On the Road Again 2012 # 22

I was wrong. A vehicle did stop for me. My driver was headed for the outskirts of Vancouver. The man driving and his father were members of a First Nations community who, I think, lived in Vancouver. It was not a very long drive, but it was great to have an intelligent conversation about social issues with no sense of one-up-manship or dominance. They were interested in my stories but were able to connect them to their own stories. For example when I talked about looking forward to seeing my son and his family, they talked about how important their family were to them as well. I didn't spend any more than an hour in the vehicle but it was enough to restore my faith in humanity. They picked me up to help, not too prove something to a stranger.

 I do not know Vancouver very well and did not have a clue where they were going to let me off. But I recognized one of the signs, got them to let me out and was able to find a bus stop that got me to a Skytrain station.

I took the train to Main Street where I knew there were two hostels. They are a little bit scuzzy - but for one night they would do fine. Both were full. So I had to walk for 45 minutes up Hastings Street to Granville and then along Granville until the International Hostel. I got the last available bed.

The walk up Hasting Street was physically tiring, but it was emotionally draining. I think it is the most depressing street I had ever walked along. The addicts, the homeless, and those who have worked in the sex trade for far too long are all jumbled together in one street. While there are tiny rays of hope as shown by the emergence of community gardens or  the signs of protest over the destruction of cheap housing  that is being replaced by condos for yuppies - so many of the lives that live on Hasting Street are filled with danger, a sense of hopelessness and for me at least, a sense that so many of the people walk right by them and don't even see them.

There is a curious jaxa-postioning of the homeless and the young people going to the clubs along Grandville Street. There are old men asking for change in old paper coffee cups and young girls striding along in mini skirts while others are getting out long white stretch limousines built with the front of a Humvee. As I was up the street I accidentally kicked over one man's cup. I of course dropped my pack and helped him pick all of the change up. While the cup was two thirds full when we were all done - it was mostly filled with pennies. An evening's work and I doubt if there was more than 50 cents. I wondered if the people who dropped him their few pennies smiled and felt good about themselves when they dropped the money into the cup. I suspect they did.

I found the hostel, threw my stuff on the assigned bed, put on my sandals and went out for a quick bite to eat. I sat on a bench eat a pita and watched the action happening on the street. The whole scene that was happening in front of my eyes felt so disconnected from the past nine days. If anyone of the people had stopped to talk to me, I don't know what I would have said. I had nothing in common with them.I didn't belong here. As I was walking up the street towards the hostel I felt far more comfortable with the homeless. I did not want to have to spend the night on the streets with them, but if I had had to, it would have been fine. I have done it before. But to spend the night with these pretty people all dressed up and ready to drink and to party would have been a bit too much for this weary traveller.

I went to bed in the hostel and quickly feel asleep. I was up early the next morning and got the bus to Horseshoe Bay. The little village is an attractive place to spend an hour or two and it gave me time to relax and slow down. On the other side my son and grandson waited for me to drive me home.

It was good to be back on the West Coast with my family. It had been quite an adventure. I had made it to Yellowknife, had crossed the Mackenzie River and I had seen wild bison along the side of the road. I had travelled up to where the sun shines 23 hours a day and made it back again. I had had some great rides from some very interesting people. I had learned a lot about theirs and other people's lives.

I was tired. Physically I was well but the nine days had been hard both on my body and on my mind. I was ready for some consistency. I was done travelling for a while. It was time to put up my feet and relax as befits a senior citizen.