I am in a small hostel in a place just South of tofino called Ucluelet. This was where hitchhiking took us. And I love it! I seriously loved it yesterday. Not too comfortable. But so much fun! We got a ride from a guy in the ferry to a stop light 15k out of Nanaimo. He was very interesting and had Portuguese grandparents. His family lived currently in Quebec but he had been born in Brazil.
It's not the first time someone tells me this. It has been pherhaps the most direct way. The motivation behind such a suggestion, I will not try to uncover. Somehow some people that have crossed my path think that I should have " a summer fling". I should take every opportunity (walking in the beach, being in the city, camping out, etc) to meet young men, flirt and have some kind of "romantic escapade", or at least a few encounters under the portuguese sun.
Right.
I am just so tired of this pointless cliché. Soooooo tired. Summer, bikinis and torrid passion. Seriously?
I see things the other way around. Summer is for reflection. Is the time to get away from the body, to come back to that shapeless place called home. To leave the dark cold city and indulge in the leftovers of childhood.
In the summer I like to catch that plane. It is my purgatory, with the bitter taste of airline coffee. It is all about expectation, a deep breath. And, when I'm back, I'm saved. I'm alright. I can now start reflection. Yes, summer is for reflection. On my sins and mistakes. On blind impulses followed during the Winter. It is time to look out the window into the wheat fields and know rigth from wrong, to forgive myself for what I have done without even trying very hard to do so. Summer is for comtemplation. Of the self and of the world. To pull it together, cry and rise.
It is not a coincidence that it is during the summer that I have been most vulnerable to religious propaganda. As in, christian sects brain-washing me or just the old village fundamentalism having an effect on my brain. I am at the cross-road. I am exactly at the point where I can even listen to sermons, go to masses and the like, because they make some sense. I understand them. I choose another path, for sure. But still, I see why people go down those roads.
Summertime is the fall from the cold streets into the rice fields. It is time to read and write, to examine and decide. It is time to clarify the misery and glory of past actions. At my own pace, at my own time. The senses are put on hold. Nature takes care of them with the sun and the flowers. They make our bodies one with the earth. And we help them out by removing coats, by running with 0ur feet on the grass and fine layers of cloth wrapped around our skin. Our minds are free. Free to wonder. to rationaly, but warmly, wonder about ourselves.
Some songs only get some meaning like this.
Breathe, breathe in the air.
Don't be afraid to care.
Leave, don't leave me.
Look around and choose your own ground.
Long you live and high you fly
smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be.
Run, rabbit run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.
For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave.
(Pink Floyd- Breathe)
When you are done. When you are at peace, when you know what you have done. Cried about it, laughed about it, or simply forgot about it. Then, you can go back.
Now, where do you fit a "summer fling" here? Where do you fit the flirt-nervous thingy? Were do you fit care for your image, standards and conventions of social interaction with attractive strangers? And what about those strangers? Is it fair to dragg them into your private mess-sorting period? Why would you? How can you? How can you give up the magic of gazing at the sea for the annoyance of being gazed at by some guys? [Yes. "some guys". I do have faith in humanity, but don't ask me to think prince charming is waiting around the corner. ]
It disturbs me. This idea that during the summer we are supposed to be all into finding a match. That our energy in this priviledged season should be focused on "flings", pseudo-comitments of convenience and convention. That we should be interested in people because we see their arms, legs, and whatever else, more often. I get the thing with Spring. I do! The birds are singing, the sun is warm for the first time and tralalala... Nature is re-awakening. OK, get it. But summer? Really? This "summer-fling"-summer-teen thing is the most ridiculous socio-commercial construction ever. It almost beats St. Valentines and Christmas (those at least started with some religous component!).
Wednesday, the 6th of May 3:30 PM, ferryboat from Horseshoe Bay to nanaimo.
Day 13
(...) I write o on a ferry larger than the ones in Bergen at least 3 or 4 times. And it has a lot fo extra facilities like huge cafeteria, work stations and other stuff. Spoiled Canadians.
On Sunday I went to the inetrnet café and got to know Christian would be arriving in the evening. so I went back and checked-in at the hostel again. i had a nice roomate, a lady from Calgary whose 3 old child and husband would be arriving the next day. I told her pretty much the last year of my love/sentimental life. I like revealing my deepest anxieties to strangers, it seems. In the evening i met "Carlo" again. i went to see a movie (just felt like it) and when I came back he was smoking at the door. We started talking again and ended up with his laptop in the lounge. I had to listen to his songs and I gave what he described as "great detailed and articulate" feedback. (...) Totally trivial lyrics. No poetry, no style. [Didn't match his voice and instrumental]. So I felt it was my duttie to set this errant soul to the right path and introduce him to The Smiths. He was charmed by Morrisey immediately (who wouldn't be?) and loved the drumming and the lyrics. Hopefully he will get some inspiration. He invited me for a concert (...) but I had other plans.
(...) My friends were extremely kind and offered their place for me to stay at for as long as I needed. But I had plans, once again. I was n BC to travel, after all. (...) Problem was, when I started looking at actual bus tickets: they were expensive! (...) I decided i would need to book those tickets and do it fast [cheaper the more in advance you book them]. one lesson for the future: do not try to be spontaneous when travelling with public transport in huge, strange Canada. Eventually i figured out a trip, a way to see the main points of interest. (...)Some cities I picked even just a bit randomly - like "vernon". (...) Money well spent.
Another problem is: (...) I feel so lucky. So undeservedly lucky. (...)
(...) Yesterday we spent most of the day hiking around a mountain next to Chief mountain. I wasn't prepared for hiking and my legs were kiling me today. It was till very gorgous and reminded me a lot of Norway. It even had an inlet, which basically is a fjord. (...) And it rained a bit -perfect. But, this morning, I bougyht some good waterproof hiking shoes. no more golden Gate situations! (...)
12:00PM, laundry room at the HI Hostel, Vancouver Central
Day 10
So I arrived in Vancouver safe and sound. Just to get chronological, here:
Last day in S.Franscisco
I decided to go and see a museum. Took off to Legion of Honour Palace. It was raining, quite a bit, and so I was happy Veronica took pictures of me in the morning rather than in the evening. Yeha, we took a picture of me on the rooftop with a flower pin in my hair - the flower pin that I got for free at that Indian shop in Haight-Ashbury. Glorious portraits.Anyhow, Legion of Honour was quite interesting. A good collection with a great range and a decent organisation. Curiosity: all info was in English exclusively. Significant? Overall. I wasn't incredibly impressed, but I guess I have a bad habit of visitng the best museums in the world so my standards are quite high. (What modesty Filipa. what modesty...) It was also quite empty, on a Friday! not many epople at all. Ended up being a relaxing factor (...)
The highlights: -one painting, which i loved, was called something like "the broken vase". I forgot the name of the author. [ it is William Bouguereau and the painting is actually "The broken pitcher", see picture] (...) The way she looked and the broken pottery at her feet were just hypnotizing. The little text on the side said it was normally interpreted sexually as a "loss of inocense" and "hard bruttish country life" theme thing. I see it in a more holistic sense. Her look, like she was about to cry and stay strong at the same time, seemed to whisper "this is me, here I am". It was very intimate.
-There were also some great Monets and Pisarros. i saw the "Great Canal", the Monet I reproduced [ or tried to] 4 or 5 years ago. (...) I stared for a while.
After that I decided to go to Golden Gate Bridge. (...) It was pouring down, sort of foggy and very windy. Perfect drmatic setting for that red huge bridge. (...) Being there I thought I should walk the bridge. After all taht would be the "complete S.Francisco experience" thing to do. And so I went, defying the wind I strolled with some other brave tourists. Very exciting and liberating. But when I reached half the bridge I had to go back 'cause I was wet to the bone. My band-aids were falling off my blisters because of the water. (...)
[Back at Veronica's] I packed and ate our shared pasta. (...) In any case, I thought, it was time to leave. We said goobye and I headed down to Pier 39. When i was at the Ferry building I realised there was something worng with the cable-car times. they kept increasing on the monitor! So, in a little panic, I ran all the way to Pier 39 with my bagpack.I looked like a mad woman and felt my legs about to collapse. 15 minutes of insane runing in a San Francisco night with 30 kilos on my back. How glamorous. I got there 10 min in advance though! And the bus was late more 5 minutes! Seriously... But I met a guy also waiting for the bus. He looked familiar and soon we realised he had been seating behind me on the train south. His name was Ryan and he looked like a bearded laid-back type.
So, me and Ryan started talking. He was 23 and lived in Sacramento. His current occupations: working in a bar, looking for fun things to do, riding his bike. And, when he went somewhere, 2 things were certain. He would be a) drinking a lot b)smoking a lot of pot. His visit to San Francisco had been a sort of "out of an impulse thing" and the only thing he regreted was not having dropped some acid.(Just for the record, marijuana, although illegal is osrt of a common thing in the stated. at least I got that impression. (...))Meanwhile, Ryan went to smoke another joint and the train arrived. It was late and I was tired. I got my music goign and tried to sleep but Ryan came up and we talked all the way to Sacramento. I talked. he mumbled. People getting high - stops being cool when they stop being able to have a decnet conversation [but still want to have one!]. Also, when talking about how rough travelling alone is, he told me I had it worse "being a lady and all". No comments. When he got off at Sacramento I said bye and went to sleep.
The train north
At 5:30 AM of the next day I wake up in Dunsmuir, California with someone shouting "Derailment!". A freight train had derailed ahead. We were stuck. At first I panicked abit. But then I just enjoyed the warm train seat, read and knitted. (...) It took 9 hours for buses to arrive from Sacramento and load all passengers. Next stop. Eugene, Oregon. But the ride was beautiful through Northern California and Oregon. We saw so many things. From dry hills in California to the beautiful green valleys of Oregon. Along highway 5. I saw little towns with only one mainstreet. I saw trailer parks and the poeple living in them. i saw churches advertising their services like butter and I saw baseball games with parents cheering! I saw native reservations that were "Hotel and Casino Resorts" and even saw an Amish couple that was on board of the train ( at first i thought they were dressed in a costume). I saw America.In Seattle we boarded a bus to Vancouver. This old lady was going too. She had been to Portugal many times as a tour guide and it was lovely to tlak to her. She had such a beautiful white hair. White like snow. (...)
Vancouver
I arrived at the Pacific Central at 5 AM. What was I going to do in Vancouver that early? (...) I took a cab to the hostel (...) enjoyed 3 hours of sleep and breakfast and a shower. I got to do laundry and now have everything washed and dry in my bag. While i was at the laundry room I met this guy named Carlo who wrote the message that is some pages back on this book.[a poem about us "meeting" and "speaking of siliness, do you remember?" and apparently he noticed "I wore my hair long, down past your shoulder" and, finally, apparently "It didn't take long to fall in ---" , it literally ends with a line there and a phone number down]. He was a slightly sleazy italian musician from Toronto. He thought I was very friendly and had 2 tatoos clearly designed to impress. He invited me to his room, to hear him play guitar. .. Rigth pall, nice try (he looked well over 30). Yep, I have been meeting some characters I guess...
Just to continue yesterday's writing: what are the funniest laws/signs I have seen around?
- on the trains, in San Francisco (subway), a sign saying it was forbidden for people younger than 18 to have in their possession spray, cans or markers thicker than half an inch. What happened to "do not deface"?
- The alchool restriction in parks. in Portland, in the "park blocks" you can't have a beer!
(...) I don't miss people. Yesterday i wrote emails and the like. It was funny because I didn't miss them (not in the " I wish you were here so badly I am goign to strat crying and have a knot on my throat for an entire day" way). I feel self-suficient, content, solving practical problems and, i sort of like it.
San Francisco, 30/04/09 Bakery accross from "The Vesuvio", North Beach Day 7
I really like San Francisco! And I am actually enjoying myself on my own. too bed for that pessimistic beggining.
Tuesday things were not goign so weel: stuck in the most uninteresting part of the city. But then I met my host, Veronica. And she was nice and talkative and so helpful. Her neighbourhood (Mission dolores) is beautiful and she lives in a Victorian apartment. (...) We went to an Indian restaurant for dinner and she showed me around the Castro, near her place. Nice neighbourhood. (...). But really "gay-male-porn" culture... jusging by the composition and beahviour of the crowds and the windows of local shops and businesses. (...)
Yesterday didn't start very well either. I got all excited and, after breakfast, went straight to Haight-Ashbury (note of editor: the center of all 60's counter culture in the city and my favourite intersection for 8 years). AT 9 AM. Not much activity, empty streets and a couple of people asking for change and looking unpleasant. I saw Janis Joplin's place but it didn't have any sign or mark. So i sadly headed to golden Gate park. The "hippie hill" which I recognised from old black-and-white pictures was inhabited by a handful of homeless people. Later i got to know, it only gets properly "hippish" on weekends. At the time i was just disappointed. I dealt with it: the sixties were 40 years ago, the 80's did a lot of damage and I had to just face it. I was looking for something that was gone.OK.
But Golden Gate Park didn't help. it was exhasperating. It was long and there was no one around exept for the boring touristy spots. so I walked and I cried and I got lost and I got so desperate and regreted doing thsi on my own. A couple of hours of mental ranting followed.
Anyhow I decided to go to the beach. I grossly underestimated the lenght of the park and ended up walking for 2 hours or so. (...) i finally saw the Ocean but I was tired and a bit scared. I didn't know what to do in that empty residential street. so I took a bus. ok, it was the wrong direction, but I got off and got on the right one some seconds later. I think that bus was a statement. Yes I can.
(...) I got to fillmore. Iw as hungry and so I grabbed my first burrito. Apparently they were invented over here. I then walked down Fillmore, passed a sign that said " Harlem of the West Jazz District". A couple of meters later I got it: this was a "black"neighbourhood - everyone was African-American. it was poorer and sketchier than the other areas of town I had seen. and it confirmed in my mind that "racial integration" ( it sounds 50's like, but I can't think of another way), in the USA,is far from comlete. Africans and Europeans are the oldest non-native emigrant groups in thsi country. Yet they fail to compare in terms of living standards. And here in America i think there is a lot of that idea that if people didn't mange it was thier fault. (...) that is a flase meritocracy based on a fake liberal framework. Inequality has a reason.
(...) I saw Alamo Square and the Painted Ladies. it started goign very well then. i kept on goign and hit lower Haight. (...) then I explored haight-Ashbury properly, by day. i went into this indian shop and bought a beautiful blouse. there were so many interesting people there and I loved it. Then the people asking for money were nice and called it "change" and i smilled and they smilled back. They seem to be the friedly homeless of San Francisco. I went into a cofee shop with people having tea with a pained acordeon on the table. (...)
I headed for Chinatown today. It was quite an experience. it was very chinese. And I liked it. A lot of things that I never seen on the shops - like dried /seemingly salted squids. And I went on a bus crowed with exclusively Chinese people - the realistic "China experience"? (...) Saw lombard Street - which seems a joke! - And went to City Lights - the beatnik bookstore. It was magic. it was also next to the Vesuvio (Jack Kerouac's favourite café and symbol of the beat generation). Which i couldn't get into because I was not 21. FML, Filipa , that's me.
oh people arounf this park I am sitting now in look great. Like 60's San Franciscans.
(...) i went on the acble cars a lot today. Love them! it seems there are little rules for them. You can just hang there.
San Francisco, 28/04/09 Random Strabucks in Downtown SF 4:00PM
Day5
So, I arrived this morning to San Francisco and I have been going around the downtown area with my heavy bagpack. I had to stop because, although I am only meeting Veronica, my host, in one hour, my shoulders hurt badly from carrying the weight and I can barely feel my legs. Yes, lovely first day in San Francisco... Not quite as glamorous as predicted.
The last day in Portland was quite lovely. I went with Conny and the dogs to Mt. Tabor Park. An old Volcano on the east part of the city. (...) I got to know that Portland is not such an "integrated" city racially as I had been told. Inequalities and likeliness of police brutality make part of the difference. I was told some people don't have health insurance, many were now fired and the situation is getting more and more complicated. We drove through old town and saw many many homeless people. I am getting more and more shocked. San Francisco isn't any better. It just has really touristic areas. I still need to find more about things here.
(...) the train was interesting (Portland - S.F.). The trip itself was beautiful. I got to see the Cascade Mountains, with snow and fog, and then wake up in the sunny fields of California. First person. This boy, whose name I didn't get to know. Red hair and black t-shirt. (...) the conductor thought we were together and hence our little (and very promising) chat all the way to the coach. (...) But then he was assigned a seat somewhere else. I was told later that they try to assign females with females, males with males.
I sat next to a lady called Jena, from Eugene. She told me such nice things about the city, that I wished I had bought the stop there! She told me about her life and her daughter who got so wise just living on her own. She told me about Colorado. I should see Golden and Bolder. She told me about trips in her youth and I started to realize that John was right. Americans do move much more than Europeans. She got off at Eugene. I remember her big blue eyes. She was once very beautiful.
Then I met Lucinda and Jonathan. Lucinda was the old lady sitting accross the aile, with the pink blanket. She came all the way with me to Emeryville. One of the few. The train was almost empty by that time. When we arrived in California she started pointing out things to me and telling the story and history of the San Francisco Bay area. She was really lovely and told me about her children and how she raised them on her own. Her daughter went to Reed and Yale and her son loves to travel. She was quite proud and I thought she had every reason to be.
Jonathan was this strange speeded up guy from Tasmania. Ok, living in Tasmania, but American. Travelled a lot. (...) He was always drinking energy drinks, hanging around with slightly drunk people and looking at my knitting. He noticed all the little things I did. Like touching my earing or my nose. Annoying. Talked a lot but did not like him much. Too much of a joking/not funny type.
(...) I have seen Pier 39 and the downtonw area of the Finantial district and Civic Center. I took the little cable car. But I got off a couple of stops before Civic Center by mistake. It was scary. it was this bad part of market street that had so many homeless people and "porn-shop" type of places... I rushed back. Maybe I shouldn't be afraid. But I am, and part of it is also because I do not know how to deal emotionally with this. I don't know how to react to what seems to be the "normality" of American cities. There is a lot of urban poverty in this country, more than at home, where I already thought it was bad. ( ...)
interesting things about Sf so far: - I saw Alcatraz. It looks like a hospital and people pay 26 dollars to go there. not interested.
- I also saw the Sea Lions at Pier 39 in the morning, when the place was empty and it was just me and them.
- The cable-cars are awesome recreations (or originals??) of old SF one and also one from Milano.
- nothing 60's 'till now. Nor victorian houses. Hoping for that tomorrow.
-Golden Gate amd Bay bridge are beautiful. it is really sunny and the views are great. it is cold, but I am surviving.
(...) I bonded more with my hosts and actually enjoyed couchsurfing by itself. (...)
I went to the Hawthorne district in the morning. Looked at bizarre ( I love this word today) shops, went into book stores and found myself starting a letter over a baggel. (...) After that I came back and went with my hosts, John and Conny, to a concert where john was playing Sax. It was very veyr enjoyable ( a choir and a jazz band, very great combination!). (...) Then we went to dinner at their neighbour's place. They were all so welcoming and eager to talk baout so many things! I always end up tlaking about Portugal, but i guess that is only natural.
exciting things besides the day's story: - They have wine and beer in supermarkets in Oregon!
- They don't care about ice hockey here
- The neighbourhoods around here are amazinhg because epople really know and care about their gardens
- purple was a popular colour for houses in Victorian times
Portland, john and Conny's spare bedroom Saturday, the 25th April 9:00 PM Day 2
It's been a long long day and I am now lying down in my bed at John and conny's (my couchsurfing hosts). I managed to reach the place by taxi yesterday at night, after rushing out of the train station, which weirdly closes right after the last train arrives. The taxi driver said it was because of the homeless. "The Shame of America!" was what he called homelessness. I start to agree.
(...)
Remarkable things during the day in chronological order:
- on the bus to Portland downtown I saw (and accidentally was on the way of) a man who was so fat he had to move on a wheel chair.
- I went to what they call "park blocks" and bought bread ata farmer's market. On theway I saw many beautiful churches with strange names. "The first Christian Church" or... " The Sixth Church of jesus, the Scientist"...ok...
- I met Marie! It was so good to see her. (...) We went to "saturday Market" and to powell's- the best bookstore ever and a good rival to the Paris ones! (...)
- I met Daire too! I actually walked to Reed College and had dinner there with him (...). It Reed is amazing! such a a beautiful cmapu! And they have all these traditions and community spirit... I really love it. (...) And the poeple looked so groovy! (...) I loved the tour, and the library , and the students... It all looked just awesome.
- Portland: nice, filled with alternative stuff and trees. Activism too. One guy stopped me to inform me about the situation of wolves in Oregon and chatted for a while. There are a lot of homeless people though. Here they are not so much in ghettos. (it seems) Rather there is one in every corner. Quite sad and not friendly-looking (I must say).
Seattle, King Street Amtrak Station Friday, the 24th April 2009 4:00PM
DAY 1
USA. The united States of America? Still does not sound right... The USA are not just a distant myth but the land I step on ..now! Takes getting used to. Reality.
(...)
After moving in from residence with all the stress and effort involved, I went to stay at my aunt's place. It was sort of relaxing, kind of "deep breath before the plunge". i still asked my mother on the phone if everything was goign to be alright. Not to self: make sure to increase level of confidence.
(...)
This morning I took the Skytrain to Main Street to catch the bus which took me to Seattle. A huge man sat beside me and kept starting to fall asleep, waking up startled right after. he explained to me he had 3 jobs and loads of kids (?) at home, that he had only slept only 3 hours in the last 2 nights, etc. yep, life is though... "Do you have kids?", he asked, after asking me if i was going to work too and obtaining an embarassed negative answer. "No". "Oh, you'll have 2!. I beg your pardon?? "You'll have 2 kids, i cna see your future." Great, I thought, how encouraging.
(...)
Things I noticed on the highway aftre the border: -loads of Americna flags -the kid I saw by the road just a couple of minutes aftre the border -loads of lanes and traffic getting into Seattle
(...)
We arrived earlier than predicted over here, so I took a 20 min walk. (...) A lot of not very friendly looking characters... One guy with his girl-friend just went "Watch where you're goign, lady!" and then turned (10 seconds after) and appologised for sounding mean. I handled it with poise and grace. But Seattle looks very pretty, prettier than Vancouver, with brick squares and guardens.
TRAIN 8PM
Less than an hour to Portland. I am still in Washington. I have been seeing the forests and swamps out of the window. I saw a tree with half pink and half white flowers. I also saw my first (very) obese Americans. I saw young guys by the bars in the small towns. And I am imagining what it must be like to live here, in a smal place in Washington, USA. Don't take me worng, the place is beautiful. But these little townss seem to have such a bleak existence by the side of the rails. Maybe they just look bleak.
I look out, at the road. and I see 4 pickup trucks at the same time. HELLO AMERICA!
I have no excuse. I have been home for two weeks, delighfully reading the usual blogs. Rejoicing in the revival of their activity. Taking intellectual advantage of the work of others on their personal online writing, for my comfort and mental stimulation. Ah! The guilt, the guilt. ...
Let us start in the beggining. After my last post I went to my aunt's place, in a suburb near Vancouver. After 2 days I took a bus to Seattle, there I took a train to Portland. I stayed there for three days, couchsurfing with a really nice couple.
Then I took another train and got to San Francisco. Had 4 days of dream-like reality there, couchsurfing with a woman who lived in the Mission area (the historically Latin-American neighbourhood and home of the burrito) in one of the lovely Victorian houses. After that, I took a train back to Vancouver, got stuck in California for 9 hours due to a derailment, ended up getting on a bus and getting in at 5 or 6 AM in the morning.
After two nights in a hostel, meeting bizarre people and wondering around Vancouver city center, I went to stay with some friends who kindly took my homeless (and angry-at-myself-for-not-having-planed-things-at-least-a-little-bit!) self, in. I spent a week there: hiking somewhere near Squamish, and hitchhiking with one of them around Vancouver Island. We wanted to go to Tofino, ended up in Uclulelet (is that how it was spelt?), a little bit south. Then got the best ride ever from a retired English Professor to Victoria.
Next morning I got on a bus. I had bought a bunch of tickets on a hurry and slight alarm at how much it costs to buy bus tickets not-in-advance in Canada. First stop: Penticton. Small warm town by the Okanagan lake. I stayed with a family with three North American teenage girls (you get the cliché picture?). Next: Kelowna, the big Okanagan metropolis (right..). Three days of hell in a small little strange Western-looking town. All great views, mountains, tourist attractions are only acessible by private car. Mental state: close to insanity in a lonely hostel room. Then, Vernon, the last Okanagan stop. Smaller, more Western-looking. No couchsurfing, no hostels. So, I spent my emergency money on an expensive motel. Went to Kalamalka lake.
Then Nelson, on the Kootenays, further east. One word: GREAT. After 3/4 days, I got on the bus again and went to Alberta. Calgary was my 5 hours stop and my 4 hours stroll in the cold. Had to buy a sweatshirt because it was -4ºC and snowing. Do laugh. It is almost absurd.
Final stop: Banff in the Rockie Mountains. One day of hiking won me over, despite the tired feet and buzzing head. I ended up just staring at the valleys and mountains for some 30 min straight. My mind was clear and I was free like a bird. Or just really exhausted.
After that, 12 hours in a bus, in the Trans-Canadian Highway, brought me back to Vancouver. It was a beautiful journey, but I was glad to be back. I spent a weekend at a friend's and a week at my aunt's. Plane and... voilá. Europe, Portugal champagne and cake!
So, this is the backbone of the story. The thing is, I kept a journal. I wrote about everything that happened, with details and all. I recorded the feelings and the impressions. I wrote everywhere: on buses, trains, benches, rooms, cafés, streets and churches. I somehow knew this was going to be memorable.
After all, this was a celebration of my new life by the Pacific. Of having money in the bank and legally renting a house. One month of challenging new sights was in order. Besides, I needed to clear my mind, to be alone all this time. To realise how good and how bad it can get inside my head. I needed to meet strangers. Tell them all my problems (I literally did, many times), hear all their miseries and share moments of pure human empathy. I needed to exchange numbers and see mountains. To dance in the streets of some small town and run down singing, down the hills of San Francisco. I needed to know more about Canada, about the States. I needed to test myself and ... I guess I did. It might have been only a month. But it was more than worth it.
Life at home is not extremely eventful. But it is very pleasant. I spend my days baking bread (I am getting better and better), making jams, eating peaches and tasting different kinds of wine. I have already done a Victorian bright-green shawl and I am almost done with my big blue sweater. Besides knitting, I have also read like crazy (Jane Austen and Henrik Ibsen) and I decided to complete my never ending UWC scrap book. I am going to start my driving lessons (theory) on Monday. That should be... amusing? Well, I need to get me some wheels. Or at least know what to do if I get some.
Meanwhile, I think I should type my little scriblings fromt he last month. a little "series of post" in retrospective. A selected "best-off" of the almost 200 pages of text.
P.S. my latest obsession: The Puppini Sisters. I think it has to do with my ever-lasting passion for red lipstick and silky gloves.
