Day 6- May 25, 2006 - Vancouver

We got a start later than I wanted to, though I can't really complain about the extra time spent in bed. I realize I have been censoring the details of Doug and I's interactions since we've been here when he asks for the specifics for his own writing. I'm not angry with him now, though I have been since we've been here. I've hesitated to write about it, knowing that the feeling would pass and I would regret my harsh words after the fact. Sometimes he is unmanageable- he takes things too far and won't listen to my pleas to stop. He is stronger than I am and I've tried to explain how this physicality can be threatening when coupled with the unwillingness to listen. He doesn't get it.

We spend the morning looking for a diner-type breakfast place called the Omeleterry, but when we realize how far it is, we double back to another diner called the Templeton that has mint green walls , a neon clock, and jukeboxes with old time songs. The coffee was good and the table was covered with B-movie drawings that looked like smaller versions of postcards. On the way out, the waitress asks where all the good bars are in New York, and I embarrass myself, revealing that I don't drink. I will feel two feet tall all day.

On the walk to Stanley Park, we pass a couple of filmings- we gather they were for commercials or something of that caliper because there didn't seem to be much of a crew around. At the park, we walk along the water until we got to the totem poles. It's the most touristy thing we've done so far- there are tons of people there and one guy with an accent I couldn't place pulls out a postcard, shows it to Doug and asks where we are in it. Unable to give him an answer, he pulls out a map instead, and we point to the spot that says "totem poles" and explain several times that this is where we are.

From Stanley Park, we walk to the other side of the city- historical Gastown. Along the way, we stop a couple times, our legs killing us and I try to give Doug kisses but he raspberries in my face, getting spit all over my glasses. Having grossly overestimated the appeal of Gastown, we went. There wasn't a whole lot to see, just a steam powered clock that looks more impressive from low angle photographs than it does in person.

Afterwards, we went to Chinatown, not because we were particularly interested in seeing Chinatown, but because we were there already and we figured we might as well see as much of the city as possible while we could. A block away from Chinatown and everything got super quiet- despite the rest of the noise of the city, we could hear ourselves breathing, hear our footsteps hitting the pavement. It was like another city, like walking into a ghost-town, except that there were homeless people everywhere, more in a block than we'd seen the past few days all around the city combined. A pockmocked Faruza Balk lookalike- (the institutionalize Faruza Balk at the end of The Craft)- wanders past, making sure to inform us that it's her "special day". Doug starts talking about drugs, and I try not to listen, hating to be reminded of his own past, and I would rather not think about him that way because I'm sure that were I to meet him then instead of now, none of this would be happening.

We walked a few blocks further into the silent, decrepid Chinatown- "hotels" were being closed down, the area under construction, just before gentrification, and there are areas like this everywhere. We weren't comfortable, so we left before wandering too far into the heart of the area. And I'm not sure if what unnerved us was the sight of such poverty, the way it didn't fit into our idea of this city, the way maybe every city has the same sorts of problems, pushed to the side so as not to disrupt the glossy postcards we send home. Maybe we are on a vacation and choose not to be reminded of such things. We will leave and the place, the people will stay to fester. I can't imagine how some people choose to visit impoverished nations, and maybe it is awful of me to feel this way, but I can't imagine going without feeing a profound sense of Western guilt. And maybe this is the first time I feel like an American.

Hurrying out of Chinatown, we head back toward Robson Street to a date-type restaurant not unlike the place we ate the night before. Except this time, we are tucked away at a 2 person booth at the back instead of seated by the front door. The food is good, the night before's was better and we have been lucky in our eatery choices so far. When I call home at night, the first thing my parents will ask is what I ate for dinner, and Doug will think it is such a silly thing to wonder about when the city has more to offer than food.

Afterwards, we'll walk to the pastry shop we'd tried to go to the night before and it's not what I expected, but exactly what Doug expected and I will get something white chocolate and Doug will get something banana and we will forget to grab forks and eat these exotic delicious treats in our hotel room with our hands.

We're stuffed afterwards and though it's early, I tuck myself under the covers and we watch Tv for a couple hours- So You Think You Can Dance- which we probably wouldn't watch at home, but we are away and so we do. I struggle with the alarm before going to sleep.