This past Labour Day long weekend, my sisters and I took a break from all that labouring we do (toiling in the fields, milling our own flour, scrubbing floors with bars of lye, beating out carpets with rolling pins) and headed to Vancouver for a couple of days of fun in the ocean sun. As I leave fair Canada on Monday, this weekend was also one last jubilee of good times before we have to part for an unknown period of time.
Let's not even dwell on that subject.
Because I already have, and I may or may not have cried. Then phoned Dan, and he may or may not have been worried and made me enter into a verbal contract wherein I promised that yes I would board all flights that are to carry me to Zurich next Monday.
But back to Vancouver. Have you ever been? Isn't it beautiful? And does anyone but me note that its population is a bunch of healthy hippies? Because Vancouver is probably the only city in the entire world where you will ever go to a hot dog cart, ask for a casing of unidentifiable meat slapped on a mediocre bun with a squirt of mustard, and you automatically receive a whole wheat bun with the option to have seaweed served over your organic dog.
Seaweed on a hot dog is weird.
Also, are 'organic' hot dogs even possible? Does that mean that the hot dog I just ate is comprised of discarded meats that have been tossed into gold buckets instead of scraped up off a factory floor? And then organic fairies sprinkled marketing dust all over those meat scraps, kissed them for luck, and sent them into the world?
Oh Vancouver, you are pretentious in the best way possible. Because let's face it, all cities have something about them that shouts "I'm better than you" and the voice of Vancouver just happens to say, "I drink wheat grass, abhore gluten, and only eat foods produced within a 100 mile radius of my composting toilet." And you will be powerless to that voice and you will love that voice, because Vancouver is a rare diva who is beautiful both inside and out.
And if you can, you should visit.
Vancouver is a city of people who wear athletic gear under their power suits, so if you go try to become a local: take a shot of trendy wheat grass, eat the seafood, try that free yoga class in the park (let me know how it goes), and take more than a minute to meditate and let your lungs fill with ocean air.
But don't, for the love of processed food, eat seaweed on your hot dog.