobe like myself, is pretty damn cool. You don't have to touch anything to flush. You just stand up and walk away (after pulling up pants). It flushes automatically. How neat is that? In Britain, you have to go to the nearest well, fill a bucket with water, bring it back, throw a handful of straw down the loo, followed by the water, just to flush. Plus you routinely catch scurvey and the Plague from public toilets in Britain. Even if you survive going to the lav, you'll just be stabbed by a teenager as you leave. They don't even try to mug you anymore. Nobody has any money. So they just save themselves (and you) all that time and hassle, and just go for the stabbing right away. Plus it's bloody embarrassing when a mugger asks you to hand over all your money and all you have on you is 27 pence and a receipt from Starbucks. You deserve to get stabbed just for drinking in Starbucks. Not that I can afford to drink in Starbucks. I found the receipt. I just 'accidentally" whip it out now and then in socially awkward situations, so I look more "hip", "happening" and "one of the trendy crowd".
Starbucks IS still trendy, right?
Anyway, the toilets here are really neat. And the taps and soap dispensers are nearly all automatic too. I say nearly, because on some rare occasions, I find myself stunned and confused by taps that I actually have to turn on and off with my own hands. When I go back to England, I'm taking taps and toilets with me!
I am a poetry failure :(
Okay. So I was supposed to be writing a poem every day for a month, what with last month being poetry month and all.
Well, I failed.
I'm a crumb.
Don't even look at me.
I'm a stinking, lowly crumb that can't even write ONE poem A DAY.
Not even a;
Like a blossom fed by gentle rain,
my toilet flush is fueled by pain.
I couldn't even manage that. I'm so depressed :(
But I do have a very good reason. I've been busy flying to Canada to spend time with the woman that I love. Awww
The hanging around Birmingham airport was dull. Although it did get a bit livelier when a guy dropped a metal tray on a marble (effect) floor.
BANG!
Who'da thought that people would be so nervous when there are loud bangs around planes?
I swear, three people had to be removed from the polystyrene ceiling tiles.
Myself, I don't seem to jump around loud bangs or car crashes? My reflexes are sorta backwards? I don't flinch for explosions, but the world falls out of my arse if someone just goes BOO! to me, comic book style. Even if I can see them coming. This provides shear moments of amusement for (A).
The first flight was to Amsterdam's Shirpol?, Sherpol?, something like that, airport. That place is HUGE! People from all around the world seem to gravitate there to buy cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. I saw cheese of every colour and flavour. Cheeses in the shape of cars, buildings, boys and girls snogging, even cheeses that weren't even made of cheese. Although, they may have been display models. I'm not a cheese expert. And to save the poor passengers from having to walk around, from one cheese to the next, they have installed a network of conveyer belts. You just step on and you're magically whisked along by the power of pixies and engineers to your destination (your terminal. Not your ACTUAL destination. Those things are long, but not that long). The place is great though and I heartily recommend you check that place out. Even if you don't need cheese right now, it's still a great place to check out. And if you have kids, why not take them along? They can ride the conveyers while you race back to the car, in a last ditch attempt to lose them and regain some peace and quiet back in your lives.
The plane I was to catch from Shipol? was named Ingrid Bergman. I'm a really nervous flyer, and I spent about 15 minutes debating with myself whether Ingrid sounded like a crasher. I kept watching imaginary news with footage of wreckage, to see if I could envisage the name Ingrid Bergman on the side of a large chunk of deathtrap. I hate flying. In the end, all this was pointless, because I had to climb aboard Ms Bergman if I was ever going to reach Canada. And besides, I KNEW I would make it safely to Canada. The reason why, I will explain later.
The flight was pretty good. My paln (or plan, even) to keep Ingrid in the air using sheer willpower seemed to actually work. Of course it meant a lot of buttock clenching and sweating for 6, 8, 9+ hours, and I couldn't talk AND keep the plane in the air. So a system of grunts and nods had to be established between myself and the people that kept walking past, offering me crackers and microwaved mush. And while I am here, can I thank the person that piled all the complimentary cushions in front of himself before both landing and take off. Thanks buddy! You made me feel so much better.......
There was also the woman that preyed during landing. Sorry, I meant PRAYED. Preying is something else. At least her praying was helping us get down safely. What use was "Mr Cushion Waist"? He was just trying to save himself. Selfish get.
Anyway, I (and the rest of the passengers) arrived safely in Vancouver, where I could finally kiss the beautiful carpet of the airport lounge. Oh, and shortly after, kiss my beautiful girlfriend (A).
Well, I failed.
I'm a crumb.
Don't even look at me.
I'm a stinking, lowly crumb that can't even write ONE poem A DAY.
Not even a;
Like a blossom fed by gentle rain,
my toilet flush is fueled by pain.
I couldn't even manage that. I'm so depressed :(
But I do have a very good reason. I've been busy flying to Canada to spend time with the woman that I love. Awww
The hanging around Birmingham airport was dull. Although it did get a bit livelier when a guy dropped a metal tray on a marble (effect) floor.
BANG!
Who'da thought that people would be so nervous when there are loud bangs around planes?
I swear, three people had to be removed from the polystyrene ceiling tiles.
Myself, I don't seem to jump around loud bangs or car crashes? My reflexes are sorta backwards? I don't flinch for explosions, but the world falls out of my arse if someone just goes BOO! to me, comic book style. Even if I can see them coming. This provides shear moments of amusement for (A).
The first flight was to Amsterdam's Shirpol?, Sherpol?, something like that, airport. That place is HUGE! People from all around the world seem to gravitate there to buy cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. I saw cheese of every colour and flavour. Cheeses in the shape of cars, buildings, boys and girls snogging, even cheeses that weren't even made of cheese. Although, they may have been display models. I'm not a cheese expert. And to save the poor passengers from having to walk around, from one cheese to the next, they have installed a network of conveyer belts. You just step on and you're magically whisked along by the power of pixies and engineers to your destination (your terminal. Not your ACTUAL destination. Those things are long, but not that long). The place is great though and I heartily recommend you check that place out. Even if you don't need cheese right now, it's still a great place to check out. And if you have kids, why not take them along? They can ride the conveyers while you race back to the car, in a last ditch attempt to lose them and regain some peace and quiet back in your lives.
The plane I was to catch from Shipol? was named Ingrid Bergman. I'm a really nervous flyer, and I spent about 15 minutes debating with myself whether Ingrid sounded like a crasher. I kept watching imaginary news with footage of wreckage, to see if I could envisage the name Ingrid Bergman on the side of a large chunk of deathtrap. I hate flying. In the end, all this was pointless, because I had to climb aboard Ms Bergman if I was ever going to reach Canada. And besides, I KNEW I would make it safely to Canada. The reason why, I will explain later.
The flight was pretty good. My paln (or plan, even) to keep Ingrid in the air using sheer willpower seemed to actually work. Of course it meant a lot of buttock clenching and sweating for 6, 8, 9+ hours, and I couldn't talk AND keep the plane in the air. So a system of grunts and nods had to be established between myself and the people that kept walking past, offering me crackers and microwaved mush. And while I am here, can I thank the person that piled all the complimentary cushions in front of himself before both landing and take off. Thanks buddy! You made me feel so much better.......
There was also the woman that preyed during landing. Sorry, I meant PRAYED. Preying is something else. At least her praying was helping us get down safely. What use was "Mr Cushion Waist"? He was just trying to save himself. Selfish get.
Anyway, I (and the rest of the passengers) arrived safely in Vancouver, where I could finally kiss the beautiful carpet of the airport lounge. Oh, and shortly after, kiss my beautiful girlfriend (A).
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