Saki tastes like butane

Monday morning, Beth declared, “My neck doesn’t hurt anymore. We’ve found the cure for ARM: no more A!” We’d made plans to meet up with Sarah’s friends, Etienne and Eve, and after running into one closed restaurant after another, we ended up at Kitsilano Sushi. It was fast-food sushi, but dirt cheap. I ordered a small saki and make a very important discovery. Just guess what that discovery was.

It was somewhat sunny out (the only sunny day we ended up having), so we decided to try out luck and go to Stanley Park. The park was formerly military land until it was donated to the city by Lord Stanley—then Governor General; also He of Stanley Cup fame. He was also the one who named the park—‘Stanley Park’ winning out over tough choices like ‘I’m the Shit Park’ and ‘Bitches Think Generosity is Sexy Park’. We walked the Seawall, which is a 10K jaunt that wraps around the park, and it kept us busy for two and a half hours. During this time, we defied numerous "Construction Ahead! Seawall Closed!" signs, and saw approximately 360 dachshunds (Those Kitsilano folk love them some dogs).

After Stanley, we drove along Commercial Drive, which was sadly devoid of hippies. Next, we stopped into Vij’s, which may just have served the best Indian food I’ve had or ever imagined having. The price was significant but not bank-breaking; take this as a comment and not a complaint. If I were to complain, I’d say that the portion sizes—particularly for appetizers and desserts—were ungenerous. (Good thing I’m not complaining.) We finished the night drinking and watching The 40 Year-Old Virgin—which was so funny that my ass literally fell off, à la Opus in Bloom County.

Tuesday was our earliest rise of the trip (prior to our flight-catching pre-dawn rise on Wednesday). Once one of them actually deemed us worthy of passage, we hopped on a bus that took us back toward Gastown (see also: Dave McLean; former mayor of). We wanted to check out Storyeum, a ‘live storytelling experience’ housed in an impressive looking building in the city’s historic district. Although the show’s description is hazy at best, we expected a dramatization of the history of British Columbia. I guess that’s what it was. The only thing I’m quiet sure about is that the show was terrible terrible abso-fucking-lutely terrible. The concept has promise: stepping onto a platform, you’re lowered underground and then led from room to room where different groups of actors perform scenes out of BC’s history. Problem one is that the history is way glossed over. Hey! We had natives! Hey! This place has fur and big trees! Hey! Gold! Hey! The Railroad! Hey! Votes for Women! Hey! We sure fucked over those Chinese! Hey! Did I mention trains? Problem two is that there are seven musical numbers. ‘Nuff said. And problem three is that after seven shows a day, six days a week, the actors cannot mask their cold, dead, kill-me eyes. If you have to go, do it for the laughs, not for anything else. And Chrissakes—don’t pay full price.

From there, we bused over to Granville Island (which is not an island at all, but a prominatory surrounded by bogs). We signed up for a tour of Granville Island Brewing, which is one of the many beers we fell in love with over the week. We were joined by three girls from Japan who’d just finished a semester at UBC and were heading home shortly. Also, they did not like beer. At all. So, strange choice to pass the time. Anyhow, it was my first brewery tour, so I found it pretty interesting (but don’t ask me to repeat a word of it.) Afterward, the guide took us to the taproom to sample four of their beers. He brought them out in pitchers—maybe three quarters full; he also knew we loved their Maple Cream Ale so there was extra of that to be had. The Japanese girls drank amounts varying from three ounces to one milliliter. In addition, Beth isn’t so fond of beer, but she did managed to put away about a glass and a half. Now, Sarah and I aren’t alcoholics, but it has occurred to me in the past (see: Vegas) and was further proved here that we don’t do well with free booze. We feel like we have some kind of patriotic duty to drink it. So we did. And got shmammered. It started fun but became a wee bit embarrassing as we stumbled down the street with an especially sober Beth. After a desperate search for food (thwarted particularly by Moderne Burger which only seemed to be open for about twenty minutes of the seven days we were there), we fell into a both at Sophie’s Cosmic Café. Stuffing food into our gaping, boozy mouths, we emerged from there at least 30% less drunk. We slept the other 70% off back at Beth’s apartment.

Up again around eight p.m., we picked up Beth’s friend, Kalev, and went to a place called Bo Kong, which serves ‘Buddhist Chinese vegetarian food.’ Gourmand that I am (I’m also a boulevardier and a voluptuary, but neither of those figure here), I was skeptical to say the least, but the food kicked ass. We then satisfied a long-standing jones for crème brulèe at Sweet Obsession. (In case you didn’t catch on: we did some eating on this trip.) With sticky-outty bellies, we returned to the apartment, packed up our shit, told Beth how much we loved and would miss her, then slept the sleep of the just. The next morning, we reaffirmed the many virtues of Beth, and took off. I meant to finish this entry up during the plane ride, but the lady in front of my had her seat resting snuggly against my clavicle, so typing wasn’t an option.

Two final things. First, Beth was an amazing host. She indulged all of our indulgences (burpy, drunken stumbles, Storyeum fiascos), was funny one hundred percent of the time, and was totally cool with two jerks like us taking over her apartment for an entire week, leaving her nowhere to escape. You rock. And (need it be said again? yes, it does,) we miss you. Second, there’ll be one more Vancouver post after this—sort of an addendum. Just a bunch of stuff that was only semi-related to a post at hand, but which I think is worth mentioning. Hopefully it won’t take me another five days to get that one out.