Vancouver - Day 1,2,3

So I arrived in Vancouver on Sunday night. I was met at the airport by a thin goateed fella in his mid-forties with a friendly Canadian accent. His name was Andy.

I knew immediately that Andy was a pretty genuine guy. He had a real honest and curious manner about him. He was really thrilled about the idea of my trip and was happy to help me out. We talked bikes in the car and joked about Canadian-American relations. Mostly we talked about Vancouver, which I would learn was a pretty amazing little city...

I came upon Andy through Lorraine, his wife. Lorraine met my mom last spring when she was in Encinitas helping out her brother John with his wife Carly, who was recently diagnosed with brain cancer. My mom met John when she got some rehab from him a couple years ago. I know, it's all very complicated, but I thought it's probably best to explain how I ended up with a couple Canadians on the other side of the country.

Andy and Lorraine are both paramedics in downtown Vancouver. As Andy said, "we work in the poorest postal code in Canada." This sounds pretty funny to an American, seeing as we've been raised to believe that everything's just a cut above in Canada, and especially in drug-fueled, fun-loving Vansterdam. After spending two days talking about the crime and drug problem in Vancouver, Andy decided to take me to the belly of the beast.

We drove down to Main & Hastings, a neighborhood in downtown Vancouver that would put any ghetto in New York to shame. Andy made me lock my door as we sped through dark alleyways in his district checking out hundreds of crack dealers, heroin junkies and prostitutes lining the streets. He knew most of them by name. When we got home he even showed me a bunch of totems and masks he bought from one crack dealer named John, an Indian who spends most of his time making traditional carvings. In art galleries, John's carvings can sell for thousands of dollars. Andy caught him in a bad spot and was able to pick up a few for a couple hundred bucks. Andy figures that supporting their passions can only help.

The saddest part about the alleys of Vancouver is that they are lined with needle drop points, methadone clinics and zones where addicts can shoot up without getting arrested. After seeing the area with my own eyes and listening to the Andy's horror stories, it's hard to see downtown Vancouver as anything but liberal idealism gone awry. I'm sure it looks different on paper, but holy shit....what a hell hole.

Vancouver had despair coming from all sides. Lorraine discovered about a week before my arrival that her mother had been diagnosed with cancer as well. I can't even imagine what it's like to have one family member fighting cancer, let alone two. But the fact that both Andy and Lorraine had dealt with so much death and misery in their career made for some really interesting discussions about the nature of health, addiction and demise. They were so forward and realistic. It was almost surreal, and certainly refreshing to discuss such heavy material on such matter-of-fact terms.

Despite this downer posting, Vancouver was far from depressing. Andy and I roamed the town and had a really nice time. It's a beautiful city with lots to offer. We ate ox burgers at Stormin' Norman's (my second trip to Canada and my second time eating exotic meats up there. Is it a Canadian thing?) and drank some really nice beers.

The whole time I was in Vancouver I kept feeling like it was such a relaxed place, and so quiet. I couldn't figure out why such a big city felt so different. Then I realized that it was the only North American city I've ever been to that didn't have an Interstate running through it. Ah...thank god for Canada.

On Tuesday at about 1PM I said goodbye to Andy and Lorraine and headed for the border. My journey has begun!