Bumping into Dylan

As we walked down Robson Street amongst the shops, it was coming clear why people like this place. But my acknowledgement turned to complete surprise. One minute we were in a bustling city, a few roads along we could have been anywhere but. The sun lit out the through the mountains and shone down on the beach in fron of us. They called this English Bay, it’s just there was nothing English about this at all. It’s good to see irony travels well. This place was heaven.

“Can you see that seal?”. As I looked across I could see a seal's head popping out of the water. I had paid to see these in New Zealand and yet fifty feet from the shore, there was a seal ducking and diving without a care in the world. It was an evening of firsts, slightly along there was a small gathering of people. The bald eagle was having its dinner on a rock, feasting away mealy thirty feet from our noses. It was more like a zoo than a beach area, providing a certain level of surrealism amongst the English Bay signs.

And then the final piece of the nature jigsaw. Something you could never see at a zoo or a wildlife park. Something I had never seen before, something rare. Something so unexpected and out of place. A lesbian wedding on the beach. This city was going to be different.

As the plane flew into Vancouver, I looked down and recognised the mountains in the background. It almost felt familiar. I wish I was as familiar getting from the airport to city. I made my way outside and realised I had absolutely no idea where I was going. My self defence instincts kicked in. If in trouble, follow a Japanese tourist with a bag. It worked. Well sort of. I was standing at the bus stop trying to work out which bus went where when, just at that time, a bus pulled in. It could have been going to Narnia for all I knew, but the Japanese tourist was going there and that was good enough for me.

In most unfamiliar situations it’s easy. You just stand back and watch everyone else. It’s just on this occasion, I couldn’t do this. The person in front of me stepped forward and preceded to throw a number of unspecified coins into a whole next to the driver. It was like giving money to the homeless, its just this bus driver wasn’t homeless. As I watched the coins pass down the tube, the driver waited for a second and then pressed a button. Without exchanging a word, a ticket was produced and the person moved on. Shit. My turn.

I was going to play the safe game on this packed bus. Throw as many dollar coins possible down the tube and hope I hit the jackpot. I threw three dollars down, tried to look as if I had done it a hundred times before and moved off. “Ah, twenty five cents short, but I’ll let you off”. Thankfully this driver was refraining from being a jobsworth. A combination of being a nice driver and being able to tell that I had absolutely no clue what I was doing or where I was going probably helped convince him I wasn’t trying to get away with a low fare.

The Japanese tourist escaped to the back of the bus. I was on my own now. As I stood at the front I read the signs, the ones may I should have read in advance of getting on the bus. “Zone 1 – 2.25, Zone 2 – 3.25, Zone 3 – 4.35”, Correct change only”. I could have been going to the twilight zone for all I knew, but had obviously selected by default zone two and come up twenty five cents short. As the bus made its way down the long and never ending Granville Street, I started to think I had made a mistake.

In normal circumstances I would just follow the crowd, get off when most people seem to get off. But it was getting more difficult as my bag was being submerged by the people as more and more people jumped on the bus. Then, instinctively I did it. I made a move. I made a move when nobody else got off. It was like I had just stepped off in the Ghetto such was the inactivity. But that was it, I got out my crinkled map and my ever increasing bag and walked in a direction away from the bus so it at least it seemed it knew what I was doing. As the bus pulled away I caught a glimpse of the Japanese tourist and realised maybe I had been a little premature in my choice.

Lugging my bag up the street I walked past two huge trailers. Just as I was tutting to myself and wondering whether they could actually park there, I had to start dodging people in the street, nearly causing my wheeled bag to capsize. As I continued through the gap I made my way past a queue of strange unwashed, long haired people. What was strange was that although they looked like unwashed homeless people, they were holding out bits of paper as if they wanted something signed. Just as I was thinking they must have a higher class of homeless people here, my bag rolled over someone’s foot. “Oh, sorry” I said, half apologising, half cursing. The person smiled. At the same time someone shouted “Hey Bob, can you just sign this for me”. As I looked back I realised my error. I had just run over Bob Dylon.