Canada #5 - Edmonton

Bussing to Edmonton. Fairly standard, though I did spend the first leg of the journey on Greyhound Express. 

Leather seats. 

More legroom. 

Free wifi. 

Oh Greyhound, you shouldn't have! Oh, I transfer in two hours? Then spend 22 hours in a normal bus? Oh. Thanks Greyhound. 

I think I was just bus teased. It put me in a really foul mood for the entire trip. We passed through one town called Kamloops, and no joke, the only thing advertised on the tourist television was a local funeral home. 

"Welcome to Kamloops, you'll be dying to leave! We're serious, call this number."

Also in Kamloops I brought the most depressed sandwich I've ever eaten. It was about $8. And consisted of a soggy bun, one slice of ham, one Kraft cheese square and a single tomato slice. I wanted to euthanise it. 

Anyway, Edmonton. I'm pretty sure the map was not properly set up. I think it was literally mirror flipped. I kept walking the wrong direction, even when landmarks were in view. So, I spent a day hideously lost and wandering around the suburbs until a kindly tobacconist pointed me in the right direction. Fuck, I sound like a Dickens novel. 

I was situated in the trendy hipster part of town, a street that just consisted of indie record shops and hip food shops. Had an excellent burrito and Vietnamese sub (which I didn't know was a thing), then toured places selling pot paraphernalia and second hand book stores. Apparently it had history, but all the bronze plaques were covered over by local band posters. 

Being more adventurous, I also visited the local legislature, where a very earnest tour guide showed me every inch of the marble Romanesque building. Interesting mix of colonial past, First Nation coexistence (to a point) and British royal intervention. I also shook the hand of the opposing party, the Wild Roses, in a lift. It was one of those kind of days. 

From every tourist website and poster around the area, no visit was complete without a visit to West Edmonton Mall. Braving the transit system, I made my way out to the behemoth. It's the kind of place where I wanted to slap the designers and shout "FUCKING DECIDE". There were almost 800 shops. And two pools. And an indoor beach. And a lagoon complete with pirate ship. And a kid's adventure land. And a cinema. And a mini golf course. And a full restaurant and bar strip. And a bloody fairground with roller coasters.

Again, FUCKING DECIDE. Or, alternatively, go home mall, you are drunk. The place was bewildering, but there was an excellent Disney store and enough cycle shops to keep me occupied. Additionally, an fantastic frozen yogurt bar. It was an experience to window shop H&M, then turn a corner and stumble onto people in trunks splashing in a full length pool. Then walk over a pirate ship to get to HMV. Quite the place. 

Unfortunately, Edmonton didn't have that much to offer after that. Just a fairly average city with cookie cutter malls and chains. Nice walks up and down the river, when the map wasn't trying to lead me astray. It just didn't have the cultural and architectural swagger of Vancouver or the tranquil beauty of Victoria. 

So, I left with nary a backwards glance. Onwards to Winnipeg. 

Canada #4 - Victoria

Victoria, a small city perched on the edge of an island. About two hours from Vancouver by the deceptively named ferry. You can buy iPads from the vending machines and drop a few hundred dollars on silk blouses. Quite a ferry. 

They say everyone who is rich enough to leave Ontario goes to Vancouver. I'm not sure who goes to Victoria then, since I could have happily dropped my food budget for the day on a frozen yoghurt. The city was beautiful, surrounded by the sea with distant mountaintops breaking the horizon. It was quite a vista taking the bus from the ferryport, with rolling hills bordering glittering bodies of water. 

I picked a good time to visit - temperatures that reached into the mid twenties, but not many tourists cluttering up the place. Best of both worlds. It appeared that every other shop was an independent coffee store and bakery, which suited me fine. It was a nice break from Tim Hortons, as I endeavoured to sample pastries and muffins from a two mile radius. Apart from that, there was a small downtown area that was mainly a generic mall surrounded by tourist trap shops. These sold a bizarre mix of pop culture memes and First Nation artwork. Ever want to hear Grumpy Cat complain about elk? Yours, for only $19.99. 

Though I want to live in Vancouver one day, eating apples in a highrise apartment and spitting pips on the commoners, Victoria seems the perfect place to retire to. I don't think I viewed anyone doing something more stressful than raise an arm for a refill. Vancouver was packed with runners, selfishly hogging the road as they quash heart disease. Victoria was more of a casual walk along the seafront, before stopping in for a fresh squeezed orange juice. A definite gear change from Vancouver, dodging joggers in tight clothing, to weaving around grandmothers pottering about in their Sunday Best. 

So, the food was fantastic. Mornings consisted of muffins from the local cafe, and dinner was an excellent cultural blend. Whether it was the Mexican food truck for enchiladas or noodles from Chinatown, being able to look up from my gluttony to see a landscape so beautiful it could be a Windows stock background was amazing. With the large Asian immigrant population, the availability of stir fries was beyond anything I could have wished for. 

Apart from culinary snobbery, there were also some excellent museums. The mix of green parkland, lakes, sea and mountains create a fascinating diversity of fauna, which was represented in the national history museum. The exhibits on First Nation culture were both beautiful and chilling, going hand in hand with the history of colonial expansion. 

It was a shame to leave, though my arteries didn't protest. As a final fuck you to my cardiovascular system, I picked up a chocolate banana muffin and waited for the bus. This was of course the perfect time for an energetic fellow on the comedown from methadone to start up a conversation. We chatted about his brother, his bitch of an ex wife, his son in London and the book he wrote. And of course the very nature of love and reason for existence. Well, I say we chatted. He talked and I tried to avoid eye contact. 

Though, apparently I saved some other poor soul from his attention. This soul belonged to Jesse, a bass player from the Vancouver band Sleuth. Jesse made for an excellent travelling companion as discussions on video games, music theory and the nature of academia became the backdrop for a few hours on the bus, ferry, bus again and the Vancouver sky train. Shame I missed his gig the evening after, but I had a date with destiny. 

Which by that, I mean of course a bus to Edmonton. 

Canada #3 - Vancouver

Vancouver, where to begin? Possibly one of the most beautiful places I've ever visited. The place is a miracle of diversity, with a bustling downtown district, national park, miles of beaches and a vista of the mountains all within convenient walking distance. And to top it off, incredible food and shopping. I want to live here. Might have to start selling organs to get here though. Bids of a kidney start at one high rise apartment, takers?

My time here was a blur of meandering downtown, window shopping and completely failing to blend in to crowds of the yolo generation bedecked in branded footwear. That said, the downtown area loved my Game of Thrones shirt. I had smiles, exclamations of joy and even a rocker throwing up the horns in glee. Probably a good thing I wasn't wearing a Greyjoy shirt, otherwise I'd likely have been shanked. 

I took a walking tour around Stanley Park, an area of astounding natural beauty. I even learnt a new exercise regime - apparently, walking slowly around and drinking Starbucks counts as a work out if one wears Lulu Lemon. I call it the YiPPE (Yoga Pants, Ponder, Entitlement) regime. 

Another hard day of walking around an area of woodland, taking photos and posing in a hollow tree. Apparently that's a thing. I returned for seem excellent food in the downtown area, before strolling to Gastown. 

It's a historic (for N. America) part of the city featuring a large steam powered clock and an old fashioned feel. Additionally, some of the best coffee I've ever tasted, in a place filled with thirty-somethings in powersuits, furiously jabbing at tablet devices. Lovely area though, loved the architecture. And the pizza, forged in the flames of a homemade wood fired oven.

Whilst thumbing through a hip free paper I found in a bin, I found the local events happening that week. After a few pages of comedians from that show everyone loves and indie bands moodily glaring at me from fringes, something caught my eye. Apparently the 8th International Vancouver Burlesque Festival was performing at a local theatre. Eager to participate in the local culture, I booked tickets at the gloriously vaudeville local theatre. 

This turned into one of the most enjoyable evenings out I've experienced. And it was an experience. Being MC'd by a rapping dancer in a ball gown, the night spiralled from classical burlesque with feather dances, to an interpretative dance of "The Wanted" by a banker and her dancing monkey, an intriguing take on the costume from "The Fifth Element", 60s go-go dancers, cannibals dragging a screaming man off stage, a broken clockwork prostitute dumped, literally, by a Russian mobster, relationship advice, with the evening capped off by a dancer portraying an overdose of meth followed by a group bow. I'm not sure what to make of what I just saw, but I think I love burlesque now. 

Followed by all this excitement, I enjoyed an excellent shawarma and hockey play off lesson in a Persian restaurant, relaxed in the beautiful Vancouver library and ate pastries in every bakery that caught my eye. Vancouver is a place of extremes. One second you're enjoying espresso and small talking with shop assistants, then you're stepping over puddles you hope are water and touring scuzzy sex shops. Not the Ann Summers type places, but the actual skid row establishments one associates with dystopian films like Blade Runner. On a Friday night, I walked down a street of clubs where glamorous girls in 10 inch heels teetered out of Ferraris and stretch limos, to a street of live peep shows and prostitutes on the street corner. And my iPod hadn't even shuffled.  

Vancouver. Amazing city, it's a shame to leave. Vibrant culture, great museums and the perfect place to visit. I definitely want to return, with a much fatter wallet, and attempt to take afternoon tea in every cafe in the city. Which should only take a couple of lifetimes. Onward to Victoria, and even more fantastic Asian food. 

Canada #2 - Train to Vancouver

Now, trains. Not the most exciting of prospects, but by golly trains are the way to travel. Decent leg room, air conditioning and less enforced physical contact. The train to Vancouver would take about two and a bit days, travelling through Jasper and the Rockies. After stocking up on drink crystals and bread - essentials to any journey, I believed I was ready. 

I was probably correct to bus to Saskatoon and take the train for the remainder. I've never seen a place as flat as mid-Canada. It's actually terrifying in its flatness. The journey by train was totally different though, with epic cliffs, views over tranquil lakes and more mountains than you can shake a stick at. It was humbling to make my way through them, being looked over by these craggy behemoths. With the viewing carriage - a coach with a viewing blister bolted on, it made for a spectacular ride. 

It's a little hard to describe the views. It looks like a stock Windows desktop background. It looks photoshopped. Just miles of unmarked beauty, like a snapshot of a bygone era. I wouldn't be too surprised to see dinosaurs roaming around if I'm honest. After the noisy and cramped bus, the quiet running train and open spaces acted as a beautiful dichotomy. 

I even saw some moose, which has basically been the highlight of my life. Big Fuckers, moose. According to the driver's frantic announcements, there were also bears, which caused a flurry of iPhones, but they escaped my notice. Apart from that it was just stunning scenery until Jasper, a tiny town nestled in the mountains. 

Almost absurdly picturesque, with cabin-like shops on the backdrop of towering mountains. Course, all these shops were Starbucks and Subways, but still a beautiful town. I found an independent bakery, and brought one of the best chai lattes and apple turnovers of my life. After piling back on the train, a guitarist named Jordan Raycroft began playing in the food carriage, and somehow I became the official photographer for the mini-gig. These things happen sometimes. 

The night passed, and I awoke to the onboard employee poking fun at my sleeping position. In all fairness, cramming my frame against the chair in a comfortable enough position to sleep probably was pretty laughable. It was another day of lying back, reading, podcasting and watching the peaks roll by. It's a hard life, travelling. 

Canada #1 - Bus to Saskatoon

So, turns out Canada is big. As in really big, some could say massive. I thought the train to London was long, but when I spend a few days in a bus, and not leave the fucking province, North America just seems selfish. Let the Europeans have another crack at an empire - you Canadians have thousands of miles being useless, just sat there, looking breathtaking and embodying the might of glacial forces. I found myself looking at an undisturbed swathe of natural beauty and thinking, "know what this needs? Fields of tea and a Union Flag". But, by the time I dug my red jacket and rifle out of the carry-on, the feeling had passed. 

So, bussing across an entire fucking continent. Great idea in theory, saved a lot of cash compared to flying, but fuck me sideways - I forgot how much I missed beds and showers. And being able to fully extend my legs. The scenery was beautiful, with craggy mountains and lakes masquerading as errant seas, with the occasional deer or bird mocking me with their elbow space. 

However, it was a shock, when buying a bus ticket from Peterborough to Saskatoon, one imagines they are on the bus from said place of origin to said destination. Canada is different though, with transfers every few hours, and refuelling stops at 2am. Nothing better than being turfed out of your seat at the wee hours of the morning, grab your book and have to find a different bus. It's fun seeing all the varied types of passengers a Greyhound attracts. There was the student who dropped out of university on the very last term, apparently in defiance of the upper classes. Or the person who was a bit too happy to find a beer store open at midnight. There was the people who valiantly try to strike up conversations, and the ones who stubbornly cling to misanthropy. Or the oxymoronic career travellers, who really should let an apartment for more than a month. They might find regular showers benefit them. 

The culinary range one finds on a bus trip is unlike anything a sane person would ever enjoy. When only one food purveyor is open, a chipotle fried chicken burger is the perfect foodstuff for an early morning snack. Other times, a muffin is a perfectly viable dinner. My mind has been broadened. 

Still, I got to Saskatoon in decent time, finding a Tim Horten's knockoff and enjoyed a bagel and hot chocolate. Seems primary colours are in short supply in Saskatoon. Ah well, I was determined to enjoy this cultural exchange.

 

Saskatoon has a pretty standard colonial past. People are lied to, arrive at a damp marshland, scare off the natives and promptly set about making huts out of mud. I learned all this whilst a lovely and earnest young woman showed me around Saskatoon's history centre, situated in a basement. I learned a lot - the people of Saskatoon really fucking love bridges. Even when they fall down four times, they still build them. All credit to them. Personally, I'd have invested in something with a little less concrete. 

After this, a walking tour of the riverfront. Actually a beautiful walk, with pelicans - apparently a normal thing over here - bridges and marshland as far as the eye could see. After finishing though, this left me with six hours to spare before my train, and Saskatoon had played its last hand in the tourist deck. So I sat in a Subway and read before getting on the bus to the station. 

So, one city down. And about four days since the last shower. Tally-ho.