Vancouver

Even the camera shutter was jet lagged. Check out the samsonites under my eyes. That ain't no carry on luggage, sister. At this point, I had been in Canada for less than 12 hours and already I am asking myself, "What the hell am I doing here?" I mean, seriously. Sure it's crisp and the sky is perfect. But IT'S FRIGGING COLD. Oh yeah, I forgot. It's January. Stupid me.

The sun does not come up until about 8 a.m. either which makes for some absolute Siberian nights when the jet lag pops you out of bed at around 1:00 a.m. So you wait about seven hours for a ray of light or two and how many repeats of SportsCenter can you watch in the mean time? It's groundhog day for SportsCenter in the wee hours of the morning.




Upon checking into my room I noticed that both BC Place (football) and GM Place (puck) were just a few blocks away. This being January, there were no Lions games on, (that would be the CFL), and it was just as well anyhow because there is a rule that you have to know the name of at least one player on a team if you go watch them live. The Canucks, of whom I am slightly more familiar, were dropping the puck in about an hour against the Wild. Oh boy. Well I had to rush out the door and down to the game, don't you know.

Three minutes to game time and I managed to scalp a pretty decent seat off a Kiwi who lives in Vancouver and has season tickets to the Canucks. His knowledge of hockey was amazing, particularly considering where he comes from. New Zealand is an enormously provincal sporting country where events like netball in Otago and sheep-shagging in Tauranga usually clear out about four or five pages in the daily paper. And yet here was this Kiwi telling me how the sometimes high-flying Swedish Sedin twins often disappear against heavy hitting teams like the Wild. Pretty damn deep, I would say, and he even turned me onto the bounteous joys of Rickard's White on tap. Oh yeah, the Canucks lost 4-2 and the Sedin's disappeared almost on cue.





But while the Sedin's disappeared, my jet lag didn't. So I decided to chase the sunrise and head over Lion's Gate Bridge to drive up to Whistler before the 2010 Olympic rush hits. I figured 800 days or so was a pretty good head start. The sea to sky freeway is all the rage but all I can say is stay away. The damn thing is far from complete and while there are some pretty stunning stretches, constucruction was truly a pain in the rear and this was on a non-descript Wednesday morning. I am sure the entire stretch, from downtown Van to Whistler village, is a parking lot on the weekends.



When I did finally make it to Whistler Village, I was passed by a kid with a snowboard who was tripping off to the slope for the day and who was being trailed by a particularly pungent aroma. I know, I know, a snowboarder digging a bone is not exactly news. But the complete lack of regard on his part as he walked through a fairly busy area was oddly reassuring for me as I felt I was now getting the total Whistler tourist experience: beautiful mountains, endless skies, crisp powder, maddening traffic back-ups and, duuuuude, rasta-boarders.


OK, my research is complete, I can go home now. Well maybe not home, but on to Seattle. However before I leave my beloved native land I had to catch up with an old, old friend who we will call Dr Yes because he is the anithesis of evil Dr No. Doc Yes and I used to do some silly things in high school and it's nice to know we are still capable of doing silly things despite our advanced years. Again, you know where this is going. Ouch. Despite his growing stature in the international medical community and work with the UN, the doc has resisted the lure of becoming one more obscenely overpaid pirate of pain to focus on public health and most specifically addiction research. He is currently toiling in the belly of the beast at a practice in the heart of Vancouver's notorious East end.

He also claims that my father, who was his principal for six years, had a profound influence on him and instilled in him the notion of giving something back to the community. All I can say is his career is a wonderful tribute to the life of Bwana Joe. I am truly touched. Good work Dr Yes. And thanks for the session of "self-medication" as well.

I'm taking my hangover on the road and heading to Seattle but before I go I have to admit that listening to the Doctor talk about his work, I can't get that Amy Winehouse song "Rehab"
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LD5sahXoj0U)
out of my head. It's one of those guilty pleasures, an addictively catchy tune despite the sordid topic.