One more year down...

So it's a year since Will and Kate. I doubt you care. I certainly don't. But such events have a way, regardless of your interest level, of making you think "A year? Really? Gee that went quick". This anniversary was no different. When I found out the second most annoying milestone of the year was upon us (Titanic's 100th took the cake: now in 3D...gee thanks), I found my brain flashing back to the last 12 months and wondering what happened to them.

Turning 26 was the start of something special. I quit my job, rented out my house, travelled through Europe, moved to Canada, met some amazing people, saw some amazing sights and did some amazing things. At my 26th birthday, while I sat on my living room floor eating a Moroccan feast with friends, running a half marathon was not on the cards. Yet nine months later I was crossing the finish line of the First Half Half-Marathon in Vancouver.

[caption id="attachment_1372" align="aligncenter" width="600" caption="Coldplay up close. A great start to 27!"][/caption]

 

So what will 27 bring? One of my favourite bloggers, Seattle's Travels, on approaching her 24th birthday, listed her Bucket List for the upcoming year: 25 before 25. In a similar fashion I've compiled a list of goals for the next 12 months. I won't bore you with 27 goals (plus I doubt I could come up with that many) so I've kept it to nine.

9: Get Cadel Evans' autograph. I'm going to Le Tour de France a second time and I'm not leaving empty handed.

8: See an Olympic Event. I don't care if it's gymnastics, horse riding, hockey or weight lifting. London 2012 will be awesome!

7: Take a photography course. I am doing OK teaching myself, but there's so much to learn.

6: Go to Bruges. This one is on the cards but not set in stone yet.

5: Get back into media. It's been fun having a few months off from "real" work but I miss the industry now.

4: Drive on the right side of the road. For some reason it terrifies me.

3: Get a travel article published. I was a bit lazy on this front after my last trip so this time I'll put more effort in.

2: Visit Lords for a cricket match. If the Aussie's are playing, that would be smashing...and I'm not just talking about what we'd do to the Poms.

1: Make sure I keep in touch with the wonderful people I've met around the world.

Your life can change in the blink of an eye, so anything could happen. 27...bring it on!

And now it's snow time

I've been in Canada for eight months.

From my living room window I can see three ski runs: Seymour, Grouse and Cypress.

A bus from pretty much from my front door to the cable car at the bottom of Grouse takes about 36 minutes.

Yet it took until 10 days ago, my 27th birthday, to finally go snowboarding.

 



 

After many months of "I really want to go snowboarding" I decided that if the weather was remotely suitable on my birthday, I was going up. I didn't quite make it in time for snow school, which would have been the cheapest way to learn, so I decided to splurge on a private lesson because, let's face it, I had no idea what I was doing. My only exposure to snowboarding had been an indoor slope in Shanghai at a cost of $25. So that doesn't count. I was contemplating skiing, but I'm not a fan of anything where my legs can go in the opposite directions to each other. Bad images of doing the splits (and I am NOT flexible) fill my head at the thought of it. So snowboarding it is.

 

My instructor was James, an Aussie. He's been working the ski seasons in Canada and back home for about five years, but this may be his last. After spending about 30 minutes teaching me to stand up, slide and stop, I realised how boring this must be for him as I tried over and over again to stop after a little slide down a slight slope.

 

 

I lost track of time during the lesson, but far too quickly we were riding the lift up to one of the runs. I managed to get off the lift smoothly, despite fearing a Bridget Jones-style finish. To be honest, this happened just the once. The rest of the time I forgot to stand up. I'd expected to spend most of the two hours either on my butt or trying to get off it. However, I spent a surprising amount of time upright. This didn't mean I wasn't nervous when we moved to the big slope. OK so it was the smallest of the runs, but damn huge compared to what I'd just been practicing on. James was a great teacher who put up me with me crashing into him, complaining how sore my legs were, and deciding that practicing turns, which is usually not covered in beginner lessons but I was doing well and we had time, were just too hard.



We managed about four runs before our time was up. Part of me wanted to keep going for hours. But I was tiring and fearing my luck of keeping my butt out of the snow was running out. Also the weather turned rather unfavourable, so a bowl of soup inside the Chalet seemed like a much better option.

 

The season at Grouse is coming to an end - before my visit they were predicting another few weeks left. But unexpected snow, which started towards the end of my lesson, could mean it will be open for a little bit longer.

 

A few days later I was still paying the price for my adventure. Although I hardly fell over at all (much to the annoyance of my friend Craig who was armed with a camera to capture any embarrassing moments), my arms were killing me from pushing myself up out of the snow. But at least I can leave Canada having snowboarded at least once.

 

Spring has sprung

What better way to spend a sunny afternoon than riding around the Seawall at Stanley Park.[gallery orderby="rand"]

kindness makes the world go round

Since I arrived in Vancouver, I've had some pretty awesome things happen. Some of them have been minor, such as a customer giving me a beautiful plant that became my makeshift Christmas tree and brightened my holiday season. Others have been incredibly kind, such as my friend who offered his apartment for me to house sit while he's in Montreal for a few months. Those around me have remarked how "lucky" I am. But I'm not one to believe in luck. However I am beginning to see some value in Karma and that if you do good things, good things will happen to you. I'm not naive enough to think the universe is playing along with my theory, but it's working out for me.

How often do you see someone walking down the street struggling with their bags? Do you offer to help? Do you give change to beggers? Do you hold the door for the person behind you? Your answer may well be yes. But is it always yes? A few months ago, feeling very humbled by the generousity from which I've benefited, I decided I wanted my answer to be yes as often as it can be. 

My little acts of kindness have been tiny. Helping a woman carry her suitcase down the stairs at the train station. Pulling the cord to stop the bus at the next stop so the woman I saw sprinting down the street would be able to get on. Leaving my spare ticket for the Ash Grunwald gig at the door and telling the seller to give it to the next person who walked in. Pushing the button at the traffic lights so the cars waiting at the side streets can get onto the main road. Giving my bus pass to a co-worker to use for the rest of the month while I'm away. I'm not changing the world, but hopefully I'm making someones day a little bit better.

Today I came across a guy who kicks my actions out of the water. Ryan, from Chicago, has a website called 366 Days of Random Acts of Kindness. Each day he posts a new act of kindness that he will do that day. They have included giving out compliments, buying someone breakfast, letting EVERYONE go in front of him for a day, leading a discussion at a halfway house and giving out free hugs. Some help lots of people, some just one (Ryan cleaned the entire house for his wife). Often it's not about helping people - just making them smile counts.

Ryan is doing a random act of kindness every day. It's something I'd love to be able to say I do. But I don't. I don't think many of us do. Imagine what sort of world it would be if we all did.

Challenge to my rather small readership circle: Do something kind for someone today. And tomorrow.

and the winner is....me!

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GUN.
Nothing happens.
Talk about an anti-climax.
But when you have 2000 people waiting to get over a start line it takes a while for something to happen.
Then the sea of people in front of me started to move. It was like a Mexican wave. Bit by bit the mass started moving and my stomach churned as the movement got closer. "No, no, no, no....Ok"

So I've run a half marathon. Three months ago when I signed up for the First-Half Half Marathon it seemed a lifetime away. Part of me doubted if I'd end up doing it. But I think most people are capable of more than they think and today that was true for me.

Before the race I thought my main challenge would be my energy levels given my workload in the past two weeks. I think my body has forgotten what a good night's sleep was and I can't remember the last time I went to bed without my feet throbbing (I'm actually starting to miss my office job). The morning didn't help with that. I woke up a few minutes before my alarm and used the extra time to reset the alarm for 15 minutes later.

Finally I dragged myself out of bed, scoffed some breakfast and got dressed. My game plan was to do nothing different to what I normally do. It seemed to work. Outside it was drizzling. By the time I lined up at the start, the rain was down to a few drops. No wind, not too cold. Perfect running weather.

Soon enough the race was on. We did a little loop downtown before heading out to the Seawall. We crossed back over the start line only a few minutes after leaving. It crossed my mind to maybe just stop there. That wasn't the first time I thought about stopping. When the course neared my house I thought about how nice it would be to be home instead of facing 9 more miles of running. I had my keys on me too. But I kept running. A lot of people tell me they "can't run" or "can't run that far". I had one CouchSurfer ask me for some tips and my answer was just "put one foot in front of the other". Today I took my own advice. I tried not to think about how much I had to go. With a run this long, coming across the next marker didn't make me feel any closer to the finish, until I hit the half-way mark. So much of this run was a mind-game. The course covered a lot of the ground I either run on my Tuesday night runs with VanRun or the Seawall around Stanley Park, which I've been training on lately. I just tried to tell myself that I'd run this track before so I could run it again.

As with any run there were highs and lows. The first two kilometres were OK, but then it sunk in how much more I had to go. At about 10km I started to pick up. I'd initially been aiming to finish in under two hours but I gave that aim away when I was on the bench for nearly three weeks with a cold. But when I reached half-way I realised I was actually on track to either make that goal, or at least be not too far off. That spurred me on a little, but I was careful not to push too hard given there was still a long way to go.

At 15km we were running along the Seawall towards English Bay, a path I've covered a few times. I could see the Burrard Street Bridge in the distance (which is not far from the finish line). My mood picked up, my energy levels felt good and I picked up the pace a little. Then the course veered off the Seawall and back into Stanley Park. When I realised we had to run around Lost Lagoon my spirits fell a little. I don't know why. To see the bridge ahead helped me picture the finish line and now I had to detour for a little bit.

At 3km to go I was exhausted and about to break into new territory. My longest road run to this point had been 18.5km. There were no more markers for a little while but those last few kilometres were the toughest I have ever covered. Finally I came across the 20km marker (which I had spotted on the run out), only to turn a corner and see a small hill ahead. Most people were walking up it but I was determined to run the whole way so I trudged up. Then it was slightly downhill to the finish, and once that was in sight I started sprinting. Well, to be honest it felt like sprinting but I reckon a senior citizen could have made ground on me.

The best feeling wasn't running across the finishing line, or getting my medal. It was lying down in the gym at the community centre stretching. It was an awesome few moments. Knowing it was over. Knowing that I did it. Knowing that I never have to run again if I don't want to.

I now have a medal saying I finished a half marathon. I have a First-Half Half-Marathon top that makes me look like the Yellow Wiggle. I have a very sore big toe. No blisters. Sore legs. And a growing desire to do another run. Weird.

almost ready to get my forrest gump on

Several months ago I looked at the amount of time I had to train for my first half marathon with a degree of confidence.
Although my track record with planning for things and seeing them through isn't great, I was determined to give it my best shot.
That confidence is long gone. Along with the time I have left to train.
It's Wednesday night. The run is on Sunday morning.
It can't be a good thing that I can count my training runs on my fingers. They are few and far between. I was racking up some miles in early January but then winter caught up with me and suddenly the only thing I was running for was a box of tissues. So there went three weeks with no training.

When I could finally breathe again I headed for Stanley Park. My first thought was to ease back into running again but then I figured running 5km would give me no indication if I could tackle 21km 10 days later. So instead I wound up on my longest run so far: 18.5km. I was slow (nearly two hours) and it was hard. Very hard. I was sore just hours later. More concerning was how exhausted I felt. I felt physically drained for the next few days. It was Monday before I ran again. Vancouver has been treated to some stellar weather in the past week so I took advantage and headed for the water's edge.
The advice of my friend Craig was there was nothing I could do before Sunday that would make any difference. I just needed to keep healthy, not get injured and keep my legs moving. So Monday's run was pretty cruisy. And I just have another few more miles to do tomorrow and Friday. But they'll be pretty uneventful too.

This close to the run, my biggest challenge isn't my fitness. It's my attitude. My fitness isn't great, thanks mostly in part to my untimely illness. But I think even if I was better prepared, I wouldn't feel much better. There has been more than one occasion where I've considered not running on Sunday. Entries are capped at 2000 so there are plenty of people who would love to take my race bib if they could. The most work I have to do over the next few days is convincing myself that finishing the race is enough. That my time doesn't matter. And I know it doesn't. But three months ago I had some expectations in mind and it's hard to let go of those. Instead I've tried to change the way I look at this race. This is no longer my first half-marathon. It's going to be my first half marathon this year. My cousin Vicky and I have decided to do the Vancouver Half Marathon on May 6. So I figure this race is just to prove that I can do it. Then I can set all sorts of silly expectations and goals for May 6.

I'm nervous about Sunday. Especially because the race, at 8.30am, will come after 10 days straight of work, including a 14-hour double shift the day before. But regardless of what happens over those 13.1miles, I've already taken a lot away from the experience. Three months ago 10km was the longest road distance I'd covered. And I only did that about three times a year, for the Burnie 10. One run to see if I could do the distance. Another to see if I could go faster. And then race day. Then I ran on average about 6km at a time for the rest of the year. In the past two months I've run 11km, 12km, 14km, 17km and 18.5km (told you I could count my training runs on my fingers). I never knew I had that in me. As for 21km? Well I'll know in a few days. 

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.

christmas contest

White Christmas Pro: Power is cheaper so more people decorate their house.

After surviving my first not-quite-white-but-really-cold-Christmas in North America, I feel equipped to compare it to my previous 25 mostly-warm-with-the-occasional-rainy-day Christmas I'm used to in Australia.

White Christmas pros:

• The Christmas lights look better, and since it gets dark at 4.30pm, you can enjoy them for longer. Who has the time to stay up till 10pm when it's dark to go look at lights?
• A roast turkey and accompanying hot vegetables is just what I feel like.
• A lot of Christmas carols mention snow, so they are more believable.
• Peppermint Mocha's at Starbucks. And yes, dear server, I will send it back if you forget the chocolate sprinkles on top.
• It's cold enough for a Bridget-Jones style Christmas sweater. I mean jumper.

White Christmas Pro: The lights at Van Dusen Botanical Garden close at 9pm. That's nearly
5 hours of night-time viewing. Wouldn't and couldn't happen in Australia.

Warm Christmas pros:

• It's stone fruit season. And there are fresh berries.  
• Christmas shopping is easier when you're not wearing five layers of clothing and carrying a big jacket.
• Backyard cricket and Boxing Day cricket.

White Christmas cons:

• It's too cold outside to have outdoor carols. There's also a 93.5% chance of rain. That's slightly higher than the odds in Tasmania.
• North Americans don't know what pavlova is. Therefore they don't make it for dessert. Christmas without pav? Definition of sacrifice.

Warm Christmas Pro: Pavlova. Enough said.

Warm Christmas cons:

• It's too hot for roast turkey and vegetables, but it doesn't quite feel like Christmas without it.
• Power prices have risen so much that nobody can afford to decorate their houses. Legislation suggestion: discounted power for those who put on a show for the festive season.
• My feet get too hot when I wear fuzzy Christmas socks.

After weighing up both sides, I'm leaning towards a summer Christmas. In the end it came down to the pav. But if there had been snow, it might be a different story. Until next year...

excited as a kid on white christmas

There are some things age will never take from me.
My sweet tooth, a love of Winnie the Pooh, the lyrics to MMMBop (not by choice) and my excitement at seeing snow.
I had an early start one morning last week so I rugged up and headed off downstairs. I got to the door to the street and looked outside. Turned, raced back up the stairs, grabbed my camera, and headed out again.

South Hill, my current 'hood, is not remotely picturesque. Bubble tea signs do not make for attractive landscape. But with a good crop of snow on the streets, covering the cars and dusting the trees, Cantonese Canada actually looked pretty. I've been told snow in Vancouver is rare. It's happening more and more, but general advice was not to get my hopes up. The snow that scattered the streets by no means called for a day home from school. There was barely enough for a dwarf snowman. But it was snow.

Yes, I was that person walking down the street photographing the white stuff. The most striking image was the cemetery with the mountains in the background. I'd expected it to melt quickly, but there was still plenty around when I left the gym, when I left home for work later, and even when I caught the bus home from work. My joy wasn't easily contained either. In fact I was asked an embarrassingly number of times if it was the first time I'd seen snow. Which is isn't. Not by a long shot.

While the snow had made me giddy, I could feel my 'adult' reasoning edging it's way into my head. I was concerned about the lack of tread on my gumboots and walked cautiously to avoid ending up with my butt on the pavement and I left for work with a ridiculous amount of time to spare because the buses were travelling extremely slow, along with the rest of the traffic. The visual appeal also faded. The beautiful fall leaves I love didn't stand a chance. They became a tinted slop in the gutter mid-morning. The fog came in, which blocked my view of the mountains. The final straw was the newspapers on the ground that looked like they were in the first stage of recycling - a mush on the pavement. It was also damn cold. I might as well have stuck my fingers in the snow for all the good my gloves were doing me.

The next day, everything was still gleaming. And my excitement returned. There wasn't fresh snow, but the weather hadn't discouraged what was there. Car rooftops were still covered, the pavement still crunched underfoot and I was still imagining the snowman I'll build when it really snows. I walked to the bus stop enjoying my wintery surrounds, but this time sans-camera. After all, I am a local now.

landing in a fairytale

Not long after I arrived in Vancouver, a customer recommended I go to Steveston, a small fishing village about 30km from the city. The same conversation also included a comment about how she doesn't know anyone in Richmond anymore because they are all - looks around and then whispers - "Asian". But despite this, what she said about Steveston sounded nice so I put it on my list.

After several weeks of replying "Oh I might go to Steveston" when asked my plans for my days off, I finally made it - luckily on the only sunny day of my three off this week. I hopped off the bus at Steveston village and landed right in the middle of a fairytale. I don't mean by this that Steveston is a charming village that makes you feel like you stepped into some magical, old fashioned world. I mean an actual fairytale - the filming for Once Upon A Time, a new prime-time show starring all the fairytale crew: Cinderella, Snow White, Rumpelstiltskin, Prince Charming, and of course an Evil Queen. The show began airing last month and has been picked up for the full series. In pure coincidence, I'd only heard about the show the day before. A lot of filming is done in Canada, particularly in British Columbia, because it's cheaper than the States. In fact a horror film about Tasmanian Devils will start filming next month. For Steveston it means some action during the quieter winter months.

Robert Carlyle, aka Rumpelsliltskin, filming Once Upon A Time

The town is on the water and has a busy port area. In summer it's a popular destination, but cooler weather doesn't so much scream 'let's all go eat fish and chips and ice cream by the water'. So having a series shot in the streets for the next month or so is good news. One of the main streets has become Storybrooke. An marine shop has been boarded up and is now the Storybrooke Library, the studio has rented two shops to film in and put up several mock-shopfronts over existing businesses. I got chatting to a local who's a big fan of Robert Carlyle (of Full Monty fame among other BBC productions), who plays Rubpelstiltskin. She said the crew had been really accommodating of the curiosity of locals and visitors and were happy to have people hanging about watching or taking photos. We could still enter the shops in the area they were filming, but sometimes had to wait for the director to yell 'cut' before walking down the street. The businesses are compensated for lost business and lot of the employees on the shoot are locals, so it's a big boost for the town.

So back to Steveston. I'd expected it to be quieter than if I'd visited in summer and I'm glad that was the case. Dave's Fish and Chips (the place my customer had recommended I have lunch) was still packed though. I was disappointed to discover the fish served there is from Alaska. It would be like a fish shop in Stanley (Fishing port in Tasmania) serving fish from New Zealand in my books. Why on earth would you? But it filled a hole. As did the cupcake from Bell's Bakery afterwards. One part of the town gives the impression of a small fishing village - small craft stores and little coffee shops, always named after someone (Dave's Fish and Chips, Sara's Ice Cream etc), but then one street over is Starbucks, McDonald's and apartments towering over the shops on the street, their windows straining for views over the water.


It was a beautiful day however. Chilly, but lots of sunshine. I could see why this place was so popular. I spent the afternoon wandering around the shops, periodically going back to the filming to see what they were up to. I watched one scene (Rumpelstiltskin's alter ego "Mr Gold" pulling up in his car and his chauffeur opening the door for him) which took a phenomenal amount of time to put together. The shot must only last seconds in the episodes, but it took so much effort. I'll have to start watching the show now.

vancouver's top sanga!

Meat and bread. A great combination, yes. Also the name of my new favourite lunch place. No surprise there. If you know me well then you know I love a good sandwich.

My absolute favourite is an old family recipe: a honey piecey. (piecey: [noun] piece of bread folded to create a sandwich).

After significant research I can tell you where to find the best salad sanga in Burnie. The answer is Bakers Dozen for taste and Trio for price.

And I admit a sultana or raisin sandwich (just bread, butter and raisins) is weird, but it's damn tasty.

So when I heard about a place that apparently sells Vancouver's best sandwiches, I was more than intrigued.

It took a little while to get down there, but I made it a few weeks ago.

Meat and Bread only has four sandwiches on its menu. The famed porchetta, with crackling (pictured); meatball; grilled cheese; and a daily special which has included braised veal, and hoisin beef (not together...two separate sandwiches).
Both times I've stuck with the porchetta. The first time because it was all anybody had talked about. The second time because it was so darn good the first time. The sandwich is made on the spot. There's a guy charged with carving up a huge roast pork. The next guy plops it straight on the bun when you order and adds a drizzle of salsa verde. All the other sandwiches are made to order too. There's usually a line, but it's worth the wait.
There are a couple of other things on the menu - a daily soup and salad, and maple and bacon ice cream sandwich. Ok, don't pull that face. The ice cream sandwich is actually pretty tasty. At the end of the day, it's ice cream. How bad could it get?

But there's more to my love of Meat and Bread than just food. While the cafe has about three two-seater tables, the masses feed at one long, wooden table running almost the length of the cafe. The other alternative is the end of the counter. Either way you end up squished up next to, or seated across from strangers. I can't help but adore the conventional and social nature of it all.

three months and three days

My inspiration. Minus the beard.

Three months and three days. That's how long until I take to the start line for my first half-marathon.
That's 95 days.
Or 2280 hours.
Or 8,208,000 seconds.
I like the bigger numbers better. It tricks me into believing I have an infinite amount of time to train.
After toying with the idea for a few weeks, when registrations opened for the "First Half" Half Marathon I was more than tempted. The event is limited to 2000 runners, and entries are usually full in a couple of hours. There's nothing like the threat of missing out to make me jump into action.
I've been running significantly less than I used to - both in frequency and distance. I put it down to having no dog to exercise, and no work-place stress to deal with. When life is just peachy, there's less motivation to exercise.
But that's going to have to change.
Joining VanRun - The Vancouver Running and Jogging Club - has helped my motivation. Usually because there's food on offer after each run. But I'm also surrounded by people who do some pretty amazing things.
Melissa - a gym manager/triathlete. Was nervous about a recent half-marathon because running isn't her strong suit. Even though she keeps the men on their toes on VanRun outings.
Craig - knocked over a 50-mile event on the weekend and has a 100-mile run this weekend. Crazy much?
Alison - a new mum who managed to overtake many an embarrassed competitor at a recent half-marathon. Why were they embarrassed? She was pushing a pram as she did the race.
Post-run talk over sushi or beers is dominated by war stories: "The time I did a triathlon without training." "Remember that marathon in 100-degree heat."
This talk has one of two effects. Either you are completed intimidated by these super-humans who clearly need to learn to relax. Or you start to think that if they can do it, why can't I?
I'm not under the impression this will be easy. I'm the most unfit I have been for years. It's not the best starting point to train for the longest run I've ever done. But I'm also going to need something to keep me going during the winter. It's not the time one wants to be running outside. It's damn cold!
But with a beanie, long tights and gloves, I've got few excuses.
So how did my first post-registration run go? Well I slacked off 20 minutes into a 40-minute evening run. Great start huh?

eat and greet

At first glance, The Social Feed could be mistaken as a dating opportunity. And when I've told people about the concept, it's the first question asked. Why else join a group of strangers for dinner? While a romance to eventuate from the events would make a great story, it's not even close to the motivation of the organisers, or the guests, of Social Feed dinners.

The creators, three friends from university, enjoyed hosting dinner parties. Friends would come, they would bring their friends, and eventually these guys were having complete strangers for dinner. Sandy, one of the masterminds, said they found the more random the group of people, the more fun the evenings. Five months ago the guys took the concept from social to commercial and launched The Social Feed. They organise regular long-table dinners at restaurants in Vancouver, opening up the seats to anyone who wants to come. The dinners are limited to about 20 people. The concept is very welcoming to those who come alone and those who come with others are encouraged to sit side-by-side to open up conversation around the table.


The dinners sell out quickly. After all, it's a pretty good deal. The meals usually consist of several dishes and the price averages at $20-24, including tax and tip. On Wednesday night, the dinner was at Cork and Fin, an upmarket seafood restaurant in Gastown. The restaurant does a Prix Fixe menu of three dishes for $32 (before tax and tip). The Social Feed diners enjoyed a very similar menu for $24 (including tax and tip).

This particular group were mostly women. There were a few SF regulars (including Sandy) but most of us were first-timers. The intriguing concept has gained a bit of media attention in the last few months and appealed to a variety of people. Some are new to the city and having trouble breaking into new social groups given the insular nature of a lot of Vancouverites. Others just like the idea of enjoying a good dinner. So far, every event on the website has sold out. Everyone comes with the same idea - to meet new people and enjoy good food. With that as common ground, conversation flows easily around the table.

The organisers partner with a variety restaurants. Past locations include a Lebanese restaurant, Chinese, vegetarian, Irish pubs and traditional Canadian fare. There is also a focus on local produce.  The menu consists of dishes placed in the centre of the table, adding to the interaction between diners.

 Our menu at Cork and Fin:

Sawmill Bay Oysters with Champagne and cracked pepper mignonette

Lobster Bisque with truffle cream

Beef Tenderloin with Dungeness Crab Hollandaise served with Haricots Verts and Nugget Potatoes

At the moment The Social Feed operates only in Vancouver. However, Sandy and Reg, another partner, tossed a coin to see who would move to Toronto to branch out. Reg won, or lost, depending on how you look at it. The organisation is also planning an expansion into the States, with San Francisco on the agenda.

don't take candy from strangers? not tonight

The pumpkins came first.

In a city where I have yet to see pumpkin soup on any menu, super-size versions of the vegetable popped up outside every supermarket overnight.

Then the fireworks appeared. Temporary shops opened in every available retail space selling every type of (legal) firework. As dark fell, the pop and fizz of the fireworks could be heard nightly from my apartment. It was rare to see a spark though. The legal versions must be fairly tame.

My first Halloween began in earnest a week before the main event, at Fright Nights - an annual Halloween extravaganza held at an old amusement park. Some of the rides are permanent, but most of the Fright Nights attractions are installed for the occasion: several haunted houses, film students dressed in costume roaming in the dark, terrifying unsuspecting visitors (me), and other related performances. By my second haunted house I was ready to go - either home or to a magical place filled with bunnies and lollies. The smoke machines were made redundant by the damp and foggy Vancouver evening. I did brave the roller coaster, which was an achievement. The wooden ride, built in 1953, rattled like its last ride would be the one you're on. And a haunted house full of clowns? Clowns are scary enough thank you very much.

With the event itself falling on a Monday, the "grown up" crazies hit the streets on the weekend. A last-minute costume saw me dressed as a witch (right). My friend Victoria was more creative, donning her wet suit and some realistic make up as a shark-attack victim (below right). It is the one time of the year she could wear a wet suit on the bus and not look out of place. Her costume was far from outrageous in comparison to others we saw. One freaky looking character on the sky train had me staring at the floor the whole ride. Most of the clubs sell tickets to their Halloween events, but Victoria and I ended up at a local rugby club. Along with Gumby, Toad from Mario Brothers, Black Swan, a sexy airport inspector and the sexy sax man.

Australia has yet to adopt Halloween in all its candy-filled glory. A few people might hold costume parties. Stores are trying to cash in, but there hasn't been much take up. All I can say is thank god. My teeth barely survive Easter. By midday on Halloween, I was riding a sugar high. Lets thank my boss for sitting out a bowl of candy on the counter. And the lady in the kitchen who brought in chocolate cake. And the proximity of delicious treats at my work. It lasted all day.

While Halloween might be seen as another commercial-driven occasion, it is thoroughly embraced in North America. As soon as pumpkins were on sale, people were putting them in their gardens. Along with fake graves, skeletons, lights, cobwebs etc. While the costumes and parties are fun, Halloween itself is essentially enjoyed by children. Come dark (or just before dark for the little tackers) children dress up - in greatly considered costumes - and hit the streets 'to trick or treat. This year I joined them. Being too old to trick or treat myself (most kids stop about about 14) and not having any youngsters to chaperone, I walked through the neighbourhood to admire the festivities. Not every house took part. Those who opted out simply turned off all the lights and stayed at the back of the house. The more welcoming went to the effort of decorating their house, at least with a pumpkin outside, or in some cases got in costumes themselves. When one door swung open, there were buckets of candy ready to be given out. Halloween must become an expensive exercise.

Trick or treating in Kerrisdale

The trick or treaters weren't the least bit shy in approaching the houses. Most came back down the path reviewing their stash and directing their friends to the "good" houses. Others complained to their parents that their bags were too heavy. So they unloaded and kept going.

By Tuesday morning my belly ache from the sugar had subsided, the pumpkin supplies at the supermarket were dwindling and fireworks were 75% off. Advent calenders and Christmas decorations had taken their place. And so it goes on.

tipping the balance

In all my years in some sort of employment, I've never had to think much about my pay. I knew what my wage was and come a certain day of the week, I would get it.
Working as a server in Canada is a different story.
Most hospitality staff get minimum wage, which is less than $9 an hour, although it's going up in November. Some quick math: 38 hours x $9 = $342. Before tax. So how do thousands of hospitality staff survive in a city that isn't all that cheap to live in? Enter the North American custom of tipping.

In Australia, tipping is uncommon. If you get excellent service you might go out of your way to tip, but usually the only time we leave extra money is when we're too lazy to deal with the change: "Oh you can round that up to $20", one might say over a $18.75 bill. In both the US and Canada, tipping in bars and restaurants is expected. God help what your server will say about you if you don't. I know this because I know what I think about customers who don't tip. I like to give them the benefit of the doubt and think they either forgot or thought their friend was leaving one etc, which is most likely true, but it doesn't take away from the fact THEY DID NOT TIP!

When I arrived in New York I had to remind myself to tip and agonised over who and how much to tip. Common advice was 15%. 20% or more if it was good. So I would sit with my bill in a New York cafe and do the math, hoping that when I left, my server wouldn't make a mental note to spit in my drink if I ever came back. After all, minimum wage in parts of the US can be as low as $2 an hour. Or sometimes nothing.

Now that I rely on tips, I have a new perspective on the process. Tipping isn't just something you should do, or an amount or percentage pulled out of thin air. It's something that should be considered. Did you get good service? Did you get above average service? Did your server go out of his/her way to accommodate requests? Did you demand more of a server's time than the average customer. If so, consider that when leaving a tip. Most people I speak to say they leave 15%, but in practise I find the average to be more like 10%.

I went to a cafe the other day and ordered at the counter. The waitress gave me my drink there and brought my meal to my table. I never saw her again. She gave me about 30 seconds of her time. But that was fine, I didn't need any more. But I also factored that in when it came time to tip.

At a restaurant a few days later, the server greeted me when I joined my group, brought me a menu, took a drink order, brought my drink over, took my food order, updated me when the meal took a little longer than usual (without me asking about it), appeared regularly but not too frequently to see that everything at the table was OK and top us up with water. Because we were a large group, we paid a 17% automatic gratuity. She actually lost out with that because I would have left 20%. I kicked myself later for not doing so anyway.

As an employee, my wage depends on my performance. That applies to every customer I serve. So I can't slack off for a bit, because my wage suffers. It makes a change from getting paid for 8 hours work, even if I was late, enjoyed a prolonged morning tea and took a long lunch break - all in the one day. As a customer, I get better service because of tips. At home, my waitress might take her sweet time bringing out my drinks or checking on my meal because she's getting $18 an hour anyway. Here, my servers know that if they're not good at their job, they might not make rent this month. And that gets me my gin and tonic fast. Every time.

turning up the heat

"All you need is a yoga mat, a coffee mug and a rain jacket."

My yoga kit

This statement I heard recently sums up Vancouver perfectly. A quick search on Yelp found 48 yoga studios in Vancouver. Another search on vancouveryoga.com's class database found 146 classes offered in gyms, studios, community centres and more. Vancouver was also recently named the third worst-dressed city in the world because everyone wears yoga pants too often. Yoga is up there with riding a bike and recycling in the list of things one must do in Vancouver. Since my time in Vancouver is supposed to be about life experience and trying all the things I never had the opportunity or time to do in Tassie, yoga has been high on my list of things to do. The gym down the road opens on Saturday and that will have yoga all the time, but the other craze that interests me is Bikram Yoga. A new studio has opened up in a not-too-hard to reach location and offering a $49 for the month introductory deal. I'm going to take it, but first I decided to try an free intro class.

This isn't the studio I went to, just a random picture off
the web to give you the idea.

I've done bikram once before in Hobart. The class is 90-minutes, but it took 90 seconds to realise it wasn't going to come easily to me. For those that don't know, bikram is conducted in a room heated to 40C and involves 26 poses and a few breathing exercises. I'm not a fan of the heat, whether it involves sun or not, so this was always going to be a challenge. But learning to stick with things that fall in the too-hard basket is also part of my time here.

 

After my second class I can only compare me doing yoga to a white guy rapping - it just shouldn't be done. I adjusted to the heat a bit better than in my first class last year, but still got quite dizzy on a few poses and needed a quick sit-down. About 15 minutes I was wondering if it would be bad form to leave, but that urge subsided. I also wasn't looking for a clock to find out when it would be over, like last time. I left with a huge headache and feeling exhausted. But by the time I got home I had more energy than I have for ages. The memories of the hardest parts of class are still fresh and almost bad enough to keep me from going again. But I've set myself a challenge and I'm determined to see it through.

giving thanks for stretchy pants

The American influence on Australian popular culture means I know of a lot of things I don't know anything about, such as North American special occasions. Independence Day, Halloween, Superbowl etc. This week I got to experience one.

Before Monday, I knew Thanksgiving involved a turkey. And I thought Pumpkin Pie was just the cute name my friend Tracy gave her cat. (Because nobody would actually want to eat a pie with pumpkin in it, right?) I also thought the occasion was later in the year. As it turns out, the US celebrates Thanksgiving in November, and Canada in October. Despite the day marking the same thing.

I had been invited to celebrate the occasion with my cousin Vicky and her parents, but my work schedule didn't allow for that so I instead accepted Joe's invitation to dinner at his place. I thought Thanksgiving would be a quiet day at work, but it seems the holiday has gone the same way as most of the others on the calender - tradition is all but ignored. We were flat-out at work (and I didn't sell one turkey sandwich), but thanks to a quick history lesson from one of the chefs (combined with some trivia I learnt at burlesque the other week), by about lunchtime I was able to wish my customers a happy Thanksgiving, without muttering to one of my co-workers "I don't know what that means". Turns out there is more to Thanksgiving than turkey. There were pilgrims. And something to do with a harvest moon. Anyway, back to the food.

Instead of a turkey, Joe cooked a roast beef. We are Australians after all. But we did follow the usual traditions of pumpkin pie and eating waaaaay too much. If time had allowed I would have attempted baking my own pie, but it didn't so I didn't. Wholefoods supermarket provided well though.

I would have taken a 'before' pic of the serving with cream on top etc, but what
would have involved waiting before eating. Not gunna happen.

I had been assured by one of the girls are work that it was delicious but even as we served it up, I had my doubts. Pumpkin in a pie? Hmmm. Turns out there's about as much pumpkin in the pie as there is nutrition in a burger from McDonalds. It's mainly spices, a bit of pumpkin puree and other 'pie-like' ingredients (evaporated milk, loads of sugar etc). But it tastes OK...sort of.

Thanksgiving dinner ended with me lying down in Joe's kitchen for about half-an-hour before I felt able to go home. And giving thanks for wearing stretchy pants.

things that made me smile today

PARENTS KILLED BY NINJAS. NEED MONEY FOR KARATE LESSONS.
These were the words on a sign carried by I assume a homeless man on Granville St in Downtown Vancouver today. One has to admire his sense of humour when life doesn't seem to be going his way. It made me smile.

A former colleague from the paper, Kellíe O'Brien, has a blog (Three Li'l Princesses) and writes regularly of the things for which she is grateful. In similar fashion, I will share things that made me smile today.

On the window of the #8 bus heading downtown

It was an unremarkable Wednesday. In typical Vancouver fashion, it was raining. Rather than cosy up in bed all day, I limited that behaviour to just the morning and around lunchtime ventured Downtown to explore Gastown, an historical and hip area of Vancouver. I took my seat on the bus and looked out the window, only to be staring at this piece of graffiti. It might be harsh to label such a friendly message as such, but it is what it is. Either way, it made me smile as intended.

Walking through Gastown, a sushi place called Momo looked popular and cheap so I took a table. There wasn't much conventional about this particular sushi place. It was more retro than ramen. But the Spongebob Squarepants placemats made me chuckle.

After lunch I explored Gastown, which borders on a not-so-desirable part of town. As such several homeless people beg outside Gastown's up-scale stores. I wasn't carrying cash, which meant I wasn't lying when I told the beggers I didn't have any change. One begger told me that was OK as money wasn't everything. He told me what an incredible job his mother did because it isn't easy to raise someone to the age of 57 and left me with the challenge of thinking about what the most important thing in life. He also made me promise to keep smiling. So I did.

A poster on the side of a bus said something about Elton John. Another poster outside an arts theatre filled in the blanks. Love Lies Bleeding is a performance by the Alberta Ballet inspired by and featuring the songs of Elton John and Bernie Taupin. A ballet to Elton John songs? Yes thanks. Smile.

My day got rather mundane from here, but still plenty of reasons to smile.

• Finding the brand of rice cakes the girls at work have been raving about. I've been searching every supermarket I can find for the last three weeks without success until today.
• Using the rewards card I signed up for at Save on Foods supermarket so my French couchsurfers could get a discount when we were there a couple of weeks ago to save 50% on the frozen fish I have for dinner most nights.
• Hearing that my Mum is given a stuffed toy to squeeze at the dentist so she doesn't attack anyone.
• Realising that will be me in 30 years.

The night is still young so no doubt there will be more reasons to smile. The most recent one came through a Facebook conversation with my friend Joe. Joe had a gruelling 17-hour drive to San Fransisco the other weekend. I told him there were only so many times one could sing The Wheels on the Bus before you even yourself.
His answer?
"That number is 576".

I will not be going on a roadtrip with Joe.

when did sweet get so sour?

The fudge brownies look good don't they? Could you resist them if you saw them everyday, and as part of your job were allowed to eat a treat a day? These aren't even the ones I have to look at. The brownies at SGTC are delectable. The ones in the picture barely have any resemblance and I still want to eat one.

The temptation that comes with working in a cafe that sells some of the most delicious food I've ever come across (and I say this after spending a month in France and its patisseries) is immense. At first I indulged in the name of research. I should know what I'm selling right? Then it became hard to resist them because I found out how good they were. But a few weeks in and I noticed my heart was racing sometimes after I had a dessert...or anything with sugar. My skin wasn't looking great. And I was a little pudgy around the edges. It was time to make a call. Less sugar. I was going to be no-more sugar, but I need to keep things realistic.

So a few days ago I started cutting back. Some people prefer a gradual approach but I find that never works because there's too much room for negotiation with ones self. So instead I went in tough. No sugar in my tea, not even a bit of honey in my herbal teas. No more treats at work. No salad dressing. No juice. I even started to watch a documentary about how bad sugar is for the body for motivation.

I'm about five days in. It seems too early notice any radical changes. Today was particularly bad for cravings so a nice fresh piece of corn had to do for some sweetness. I'm not out to achieve anything in particular except to make me more aware of how much sugar I consume. It really is in everything. I considered putting a bit of BBQ sauce with dinner. Nope. 16g per two teaspoons. Even my milk, because it's low fat, is loaded with sugar. I haven't come up with an alternative to that yet and not sure I will.

So far my mission is doing its job. I no longer scoff any of the dessert cut-offs the kitchen staff leave out for the servers. I'm not relying on sweet pick-me-ups to get me through the day either. I shall report back.