giants on ice

There are an unsettling number of things that give me away as a foreigner.
You might think the accent would do it, but with so many Australians in Vancouver, people never know if you've been here for 20 years or 20 minutes.
I say beanie instead of toque (toook).
Housemate instead of roommate.
Jumper instead of sweater.
And no one knows what whinge or stickybeaking means.
I also make the almost unforgivable mistake of saying ice hockey.
This is a big no-no. To a Canadian, there is no need to clarify what type of hockey you are referring to. Hockey is hockey. Unless it's field hockey. But why would you play that they wonder?
A few months ago I was treated to a Canucks game (Vancouver's home team). The Canucks lost, so it wasn't a good night. I had hoped a little for a riot...just for fun...but it didn't happen. [For those who missed it, Canucks fans rioted last year after Vancouver lost the Stanley Cup to Boston. More than 100 people we injured, four people were stabbed and police are still prosecuting people involved. The ones they have caught anyway.]

On Friday I took two visiting Aussie friends to a Vancouver Giant's game. The Giants is the city's Western Hockey League junior hockey team. The oldest players are 20 but most are between 16 and 19. Because it's not the top league, the tickets are cheaper and the fights are more frequent.
Hockey's a fascinating sport to watch. It's fast. Rough. And a lot of fun.

While the Canucks' game a few months ago was fun to watch, the Giants were something else. Young blokes with something to prove. There was more than one punch-up. One big one, which ended with both players sent to the penalty box, wasn't even interrupted by the refs. They just stood back and waited for the boys to have it out, then pointed to the box and off they skated. We were two rows back from the glass - a barrier I put a lot of faith in as the players smashed into it. The game is broken into 20-minute thirds and the players sub regularly so they're always fresh and ready to slam someone into wall.

This guy is lucky he's got broad shoulders.
Otherwise he might need a nickname.

The Canadians take their hockey seriously. On game nights everyone wears their team colours and the pubs are full. At the games they cheer, do the Mexican wave, and don't hesitate to let the refs know if there is a decision they might not agree with. The Canadians also know how to make the most of the breaks in the play. In between thirds there are cheerleaders, a mini blimp dropping prizes into the ground and games on the ice. Even if you're not into sport (and I accept there are strange humans out there who fall into this category), hockey isn't more than winning and losing, it's about the game! And it's one hell of a game.

Stretch time.

country mouse in the city

Peek-a-boo

Looking out my living room window I have a great view into about one hundred living rooms. I am aware the people in those living rooms also have a similar view into mine. And my bedroom. Note to self: Don't walk around naked with the blinds open.

Being surrounded by high-rise apartment buildings full of people is an odd feeling. In many ways it's comforting to know if I was murdered, there is a good chance someone might see it happening (think Agatha Christie 4.50 from Paddington). But then it's creepy to think someone could be watching while I'm chilling on the couch watching The LA Complex (no judgement please). But whatever lack of privacy I have in Downtown Vancouver (yes I've moved, house sitting for a friend), it's nothing compared to what I grew up with.

Growing up at Montumana (Montu-what? I hear you say), our nearest neighbour was a couple of paddocks away. At night we struggled to see the lights of another house. On the rare occasion the front door was locked, the back was open anyway. Every time a car went up the road, everyone looked to see who it was. It was often followed a comment about where that person might be off to. I didn't come from a small town. The nearest town was 20 minutes away. Even now, years after we moved, visiting the supermarket in Wynyard (the nearest town. Pop: about 4000) is basically a reunion without the party pies and paper plates.

My new apartment building is one of these. I forget which one.

When I moved back to Burnie it was a similar story. I could tell who was at the gym just by the cars in the car park. If I rang someone for an interview and gave my name, more than once the reply was "Oh you must be David's daughter". The chances of playing up have the news not get back to either my employer or my parents were slim.
Now living in a city of 2 million people, I have more anonymity than I've ever had. In one week I've seen five other people in my apartment building. It makes me wonder about all those times if people asked me if I felt isolated growing up in the country. How can knowing everyone who lives in a 5km radius be isolating? Don't get me wrong, I like living in the city. 24 hour gyms, sushi on every corner and a Starbucks on every other corner is good fun. For now. But I'm pretty sure I'm a country mouse at heart.