Lost in Translation

“Do you want to hear some poetry?”. Well, I didn’t for the third day in a row, but at least I knew I was on the right street. My legs were getting sore from the seven hour walk.

“Excuse me, you know where Wet beach is?” came the voice in half broken English. Wet beach? This was the third person who had stopped me for directions, I looked down at my map, which I pulled from my ‘happy to help’ bag. Wet beach, now, I cant remember seeing a wet beach, sure there were some wet beaches out there, but none called Wet beach. I game him the universal confused look, he came back “Rick Beach?”. It twigged. I think he meant ‘Wreck Beach’, famous, apparently, around the world.

As I went to point out the direction he needed to go, he held out his hand, providing a handshake firmer than most. “My name is Sergio, I’m from Spain, where are you from?” came the ever friendlier reply. “England” I replied. “You have tongue pierced, back in Spain die gah min have thuis, you die gah?” I gave my universal but convincing confused look, but then, to rush on the conversation, I nodded. Somehow it always seemed easier to nod than shake your head. “You wan to go naked down the beach hey?”. Suddenly, my mind focused like it had never focused before. My mind traced back through the conversation and it suddenly became apparent that my rushed and well practiced nod and “yes” when I didn’t understand someone, had given encouragement to someone who I really should be encouraging,

Back in the days of learning languages at school, they never prepared you for situations like this, I mean I could say “I’ll have two apples and a loaf of bread” or “What time does the bus leave” but never “Please, I think I have misunderstood you, I like women, not men”. Even my numerous trips to Spain had failed me in my ability to communicate. After all, I had followed the typical English way, learning the essentials, “Una cervesa, por favour”, asking for a beer was hardly going to help the situation. After a few quick ‘have to make my bus’ signals, I left our friend Sergio to enjoy his session down the beach, I wished him luck on his ‘crazy’ parties he was intending to have around the world and made my back the way I came.

As I made my way across Granville bridge and south towards Kitsilano, I noticed that I was alone making my way across. Maybe it was the fact that I was walking next to a highway, or, and more significantly, the fact that the zebra crossing on the highway was in the middle of a section of sixty mile an hour traffic. If they had trouble stopping on the twenty mile an hour roads, then, maybe, they would find it a little more difficult to stop at three times the speed. Making the assumption that nobody would stop for me, I waited for a break in the traffic and crossed, making sure I didn’t get hit by one of the many convertible sports cars zooming around town.

As I walked past Jericho beach Park, the peace and quiet from the bustling city provided the same hit like turning off the vacuum cleaner, it was if all the people had been swallowed up some tube. The sign of quality in any good city, should be the time it takes to go from mayhem, excitement, noise and people, water, green grass and tranquillity. It was if nobody had discovered this area before, so untouched by people and movement. Maybe the walk across the bridge had put them off, I just hope that bridge gets more traffic.

Walking through the parks and beach areas, I began to appreciate the city for what it really was. Away from the tourist areas downtown, were a number of areas completely unique to themselves. They seemed to operate without a care in the world, a far cry from the city centre. The more time I spent in Vancouver, the more I was appreciating the hidden values of the city. It was like a mosquito bite on your leg, you know you shouldn’t scratch it, but the more you did, the better if felt.

Half way through my fifteen mile walk, I started to see “Clothing optional” signs, which, I guessed, must lead to the famous Wreck Beach, apparently, so I was told, one of the best nude beaches in the world. Being the trusting sort, I decided to accept the words of others, being rather English, and prudish, I decided against making my way down to test for myself. I did however, decide to walk down to the bottom, encouraged by the pretty forest filled walk along the way. Just as I was about to make my ascent back up the high gradient path, I slipped, dropping my wallet and the eleven bank and store cards held within. As I scrambled around looking for the last card, my 2003 never used but might do sometime Blockbuster card, I looked up and was greeted by a couple walking past. Their faces were slightly startled looking, I guess I would, coming across someone in the trees looking all flustered next to nudist beach. As I gave them the ‘I’ve just dropped my wallet and I’m looking for my cards honest!’ look, I made my way up towards UBC, the University of British Columbia.

No university back home had seemed quite so impressive. Surrounded by water, this was a small town in reality, flanked with Museums, swimming pools and churches, it gave a sense of what University should really be like. Even the accommodation was like none I had experienced before, with grassy areas, the thought and preparation was impressive. As I made my way back towards downtown, I left with a feeling of regret, why can’t all the places be like this?