This is much less related to travel or anything I am doing in Canada (sorry) and more to do with a recurring theme in this semi-regular blog.

I always look up where the place name comes from when I travel, and had accepted the notion that Vancouver is named after the explorer George Vancouver. I just found an article which went a little deeper, and asked where did George get HIS name from.

The study of names is onomastics. Anthroponomastics is the study of human names, while toponomastics or Toponymy is the study of Place names. These things cross in lots of places given a moniker after a person.

So George's ancestors came from a small town in the Northeast of Holland called Coevorden. So his family was Van Coevorden, which gets anglicised and corrupted to Vancouver. So that the Anthroponomy of Vancouver's surname. But whats the Toponymy of Coevorden then? Cow Ford is a direct translation.

So Vancouver (and the island) is named after a man who came from a town named after a place to drive cows across the river.

(original info from here: http://www.library.ubc.ca/jones/vanety.html)

I flew down to San Francisco for work reasons a four weeks back. The flight over from Victoria to Seattle is on a small twin turbo-prop plane that barely gets up before it goes down again. Time for the flight attendant to throw everyone a packet of savoury nibbles and a thimble full of drink.

Once at Seattle it was the rush to change planes. Collect bag. Line up. Get on inter-terminal train. Immigrate into the US. Justify your existence for the last three years and what exactly you'll be doing in the next three, right down to the number of bowel movements that are planned to be taken while on US soil.

The return your bag, and go through security. I've probably banged on about this in some other post. One day I'll remember not to wear my tightest trainers, loose trousers and metal studded cod piece (1) when flying through the States.

I arrived eventually in San Francisco at midnight (after including the long wait for the baggage to come out of where ever it was being kicked around), and flopped on my bed.

The offices of the company I work for are in Burlingame, which is a satellite town/city of San Francisco, about 30 minutes south on the freeway. It sits on the bay, but other is only notable for the large international airport (SF international). Least that's all I noted, apart from the funky 1950's cinema (closed).

The weather was sunny and clear. Pleasant enough to walk the 5 blocks or so to work. I was instantly told that this was unseasonable and unusual weather, and it should be foggy, damp and cold. I've seen the movies, and it's not like that on TV. It's probably a lie told to visitors to keep all the good stuff to themselves.

The San Francisco Bay is big. Okay, I knew it had to be large as it sits two major cities (Oakland and SF) on either side. But I hadn't appreciated how big it is. Like a lot of things in North America there's more space than in jolly old England, so distances are stretched compared to what I think of in the UK. The Bay itself north to south is the same distance as from Welwyn Garden City to somewhere near Gatwick... bigger than the North to South distance of the M25. Side to side it's only about Hammersmith to Shoreditch. But this is an appreciable chunk of real estate.

A colleague was kind enough to drive me around the SF peninsula, where the Pacific is split from the bay itself by a rocky headland. We headed past the vast expanse of nothing that is the Pacific (next stop Japan) up to the Golden Gate Park. Set on much the same lines as Central Park, New York (or so my guide tells me... I wouldn't know), it's a big chunk of green within spitting distance of the downtown core.

The passage which is the Golden Gate was once heavily militarised by the US, worried about invasion (from whom, I'm not sure). The Gate is a steep sided, but wide passage that leads into the Bay, and is crossed by the famous Golden Gate Bridge. I can confirm that the suspension bridge does bounce very slightly while cars cross it. Standing next to the rail just above the water did wonders for my vertigo...

It's a impressive structure with a great view one way into the Pacific and the green headlands, and the other into the Bay, the sparkling Union tower, Alcatraz, rather large freight ships, and all the other teeming things that make up the Bay Area.

We then headed down into the core, past Fisherman's wharf (end or start of Out Run the arcade game as I recall) and San Fran pier's which are mostly now trendy wine bars, ethnic clothing and whole foods. There's also dirty great overpasses built on reclaimed land created from trash, infill dirt and rubble. Not only are they architecturally displeasing, building wavering concrete roads on shifting dirt in an earthquake zone strikes me (and several Californians I spoke to) as less than clever.

The downtown centre reminded me of two parts Manchester's posh boutique area, one part Glasgow's steep narrow streets and one part movie theatre set. If you've seen Steve McQueen's 'Bullitt' or 101 other SF car chases movies, you'll know of the steep roads with flat terraces at intersections. It's all there, along with trolley buses, street cars (none named Desire), wallowing yellow taxi's and pedestrians making suicidal crossings.

We stopped for an all-American burger in an all-American dinner (lovely malts, passable burger) called Miss Louie's (I think, I should go check) complete for a Ford Edsel parked next to our red-leather booth. I was offered a plethora of other places to eat (great Thai! great Indian! great Sushi!) but I can get all those in Canada. I haven't had for a long while the all-American diner experience, in America. It's like eating Sushi in Kawasaki train station, or cod and chips on Skegness sea front.

Refreshed with the finest in trad American dining, we toured down Concorde Street, famed as the crookedest street in the USA. I'd always thought that was Wall Street (ba-dum!). It's a multi switch back of a street, with lovingly tended hedges and flower beds, that gets around 90% of it's traffic from tourists (like me) being driven down it. It's just a city block long (200 yards or so) and drops about 50 feet in that time via about 6 zigzag crossing from side to another in the width of about 3 lanes of traffic.

My lightning tour of San Francisco was complete and we sped back south on the freeway to Burlingame and I was dropped at my hotel. I'd certainly like to head back again, and I'm condering another long rail journey down the coast to see it, Portland, Eugene and LA.

BSE has been confirmed here in British Columbia.  This case follow another one a year ago, also in BC.

I expect the French and US ban on beef products momentarily...

Otherwise, I have been reading about Canadian History.  Like most history, it's a fascinating blend of heroes, villains and conflict.  Armed, political and cultural conflicts.  The various movements uniting and splitting people.  And as much of history where the Europeans powers come along, various tramping over the local inhabitants.

That said, there's a compare and contrast between the US and Canada.  Canada tended to make deals for land with the First Nations before entering territories.  The US tended to just enter.   (Though the residential school scandal (still rumbling) is a huge black mark against any progressive views Canada may have had.)

There's also parallels between the Quebec separatist movement and the Scottish Independence movement.  Much like the UK, there's a large body of Quebecois in power in the Federal government.    Some in Quebec want independence, claiming it is a separate nation (within or without Canada, no-one can decide).  While French Canadiens and English Canadians are different cultures, these don't seem to be based exactly along province lines. 

In the last referendum for seperation (or some such, no-one seems to be able to understand exactly what it asked for), 50.6% of Quebec voted to stay as a part of the federation of Canada.  However, in the North of the Province, which is also the source of much of Quebec Hydroelectric power (a source of Quebecois pride) the local population voted overwhelming for staying part of Canada (95%+).  Possibly as the area is mostly Cree and Inuit.  Elsewhere, New Brunswick is around 33% French Canadien (and the only bilingual province) and has no separatist movement (that I am aware of, the Canadian experts might be able to explain better) but do support the notions that Canada is a union of many different nations.  Which it is, I guess.

And if we drift even further east, we come to Newfoundland, an independent British Protectorate until 1949, which still is not quite sure of it's identity within Canada, by all accounts.  Over here on the left coast (both left by direction and politics) there seems to be a disconnect been British Columbia and Ottawa.  Alberta has it's current oil boom, and the new territory of Nunavet contains just 30,000-odd people.  And so on.

Anyways, Canada seems to be having the same issues about it's identity and it's constituent parts that the UK has.  There's a lot of bits that have there own parts, both along provincial boundaries, cultural and ethnic grounds.  That said, they all seem to identify as Canadian.  Whereas in the UK we tend to identify as 'English' or 'Scots' or even 'Londoner' or 'Lancastrian' more than 'British'.

Possibly.

Getting use to the financial world in Canada is taking me some getting use to. When I was a visitor, money was much easier. £1 was $2 (give or take) and I could get a good idea of the value of what I was getting.

Psychologically, $20 still seems like 'not cheap' and '20' means a twenty pound note. Where as 20 isn't a lot for a book, or a decent meal. It's just a number, but these things are part of our conciousness. Like looking left-right-left when crossing a road. You probably don't even think about it. But over here, you have to think about crossing roads. And think about thinking about it. It looks like a road. So your head kicks in and says 'this is how we cross roads', and you start to do it automatically.

I haven't yet been hit by a car. I just have to stop and think. Same with money.

What makes it harder is the little things and the ways in which the enterprising will make you part with more. The first (or last when it comes to the till) is PST and GST. GST is 6% and the Canadian equivalent of VAT, and raised by Canadian Government. PST is the Provincial Sales tax, and levied by the British Columbian government. Both are added to the shelf price. This is infuriating, when you pick up a $10 CD and get charged $11.30. Or even better in a restaurant, where a $20 meal gets another $2.50 in tax and another $3 for a reasonable tip. That $20 meal will cost you $25.

The next step to liberate my money is the banks. Very few of the banks have free banking the UK. There's a few of the credit unions that offer 'free' banking, but it's a limited service or may restrict the number of transaction you can make per month. Instead, most of them charge between $10 and $15 a month for most of the trimmings that come as standard in the UK. I was hoping that this was followed up with a decent rate of interest. I think 0.05% pa is some financier's idea of a good joke.

They do offer free services if you maintain a big enough bank balance. If I had that big of a bank balance, I wouldn't mind spending a few dollars a month for what is admittedly a very friendly personal service. But them's the rules, that's the country.

The final catch (well final in the last to catch me) is the package that isn't. My $30 mobile (cellphone to translate into North American) plan costs me $53 a month. First you have the plan. Plus to actually have a useful phone, there's a few extra dollars for voicemail. And wait! You can get caller number display for $5 a month. It's a -selling- point to give people the ability to see what number people are calling from, a service on a mobile in the UK for years. Then there's a $1 a month to pay for the 911 service. But there's a 'service access charge' on top of that. This was the point my sense of humour failed and I walked away from the price (oh they wanted $50 deposit as well). Oh, then there was the ever present hidden tax twins.

If you advertise a $30 plan, it seems a bit rich that they wanted to charge me to access the network as well. Especially as while the plan price is locked in, the system access charge isn't, and can (and I bet will) increase. It's sharp practice. But everyone does it. So what can you do?

I have a phone, I have a bank account, and I'm trying to avoid being nickel and dimed.

----
I'd like to point out that my father certainly did know about 300 the film. Humble pie is tasty though. And the peanut gallery may like to note my Grandmother will be reading this journal.

Someone said yesterday that I reminded them a bit of the British actor who plays a doctor on TV. They meant Stephen Fry's bit part in Bones, not Hugh Laurie in House. Which I suppose makes a lot more sense, but is vaguely disappointing. I'd much prefer to be Hugh Laurie than Stephen Fry.

But it's all just as well I am not compared to Al Swearengen (aka Ian MacShane, aka Lovejoy) from Deadwood. Now I have an address, I can get post. Now I can get post, I can get DVD subscription. And now I can get DVD subscription, I can catch up on all the TV series and films I've missed over the last few months. Or years. Like Deadwood.

I do also have 75 TV channels. But nothing on. Or at least if it is, I can't find it. I think paying for cable just to watch Chef Tony's infomercial and KVCS adverts for Seattle car show rooms is a little much.

I got into the house two weeks ago. The landlord (after a bit of a timing mix up on both our parts) helped me move in a bed, two chairs and small kitchen table. Coupled with two bags, that was all I had. 900 square foot with that much is Spartan enough to get a part in 300 (1).

With great expense and some effort, I filled one half of one cupboard with some plates, pans and kitchen utensils from Zellers. I can make toast and I can make tea as well. I've resisted Chef Tony's crockpot offer ($99.99 in three easy payments of $33.33, with a special measure jug if I order in the next twenty minutes), a turbo grill or a coffee machine. Having your own coffee machine in Victoria is like buying a dog and barking yourself. Not only is it more effort, your barking doesn't scare of the postmen nearly as well.

I got the TV at London Drugs (still a name that makes me smile for no good reason (3)), and had the hassle of getting 27 inches of TV home. The Taxi cab ordered had a driver singularly unable to grasp the fact that TV that size I didn't want to carry across the car park when there was perfectly good taxi bay in front of me. And thought it was the height of rudeness for me to ask him if placing a TV into the open boot of his saloon with no tie down was safe. if in Victoria, don't use Bluebird cabs, that's all I can say about that.

But TV got home safe and cabled up courtesy of Shaw. Who also provide me with Internet. At some very high speed that is perfectly suitable for downloading vast files and streaming music.

I went onto craigslist and found someone moving out of an apartment not too far away and brought up another few bits of furniture, including a bedside lamp (how annoying is it to have to get out of bed to turn the light off after reading for thirty minutes and getting real comfortable), a glider chair (like a rocking chair, but more forward and backward than rocking) and sundry other bits.

Including a table to put my TV on. With it's 75 channels. And nothing on.

(1) A recreation of the battle of Thermopylae (2) for those not up on their popular culture references. Hi Mum and Dad.

(2) 300 Spartans took on the might of the Persian army at the pass of Thermopylae and stopped further expansion of Persia into the Greek city states. For those not up on their classical references.

(3) I have no doubt Canadians find 'Boots the Chemist' an odd name as well.

---

I know my many fans have asked for more pictures. I am working on that. Finding it hard to get the distance mountaisn to look as impressive as they do in real life. They loom out as a vague shape on the horizon, which is more dramatic than being right in front of you (see HP Lovecraft or any good thriller movie).

On getting myself into Canada, I spent one night in Vancouver and then trundled to the coach stop for the island. The coach arrived on time, and almost empty. Hardly the modern air conditioned coach advertised on Pacific Coach Lines, but everything was good.

A short trip down the expressway and we arrived at Tsawwassen ferry port. Tsawwassen dock is on the end of a long causeway about as far south as you can get without crossing over into US waters. At the dock we were asked to move onto another coach. This was also empty, and was probably built in 1950's.... it smelt like it anyways.

We got onto the ferry, and off again for the 90 minute crossing. Which I spent in the Pacific Buffet having breakfast and long stare out of the window. As mentioned previously (I think) the ferry takes a route between two islands no more than 200 metres wide with two tight right angles. The islands forested cliffs tower either side, and it's an amazing view as you break through the passage into the Gulf Islands and the little villages and seaside villas.

I was pleasantly surprised to see the coach hadn't been replaced with a pony and trap for the last leg of the journey. I was less happy about the bow doors being opened for most of the docking procedure while the coach was at the front of the queue of vehicles ready to roll off. A hundred yards of water before dry land is not what I want to see. Dry land, and dry land only please.

I got down town, dumped my bags at hotel and ambled down to the Canadian equivalent of the DHSS (which is probably no longer called the DHSS in the UK either). In less time than it took me to amble across downtown (and Victoria hasn't got that big city centre. There's provincial town centres in the UK that are probably bigger) I had been awarded by Social Security Number. Armed with which I got a bank account with some very nice people at the Canadian Western Bank.

They had to be nice to me. In Canada, it seems that most banks charge a monthly fee for their services. And if you use more than x cheques (where x is single digit number) or make more than y ATM withdrawals (where y is a very small number that I'd normally cover in a week), they charge you 25p a transaction. Of course, I said, you therefore pay a top rate of interest?

Nope. I'd get more interest watching Steve Davis watching cornflakes go soggy. But that's the game here, so I've got to play it.

I then walked into work, was taken for a pint with the boss, chatted about the job and then retired to my room to catch up on some sleep.

My first attempt at flat hunting the next day was a big zero. Most of the realtors (estate agents) were closed on Saturdays. The rest referred me directly to their building managers or the small ads. The ones I did phone had either gone, or were showing the room only between 6.15am and 6.18am on Sunday to people who had pre-registered interest last April with the branch agency in Toronto.

I gave up until I could get onto the Internet a bit more permanently and use craigslist. I retired back to the hotel to read the paper, drink nice beer and free nuts in Big Bad John's Bar. A Bar that was about the first place in Victoria to serve beer after the end of city-wide prohibition (1950's I think), and they've not swept the floor since. A proud of it. It's a bit of theme bar in reality, part of the five stuffed into the Strathcona hotel.

The next day I dragged my baggage down to the backpackers hostel, (The Ocean Island Backpackers Inn, recommended for a cheap stay in the city), hooked my PC up to their wireless and checked the listings.

Perfect, a 2-bed basement flat had just been posted. 30 minutes walk and 10 minutes bus ride away from work. Phone owner, who was pleasant and headed straight over. I realise now there's a joke about living in basements, but this was a rental agreement, and not my parents flat. The guy showed me around, offered me a few bits of furniture to tide me over, and was thoroughly pleasant. I liked the space, and the layout and the extra bedroom for guests/office (I hope for the former, I expect the latter will be a more common use). But I couldn't take the first place I saw.

So I left with positive noises and walked back into town. Seeing three 'vacancy available' signs on the way back, I called the building managers and looked at two apartments.

Smaller, same price and sharing with tens or hundreds of old-age pensioners. No chance. And no power shower. Or walk in closet. Or bed. Minimum one year leases. No chance at all.

I called the landlord back. Three others had been to see it in the time it had taken me. But i was first to say yes, and provided the bank and work references checked out, I was in.

So in three days, I'd managed to get into the country, into my job, into the social security, into a bank account, and one foot into a place to live.

That's close to being efficient.

Still to come - shopping, rain, and shopping in the rain.

I've now been back in Canada for a little over 36 hours. It all moved a little fast once the paperwork came through. The Canadian government sent the lawyers a positive Labour market Opinion, saying that the job could be taken by a foreign national. The lawyers with the HR department of the company put together a pack of paperwork supporting my entry in Canada. I booked a flight on March 1st, packed up, sent boxes, said goodbye to friends and family and flew out on the 8th.

I was a rather nervous. Though I had everything I needed to apply for a work permit on landing in Vancouver, they was still a worry that something was wrong.

I got to Heathrow very early, and the check in supervisor tried to get me bumped up. Having the word 'Doctor on my ticket seemed to help, but unfortunately, all the 'Prestige' class travellers arrived. I went through security (remove belt, bags, money) only to then have another security check on my shoes. The entry to departure then forced me through duty free and the world of perfume. And people who stop in front of you. And screaming children. I found tranquillity in my iPod and sat down to read until boarding.

The flight was fine. Air Canada at least have a reasonable amount of leg room. But, as ever, I was sat behind a leaner, who had his seat back for the entire flight. Not content with that, he would try and force it even further back every hour or so. Behind I had a shuffler, who seemed to have a nervous leg twitch while asleep, booting me in the back every so often.

I hate flying with other people.

I also question Air Canada's choice of "The Guardian" as appropriate film. Not because it has at least one air crash in it, but because Kevin Costner and Aaron Kutchener are excessively annoying and could cause air rage.

On landing, unlike my normal process of sitting until everyone gets off and then meeting them all waiting in baggae claim, I got off quickly. I managed to get to immigration towards the head of the line, and sent to the special office for workers. After a short wait, I was seen, and despite my huge sheaf of papers, she checked just the passport, the job offer title and the number given by the Canadian government.

One hour after landing, I was legally allowed to work in Canada, had my bags and in a taxi to the hotel.

Why was I nervous?

(Readers note and self-promotion: TheTravelPit blog is active again, I hope to make updates every week or two as things happen. I appreciate any and all feed back. If not subscribed, there's a range of options to get this automatically sent to you, the simplest being to click on the 'subscribe' link on the right hand side of this page to get updates emailed to you. If you are on LiveJournal, or know about RSS and Feeds Reader that's also an option. If you are already subscribed, Thanks. It helps to know that other people are reading my ramble).

I flew into Glasgow on the 10th November. A comfortable enough trip, the most memorable bit was flying over the Pennines and thinking they looked rather small. A few days in a wind swept and rainy Innerleithen with my family before the trip back south to London. I spent roughly 2 hours in Edinburgh station waiting for my train, not due to lateness, but my earliness. So that was one capital. I had a quick walk onto Princes Street, goggled at the castle and the gorge that the station is buried in and scuttled back inside again.

The train south was as enjoyable as the one north, but with different emotions. Just a few weeks earlier I had zoomed north in First Class drinking tea and looking ahead to all things I would see. On my way back I was sitting in Cattle Class drink Pepsi Max and reflecting on what I done, where I'd been and whether it was worth it.

Of course it was, and by the time I reach Sheffield I was quietly smiling to myself. I'd seen part of the world, had some great experiences and was heading back to wait for the next phase. I was tired of the long travels and wanted some stability, but not for too long. Just a different base.

I was met at Kings Cross by the redoubtable Dealer (see Las Vegas) who shepherded me into a Taxi, Muswell Hill and a bar. The first taste of good old fashioned British Ale was worth the huge cost I paid for it. I then retired to my friends house for a catch up and sleep.

My first trip on the tube into Central London was a shock. It was busy, dirty and noisy. Forcing my way through the hordes of shouting school kids, men in suits and tourists was so different from the relative calm of Victoria, or the less rushed Vancouver. Even brashy Las Vegas seemed far more gentle than the assault on my sense of Tottenham Court Road at 4pm on a Friday.

But eventually, I get back in to the London Life, commuting of the tube, the lights, the fog (rare but there was some around Christmas) and the regal splendour of the Thames when it's lit up at night. Plus there's a few nice bars and a lot of good friends. Still, I am still looking forward to living in Victoria, where it's quieter, and there's more scenery.

Cardiff was the last of the three capital cities I visited. Once too see my new born nephew, and once for the Christmas festivities. The first trip was interrupted just outside Didcot Parkway when the train I was on hit someone, either at the station or just after. The brief rumble as the train went through did seem odd at the time, and even odder once the guard announced that it was a fatal accident. I thus got to Cardiff quite late and only saw a little of it while I was there. Which was a duck pond, the station and diverse members of my family.

I came back for Christmas, and thus saw even less of the city and more of my family. Though a brief seashore walk out of the city at Southern Downs was enjoyable, and seeing nature made sense.

Apart from a side trip on the road to Oxford over new year to visit Muswell Hill (Buckinghamshire) and the Duck Decoy Centre (Closed), that's my update on travel.

Or not as the case may be.  I am packed and will be on my way to the airport in 30 minutes.  My 3 month holiday is now over.  My travels aren't.  I'll be heading to Glasgow, and then down south to London for a while.  After London, depending on time, I'll be in Cardiff to see my sister's new child (when it arrives), and then back to British Columbia to start work. The exact timetable is unknown, and I intend to keep this journal updated with more thoughts and witterings on travelling. I expect to see fair amount of the Pacific North West while I work over here, so expect updates, just maybe even less frequently.

My recent trip to Victoria was mostly uneventful.  I took the coach and ferry over, booked into a cheap, but clean and warm hostel, and then set off around Victoria to try and work out what sort of place it would be to live in.  I spent most of Tuesday on foot, and crossed the peninsula that Victoria sits on, found a huge mall with great bookshop, a nice bar, a couple of short golf course and some wonderful wooded scenery overlooking the strait.

Victoria has to it's south the Olympic Mountains and to the East the Cascades.  The Olympics loom on quiet threateningly, all dark and mystic.  It's strange to see mountains across water.  The Cascades are further away, and already some had snow on, and you could see them glittering purple on the horizon.  Between there and the edge of Vancouver island is the scattering of San Juan Islands at the mouth of Puget Sound,  and you see them here and there.  I imagined myself being here with no clue what lay beyond, just these shapes I could see on the shoreline, all that unknown. And then I went and had a beer and Buffalo Burger...

The rest of the week in Victoria it rained.  Solid, solid rain.  BC has had 4-6 inches of rain the last week.  This is solid, your going to get wet rain.  Rain that fills the gutters, pools on the road in dirty great puddles, and sweeps the roofs clean of any autumn leaves.  Rain that moves earth, as there's been a few land slides around the edges of Vancouver.  This was the rain I had been warned about, after days and days of pleasant, mild sunshine in August and September. 

So I didn't see much more except downtown Victoria.  Where I found another nice bar, a great games store (and met the woner and some of his friends for a board games evening, so that was good too), and not much else of interest.  Just the same random assortment of shops that you find in any big town.

Though this is another pleasant thing about Victoria and Vancouver.  While the shops are pretty much the same, there is tendency for a lot more single/small chains in BC compared to the UK.  Okay, there's the big chains like Starbucks, the Church of Tim Hortons, London Drugs (same as Boots in the UK), and so on, there's still plenty of shops like Bolen Books, The Cafe Vieux Montreal, Jimmy's Vinyl and the like.  It might be that it's all new names to me, and these are still large chains, but it seems smaller, more friendly.  Perhaps the staff are just more welcoming?

Perhaps Canada is just more friendly than London over all. The communities are smaller, and I'm much more on the periphery than in Muswell Hill.  The world happens elsewhere, and news about a dead teenager or a local scandal in the hospital is much more likely to make front page of the locally printed newspapers.  The TV station caters for a million people, not sixty million.  This must increase some sense of local community, and given the distances between communities, they are more inward looking at times.

Thats it from me.  Catch you all on the other side of the world!

Vancouver (and the rest of North America, I guess) is a bit keen on Hallowe'en. A bit keen is bit like saying I'm 'a bit keen' on beer. I went to a (Canadian) football match on Saturday. Half the stadium that weren't in their BC Lions football shirts were in some sort of fancy dress. Though the BC Lions playing in Orange and Black meant some people might have been dressing as mutant Goth pumpkins, I guess.

Hallowe'en is party time. It's cobwebs on every door, pumpkins in half the shop windows and fake blood a go-go. It was also a chance for me to go back to Vancouver's Pacific National Exhibition grounds and their 'Fright Night'. SIX haunted houses! Rides! Displays! A haunted Maze! All operated by students more worried about mid-terms and rent!

It was cheese-tastic, but fun. A wet. Very very wet. Apparently it rains plenty in Vancouver this time of year. They call it a 'monsoon'. next time it rains for more than an hour in the UK, I shall call it a monsoon as well. But the rain does seem to last. So I got thoroughly wet while waiting in the (short) cues and sitting on damp rides.

I discovered I really didn't like the Pirate Ship (or Pilates Ship) as swinging back and forward at great height wasn't exciting but more a way of staring down at the small tire used to brake and control the ride while protected by a small aluminum bar. Luckily the controller got bored after five minutes and let us off. I was getting bored being mortally scared.

The haunted houses themselves were dark and also cheese tastic, with the occasional fright or good effect (like the bright spotty room with someone disguised against a wall dressed in the bright spots). The Haunted Maze had all it's monsters of for a cigarette break. The mini donuts were good, as was the display with a TV set showing the reactions of people in one haunted house.

Biggest disappointment? The Dodg'ems were closed.

Back in downtown Vancouver, the football game ended up in another win for the mighty BC Lions, who are now two games away from the Grey Cup (almost equivalent to the FA Cup, but more like winning the Championship playoffs in global sporting importance and attendance). Canadian Football is pretty low key, and hasn't got half the razz, pomp or circumstance of the NFL product. This means no-one takes it quite as seriously in BC (unlike ice hockey) and good times are had by all. Ice Hockey, it seems, can create a lot more animosity when two fans of opposing teams run into each other.

I like Vancouver. It's a city, all right, but it's small enough to be accessible, and nothings too big or busy for you not to find a hole for yourself. There's always something going on, and unlike London, you probably can get there easily, and join in. There's a vague edge of independence in the shops and bars, where there's still a lot of sole traders or small chains. The big chains seem shunned, or grudgingly accepted as necessary, but folks still seem to prefer Chan's Burgers to McDonalds. The Doghaus to Red Robin. Unless your Tim Horton's, the coffee and donut giant. Which is a religion, according to my friends.

This might be more of a feeling based on being the outsider and not realising these are still big province-wide faceless companies, but everyone does seem a bit more friendly, to the point I often feel rude for only say hello and thank you when getting my groceries.

I'm now back in Victoria. The exciting news is I have found a job over here, and I am waiting for a lawyer to file the paperwork necessary for work permits, and residency cards and the like. I've one week here, a few days back in BC then I am flying home to see parents, friends in London and sort out things be shipped over. When I start I don't know. So expect more, even if it's more focussed on a small part of British Columbia.