It’s difficult trying to write something when you can’t think of anything to write about. I sit in a bustling cafe on a beautiful evening in North Vancouver with an empty “new post” window open, and – nothing. Friends watch the Vancouver Whitecaps Major League Soccer game against Pacific Northwest rivals the Portland Timbers, and I sit here on my laptop with a steaming mug of chamomile tea, fighting against the bandage on my finger to try and type. Earlier, clearing away the dishes in the kitchen, I snagged my left forefinger on the cutting blade for the tin foil. The result: blood everywhere. It’s funny how such a small cut can make doing the simplest of tasks more difficult.
The other twenty-something guy on his laptop in here has obviously finished or given up on what he was doing. He just packed his Macbook into a reusable shopping bag (nice resourcefulness) and left. To be fair, it is 9:01pm on a Saturday evening on a long weekend in August. He should probably be off to do something exciting, and for that matter – so should I. In fact, what the hell am I doing here? Surely, I should be drunk in a bar, or swimming in the ocean, camping, or generally spending some time with friends. I had options, but I’m feeling lazy tonight. I went out for a couple of drinks last night. I don’t drink a lot these days – ironic, seeing as a few months ago I was managing a bar in Lebanon – and so today has been spent in a slight haze. It’s no big deal though, I’m quite happy with the anonymity of sitting in a busy cafe with a laptop. It’s strangely soothing.
It’s a nice time of night. The sun has almost set over the horizon. Not that I can see the horizon, the buildings of Lonsdale Avenue block the view, but I can still see the sky – clear, perfect blue blended wonderfully into gold. If I was a couple of stories higher – looking out the bedroom window of my apartment a block to the east for instance, I’d be able to see the silhouettes of the mountains. It’s a fantastic sight – no wonder Captain George Vancouver was so enamored by this place when he sailed here back in (checks Wikipedia) June 1792 (actually longer ago than I thought actually) during his expeditions. What a time it would have been to be alive. Discovering the new world, going to places so far flung they weren’t even named by the folks of ‘our’ world. To be the first one of a culture to step ashore in a new place. Those would have been truly amazing times.
So here I sit. The cafe has a truly spectacular array of gelato available. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that I’ve never been to a cafe with such a huge selection of gelato. Not that I frequently spend my time hunting down world renowned frozen cream-based dessert outlets, but that wouldn’t be a bad past time.
It’s funny, I would say that I have better things to do than to search out the aforementioned gelato outlets, but I don’t actually. I’ve been back in Vancouver since April, it’s now August, and I’ve not felt hugely inspired since I got back to do any writing – let alone search out world class ice cream. I love writing, I decided I wanted to be a journalist when I was about 13 years old, and headed on that trajectory since then. But I became a little disillusioned by the industry since the mass takeover of the Internet. But I love my blog, and have enjoyed writing about my various escapades across the globe, but now I’m “home” again (not that I’m even from Canada) relative normality has returned. When I first moved here I’d blog every month about what wonderful things were happening in Vancouver.
Still, wonderful things do happen – I mean I actually get paid to go bloody hiking ten times a week! That’s pretty awesome. Who the hell gets paid to hike? But, as great as that is, living here is not the same, exciting new experience that it was the first few years I was here. It’s home, it’s comfortable, it’s easy. I suppose that’s just what happens when you become used to a place, no matter how amazing it is. I feel like a bird whose wings have been clipped. I’m ready to go off traveling again. To have the uncertainty of a destination, but no route planned to get there. To have the adventure. But circumstances don’t allow for now. The bank accounts need replenishing, life here needs to be lived. Eventually, I will fly again.
Another complication: I spent three years working towards getting my permanent residency in Canada. Now I have it. I’m a couple of years off being able to apply for my passport – to become a fully fledged Canadian. But I want to travel. It’s likely, that after the next 12 months pass, that I’ll leave again for a while. I want to take time out to explore more of the world, and to live in interesting places. Twelve months ago I had just moved to Armenia – I stayed six memorable and fantastic months, and then spent another three living in Lebanon. I reminisce daily about those times. I want more of them.
But for now, I need to hang around. Admittedly, I am off to Lebanon in less than three weeks for a visit. That will be a wonderful time I am sure. Re-immersing myself in one of the most ancient parts of the world, seeing cultures and religions collide, feeling so alive, seeing the military patrols everywhere, bullet-riddled buildings of Beirut, the ever present – all encompassing feeling that something “might” happen – but probably won’t. It’s an exciting place to be. I love it there, I constantly felt inspired being there, I feel so alive there, and I love the people I’ll be with when I am back.
And then I’ll be back in Vancouver again. Gorgeous, modern, seamless Vancouver. It really is an amazing city, and I’m constantly fascinated by how quickly it’s grown. 150 years ago it was little more than a forest. The whole place was covered in bloody great trees. Now, it’s an iconic jewel of the west coast. It’s a world class city – still with it’s share of bloody great trees. And it came from nowhere. I’m lucky to be able to live here.
And here’s another thing. I am lucky. I used to scoff at people who told me I was lucky to live here. Rubbish, I’d think – anyone can do it. Anyone can apply for a working holiday visa and come and live here, find friends, make a life, have a wonderful time. And yes, you can do that – if you have a western passport. How my thoughts on that changed, when I came face to face with people I became such great friends with who were less fortunate than I, and were born in countries deemed poorer, or less well connected than the UK. Compared to those poor souls – particularly my friends from Syria, who have had to face their historic country imploding at an alarming scale. There are now more than four million registered refugees from Syria. That’s the same as the whole population of Lebanon seeking refuge, and I have but a few friends among those people. Compared to them, I am lucky, I was born in the UK, and so have a passport that allows me free reign of pretty much anywhere in the world I please.
I don’t really know where I’m going with this point. I’m just writing, but it makes me sad that I feel that I can’t really do a lot to help my friends in need. With the help of the Internet, Victoria and I raised more than $2000 to help her family find a home in Lebanon, after their livelihoods were ruined by the Syrian war. That was amazing, but they’re far from out of the woods yet. I’ve spent many hours trawling the internet and speaking to people I’ve met, trying to help them find a way out of the situation. If only I could bring Victoria, and her whole family for that matter, to Canada, I would in a heartbeat. Even if it meant them all staying in my small North Vancouver apartment and helping support them all I would, but I can’t. Perhaps I can get Victoria here, if I can find her a job as a nanny, but that’s difficult. If she could do that, she could help support her whole family financially, and have a better life, but right now that route isn’t baring any fruit. It makes me feel helpless. One day I’ll get there.
So yes, I am lucky. I came to Canada on a whim, just because I could. Things worked out for me. I’d love to allow others to do the same. It really makes me appreciate my nationality.
It’s actually amazing what you can do when you just start to write. I’ve been feeling “writer’s block” for some time now, and having just spewed out this random stream of consciousness for the past twenty minutes I’ve now written almost 1,500 words. It’s good to get that kind of thing out. It’s a great way to clear the mind. Hell, I might even publish this (and of course, if you read this – I did).
The sun has now set over the horizon. Lonsdale Avenue is now bathed in the lights of the shops and cafes. The sky is no longer up to providing illumination. It’s quite relaxing being here, in this now empty cafe, with the epic gelato selection winking suggestively at me. Maybe I’ll try a scoop, or five, and then head home.
