We‘re back.
Mudslides in either Seattle, Edmonds, or Mukilteo (the exact location differs depending on who you ask) canceled all Amtrak trains on Friday and Saturday, so they threw us on a charter bus for the ride up to Vancouver. We stopped at the border, where grumpy Canadian border patrol quizzed everyone as to where we were going and why (though they didn’t search bags). On the customs declaration card, I decided to check the Yes box next to the Food/Plants box, since I was carrying a couple bags of Kukicha — when I showed it to the customs agent, he was a bit perplexed and couldn’t quite get his head around what it was, but let me pass after a minute. We ended up arriving in Vancouver at about noon.
Before doing anything else, we wanted to check in to the hostel so we could leave our packs there. So, we walked over to the Skytrain (which is basically the same as the monorail, except it goes to more than 2 places, so it’s actually useful) and purchased tickets, but nobody ever checked, nor were there any places to swipe them.
The rest of the day was spent wandering around central Vancouver and watching a little T.V. in the hostel (Canadian T.V. is really bad — maybe ours is too and I just don’t notice) till we decided to take the Skytrain back down to the meetup.
This time, we decided we wouldn’t waste money on a ticket and, if stopped, we’d just show our tickets from the last time (Nick’s excuse was going to be “I don’t speak Canadian”). After getting off the train, a homeless person informed it was something like a $163 fine for riding without a ticket, so I guess we were lucky.
We ended up at the Plaza of Nations at about 4:30, 30 minutes early. Sparky and his wife arrived around 4:45, and Sean and Cimm came along fashionably late, with Cheddar swinging by at about the same time. Two other people were there, who’s names I forget. We hung around the Plaza a bit waiting for stragglers who were supposed to show but never did, and for Cimm to locate a new Thai restaurant (the one we were supposed to go to was closed). After a bit, Sean and Cimm gave Nick, Cheddar and I a ride to the restaurant. Enki, Quoth, and Sean’s wife met us at the restaurant.
Dinner was tasty. I had some sort of spicy duck and green beans, Nick’s came in half of a pineapple, and part of Sean and Sparky’s (they were on a date) came in a coconut. Exotic. And cheap.
After a few group photos and a little more hanging about, we all split up at about 8-9PM.
Nick and I went back the hostel, discovered Hackers was on, and watched that.
Checkout time was at 11AM, and neither of us were about to get up early enough for that naturally, so I set my watch and phone alarm and Nick set his phone alarm to play Radiskull (never wake up to Radiskull).
The hostel had a back room where we could leave our packs for the day, so this morning we checked out, left our packs there, and wandered around looking for a place to eat breakfast. Both of us got sausage with our breakfast (the sausage was really bad, I only had a few bites — but the hashbrowns were excellent…real potatoes!), but during the meal I wondered, had we asked for bacon, if we would have been given Canadian bacon or bacon bacon. Something to try next time, I suppose.
The rest of the day was spend wandering all around Vancouver (did you know you have to be 18 to get in any arcade, any time?), seeing The Producers, and wandering around some more. At about 5PM we got the Skytrain back to the Amtrak station and got in line to board our train.
Before getting on the train, we had to go through Canadian immigration and customs. This time, few of them were sporting firearms and none had bullet proof vests (at the border crossing on Saturday, they all did). They were also friendly and cracked jokes — but that didn’t stop them from taking more time with me than anyone else. I suppose everyone with long hair, a boonie hat, swat jacket, and pants tucked into combat boots looks like a terrorist. (It should be mentioned that I left all knives at home, as Amtrak doesn’t like them on the train.) The lady asked me to empty out my pockets onto the table, but she didn’t pat me down or anything like that (at all points in the trip, it would have been exceedingly easy to carry questionable items to-and-fro). She also searched both by bags, but not very thoroughly (despite the time she spent doing it). I was surprised she didn’t seem to notice the little leather bag I had in my man-purse, which only contains quarters, but looks a heck of a lot like a bag someone would keep their weed in, or any of the first aid kits or survival kits in my bags that could probably be used to kill someone (and contain drugs). She did seem to take special notice in three items, the first of which was my book. While it isn’t too questionable, it is about illegal (in Canada and the U.S.) entheogens, so I’m sure it didn’t help anything. The next was my bookmark, which is a flyer for the Soapbox Infoshop and mentions something about revolution (along with a few unkind comments about the government). The last was the little bottle of Dr. Bronner’s Tea Tree Oil soap which, with all the writing, confused her a bit as to what it was. After the dog sniffed my bags and they were put through the x-ray machine (though I wasn’t), everyone was satisfied and they let me on the train.
The train ride home was uneventful, except when the train stopped in Blaine, WA so that U.S. Customs could come on board (with guns) and check our passports.
I got off the train in Bellingham, while Nick stayed on till Everett.
One 45 minutes walk uphill later, here I am.
All in all, the trip was fun. I’ll most likely head up for next year’s politics, Sean’s just a normal guy in khakis and a polo).
I did bring my camera, but, for one reason or another, didn’t take any pictures. Sorry. You’ll have to wait till either Sparky uploads his photos (probably a few weeks) or Cimm releases the video he took (probably never).
Update: Links added.
Update 2: While going through my wallet today looking for my laundry card, I discovered I still had my NRA membership card in there (no, I’m not a member. They sent me a membership card a while ago that I carry around as a joke — I don’t know how they got my name or address). The lady at customs on the way back did look through my wallet, and seemed to take more time looking at some cards than others, so I’m sure that wasn’t very helpful either (especially in conjunction with everything else I had on me, i.e. the soapbox flyer mentioning revolution and drug book).