Perhaps it is an obvious consequence of time being invested elsewhere, but I had optimistically hoped not for my endurance to wither within such a short period. Returning to regular pilates sessions was not particularly difficult, though chills were frequently felt, as were moments of abnormal warmth. The mind and body were drained despite little engagement with the outside world.
As I begin to re-learn my "old" ways - ways temporarily forgotten with a sudden swap of surroundings and resources - I'm dismayed to discover new areas of weakness and lower levels of productivity. Perhaps it is an obvious consequence of time being invested elsewhere, but I had optimistically hoped not for my endurance to wither within such a short period. Returning to regular pilates sessions was not particularly difficult, though chills were frequently felt, as were moments of abnormal warmth. The mind and body were drained despite little engagement with the outside world. Breakfasts consisted of: coffee, far more accessible than before with all equipment and roasts on hand, and items derived from a seemingly endless freezer stash. Buttermilk Eggos were a recent addition, unknown to me until my return; blue sky bran muffins and banana bread (marbled or unmarbled) welcomed me back in a toasty, cinnamon-laced embrace. The first few meals back would comprise of congee (for detoxing), kale (for iron), and lean pork (for more iron). At times of weakness, Ensure was consumed for a boost of protein. However, nausea and a persistent headache refused to depart. An inability to obtain quality sleep was another telling exhibit of unwellness. After unpacking, I began to tackle the next order of business: my medical appointments. Walk-in clinics were far more accessible back home, making both securing an appointment and completing an x-ray simpler and speedier. The results of the diagnostic tests have yet to be relayed at this point in time, but, in the very least, the rapid antigen test device reads negative.
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More unpacking ensued, reminding me yet again of the annoyances of travelling. Vacation is great. Travelling is not. The sleepy polar bear emerged on my boulevard with a six-pack of mochi donuts - on his own accord, of course. Donuts have never been an item of fondness for me, and even those bearing limited knowledge of my preferences expressed surprise at the selection: "Not Gong Cha?" No, I would be served sugar instead of coffee jelly and luscious Oolong milk tea. I had explicitly expressed no intentions of leaving my humble abode until all physical and digital content materializing as a result of the trip had been sorted thoroughly. Perhaps I ought to have vocalized that donuts weren't my style either, though it wasn't too difficult a deduction should critical observations been made. While I would never have bothered to invest in such costly fad snacks, I will admit that the chewiness harnessed within offered better texture than regular donuts. That said, this chewy consistency was sustained only when fresh, with the cross sections revealing themselves stale and rigid the next day. Obnoxiously sugary on the first day, I experienced an instantaneous headache. I wanted nothing more than to strip them of their colourful dip and solely munch of its base - the Old-Fashioned Plain Timbits are my go-to for a reason. They were acceptable the next day, with the Sea Salt Honeycomb proving the best overall. Hong Kong Milk Tea bore no resemblance whatsoever to the its name, while Ube was vaguely similar, albeit masked within sugariness. Nevertheless, I wouldn't hesitate to pass them up next time around. It was an interesting taste, but not a comprehensibly enjoyable one. The gift had been poorly timed, for little was it known that I had assembled a Chocolate Mousse Cake just in advance of the donuts' arrival. With a penchant for curbing cravings from the evening prior, I proceeded to realize my true item of affection, starting from the base utilized in Sunday Baking's Rich Chocolate Mousse Cake. To my dismay, the cake disintegrated upon touch. The gluten content was severely lacking, as it had also been in the seven-layer Pecan Chocolate Mousse Cake With Chocolate Ganache. I only realized later the absence of flour - neither all-purpose nor cake flour had been added, meaning that stability relied strictly on the inclusion of cocoa powder. I re-watched the video twice afterwards, just to confirm my understanding. Visually, the cake was identical to the slab shown in the video. On the other hand, the same degree of sturdiness was not to be witnessed. Consequently, any future chocolate cake layers shall revert to roll cake formulas - or maybe the inclusion of cornstarch? Brownies rely on aerated eggs and cornstarch after all. Whipped cream and melted Surfin formed the middle layer of chocolate mousse, with a small portion of melted chocolate reserved for ganache. Alas, in my haste, I had omitted the heavy cream entirely, yielding a firm block of chocolate on the surface. It weighed down on the components underneath, causing the mousse to ooze and the fragile cake to crumble even further: Chaos. Rapidly cleaning up the edible catastrophe, I readied myself with my first outing since return. Donning freshly tinted treads, a new AIRism tank, recently acquired accessories, and a spritz of Maison Kitsuné x James Heeley's Note de Yuzu, I set off to re-familiarize myself with the conditions of 401 and the Gardiner after 3 weeks of involuntary dependence on Vancouver's up-and-coming Translink system and Uber. The reservation at Yuzuki has made just three days before, and actually as a backup to Shinobu at Yonge and Lawrence. The York Mills sushi spot was discovered to operate a total of 13 hours over a seven-day span, making calling the establishment quite a challenge while still on a time difference. I opted for the cozy Yonge-Bloor destination instead, for it was responsive to calls and a receiver of consistently positive feedback. Journeying downtown on a weekend was just as I recalled: a tad frustrating at times, given the increased number of weekend drivers, but otherwise decent. Parking was found at the Green P garage adjacent to Tokyo Kitchen. The neighbourhood was exactly as it had been several years ago: grimy, bustling, and questionable. Furthermore, places I had flagged as mediocre (Tokyo Kitchen) and despicable (TIKA, WISH) were still standing, shockingly enough. View the full album HERE !
It was only natural that, given the amount of new material acquisitions, I would spend the following days nonstop unpacking. Luggage was emptied, souvenirs were sorted, purchases were organized, and laundry was completed. During this procedure, I also unveiled a delightful assemblage of artwork from orderlyblue. Beyond being a friend of mine since the Before We Begin Vancouver stop, she is a flourishing artist, teacher, and entrepreneur in her own right. To declare my pride in her is an understatement; she is young but intrepid, and contemplative but resolute. Prior to the Lynn Canyon trip, I had expressed interest in supporting her craft, to which she responded enthusiastically. Her stunning creations, meticulously sealed in individual sleeves and bubble-wrapped for extra protection, were finally revealed upon reaching home. Delicate, precise linework, harmonious colours, impressive innovation, and astounding attention to detail were witnessed in each and every piece. Despite being able to appreciate the extensive effort that is contributed to the creative process and its incarnation for consumption, rarely am I to spend hours viewing art. But orderlyblue's work were those I wished to continue gazing upon, those that I found joy within. Friends and family were quick to express similar thoughts as I. Follow-up purchases are intended to be made. I was also in awe at the souvenirs that she had obtained for me from her recent trip to Hawaii. The first was an adorable fridge magnet, in which the magnet was embedded inside of the wooden design itself, rather than affixed to the outside with oozing adhesive. The second was a lucky cat pin slurping ramen, and on the bowl showed the islands of Hawaii. Amongst the largest voids emerging throughout the trip were: a distinct lack of Larry and the convenience of a personal vehicle, for door-to-door trips that could take whenever my heart desired. I proceeded to satisfy the first of these longings immediately after being relieved of the aircraft grime. Larry, along with both sizes of Sulleys, had undergone deep cleansing rituals in my absence. Radiating from them were fragrant clouds of cleanliness, along with noticeable boosts in fluffiness. With luggage cases zipped up for storage, I moved onto the next item on my list: packages. Three copies of GOT7's revolutionary comeback EP - and one unfathomably thick copy of W Korea - had arrived within the first week of my West Coast excursion. One copy was none other than my travel buddy's, the Thai ahgase. News of the heavenly heptet's return as seven had already been a blessing for us all. For them to expand beyond digital releases and attend group schedules was another degree of elation altogether, whether we be observing the process in person or not. At long last, my fingers would glide over a physical album, over lyrics that each member had thoughtfully assembled with the sole intention of "repaying" ahgases. Truthfully, our patience needed no compensation, for once an ahgase is always an ahgase. GOT7 is home, after all. I was particularly impressed by the lyric translations included for each song: English, (Simplified) Chinese, and Thai - the primary languages spoken by the fandom.
All was well that night until nearing the eleventh hour. While resting in bed with a side of YouTube, my stomach began to churn. Nausea crept up from within, without a cause knownst to me. I peeled myself away from the cozy covers and headed towards the bathroom. By this point, I had begun experiencing dizziness and lightheadness. Before long, the stomach pains intensified. Clutching onto my stomach, I bent over, unable to utter a word in response. "I don't feel well." I recall meekly saying amidst the misery. Then, the memory is cut short. When I came to consciousness, I had turned 180 degrees from my original position, head against the bathtub and glasses on the floor beside me. Breathing heavily, I realized that I was breaking out in cold sweat. My eyelids, being too heavy to raise, remained in their resting position, shielding my pupils from the dazzling rays of the bathroom spotlights. In that moment, I could not speak. Slowly, I began to wiggle my fingertips, making an effort to remove myself from the cold tiling. I felt an urge to vomit and launched myself towards the toilet. The sweat began to dry; I sat in silence. More vomit came, followed by intense stomach pains, then multiple rounds of diarrhea.
It would appear to be food poisoning, with a side of faintness. Originally thought to have finished all downtown explorations for the trip, a last-minute adventure to the West End came to fruition with an acquaintance's all-too-tardy request for a postcard. (Seriously, you couldn't have asked earlier? Like before my three-week stay?) After a breakfast of pourover and hot chocolate marbled banana bread, I managed to squeezed in yet another load of laundry. Baking tools were meticulously wrapped and put away for use on the next visit. Then, I would set out for the Vancouver Aquarium. Uber emerged as my medium of choice, for the trip by transit would constitute well over an hour, making for a lengthier trip than my energy reserve would tolerate. The driver was both curious and confused at my mid-day trip request. "Do you work at the Aquarium?" he pondered aloud. "No, I'm just going for souvenirs." I clarified. "A friend asked." At hearing that I was on vacation without much of a tourist mindset, we began to engage in discussions about work, bubble tea supply and demand, and his personal local favourites. mello donuts and machi machi were announced as the must-go destinations. In addition to Uber, he told me, he was also invested in two other jobs: an export-import business operated between friends and an assistant to his wife's catering company. "You gotta hustle to survive here!" he declared. Before undertaking on the trip, I had contemplated my alternatives: local Canada Post offices or the smaller Van Aqua outpost past baggage drop at YVR. The former proved unsuccessful, for there were strictly Canada-themed postcards available, and tacky ones at that. The latter wasn't impossible, but operating hours may not necessarily coincide with my early departure time, as a relative had pointed out. I called to confirm that the gift shop was accessible without admission before embarking. Surely enough, it was.
Read Part 1 HERE ! Dinner plans were slated in the upcoming hours. It was in this period that confusion ensued, for while my planning had been immaculate - even if I do say so myself, hectic lifestyles often lead to forgetfulness and careless skimming. At first glance, it may seem like the world and its occupants has betrayed your earlier agreements, when, in reality, there is little that organization can do when the facts are not read and the text is not processed. In an attempt to postpone the reservation just hours prior, we were informed that we could either maintain it or surrender and try our luck with walk-ins for bar spots. My ride chose the former, and I hurried to ensure no further delays. Raisu had been an eatery of interest for over two years and counting. In fact, it had been my first choice for Japanese fare in 2020 - that is, until I was denied the opportunity in favour of the Chinese-operated Kyabia. Hidden between a fish market and produce stall, the renowned restaurant was located on a second floor space, entrance indicated by nothing else beyond a cloth curtain bearing its name and the most typical of Asian household appliances: the ricecooker. At the top of the stairs was a landing area and hostess table. There, we were greeted and our reservation details verified. We were informed that, due to the outdoor dining area being full, my patio request could not be granted. Guided past the bar seats, we were shown a dim table in the corner of the restaurant with a clear view of the kitchen, rectangular bar area, and patio. It was a roomy booth with ample space for mobility, but illumination was severely lacking.
A vacant two-seater was observed on the patio, and we posed the request again, but this time to the waitress. She agreed to shift us over, warning that it was less spacious. Extended periods of time off alleviates the pressures sustained from boundaries mandating the completion of certain tasks. For once, I need not plan so thoroughly. I need not allocate specific days for specific appointments. I need not concern myself over the consequences of schedule delays or underestimated time-to-complete. Lunch comprised of a soft-boiled egg and kimchi fried rice from DooBoo, while cookies (with rugged knife depressions) served as a light mid-day snack. For dinner came asparagus spears from T&T and Baked Fried Rice with Seafood and Pork Chop leftovers from Cattle Café.
With my days on the West Coast withering away, it was only fitting to maximize the remainder of my unsalted butter for another batch of cookies. My fundamental array of tools were kept consistent: A weighted tumbler as a rolling pin and a dull knife for cookie separation. This time around, I took to toothed depressions along across the surfaces in addition docking the pieces with chopsticks, Lego-style. They were unequivocally as delicious as the variation with expired matcha. Aside from clearing out the fridge, I had another mission to tend to - an undertaking normally reserved for locals. The province imposing recycling deposit fees for all packaged beverages in an attempt to encourage sustainable living (read that carefully: it is merely an attempt and no more) had angered me greatly. For the first few days of my stay, I had left our plastic water bottles in the hotel room. They had been too great of a hassle to lug though about. Since having accumulated quite a number of return-able items over the course of my stay though, efforts to recover the sum were now warranted. After conducting some research, I learned of the designated return locations, as well as any independent features (ie. no alcohol, etc.) While I admit that I found it odd to have non-alcoholic and alcoholic bottle deposits retrieved at the same facility, I wasn't about to complain about the convenience; no additional run was needed. The trek to OK Bottle was surprisingly quick. It also felt more enjoyable given the breezier - yet still sunny - conditions. Within seventeen minutes, I arrived at the storefront. Meandering through the rows of vehicles, I realized that I had found myself facing the end-of-day rush. My arrival had coincided with their last hour of operation, for they were slated to close at 5 PM. The lineup was long and traffic was high, yet many people continued to haul bags brimming with empty containers from the asphalt lot. Within the facility were trays for sorting: they were grimy, just like The Beer Store, but noticeably filthier with black patches along the blue plastic crates. Slipping into the queue, I observed a very local experience. One tray had been sufficient for my needs, for I was only returning six bottles: 5 standard beverages and 1 beer can. The lineup moved quickly despite limited staff behind the counter. Constantly heard echoing throughout the space was the shattering of glass, likely from haphazard tosses of returns. These sounds were less frequent at The Beer Store, for sorting compartments were hidden from view in a separate room, dissimilar to OK Bottle Depot's open concept with high ceilings. I received sixty cents back - the lowest amount for anyone there. It seemed that most people visiting at the time were elderly, which made sense given that most adults would be working (or leaving work) around 4 PM on a Monday. After another visit to Richmond Centre (and two Canada Posts), I headed back to So'o via the 414. It was a small-format shuttle operating between Richmond-Brighouse and the Richmond Olympic Oval. Only a handful of high school students were aboard the bus, which led to me to conclude residential proximity to the Oval or attendance in extracurricular activities nearby. The driver actually departed the terminal earlier than scheduled, zipped through the local streets aggressively, then came to a screeching halt just before the Elmbridge Way/Minoru Blvd stop - requested by both myself and a teenager with lash extensions. Following the pricey partial dye job, I had been made aware of the salon's one-week colour guarantee. Within this period, I could return for remediation services, should the colour exhibit fading and deviations from the intended result.
Unlike the average voyager, there are few places in the GVA that I pinpoint as "must-go" destinations. Often do I have indexes stashed at the back of mind, but rather than fervently checking items off a list, the roster is viewed less as a schedule and more as a assemblage of possibilities. My sole missions in Vancouver are those constituting familial significance. Such duties led to Burnaby, where I naturally ̶s̶u̶g̶g̶e̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ requested Cattle Café for lunch. While initially offered one of the boots along the perimeter of the restaurant, I opted for a roomier four-seater instead. It was brighter, more spacious, and, most importantly, been the same table I had sat at many years ago. For nostalgia's sake, I took the exact seat as before, back against the cushioned common area. There was no Red Bean Ice or HK Milk Tea floated in ice this time around, but instead hot cups of Lemon Tea to soothe morning jitters. At failing to find my go-to HK café dish of Baked Ox Tongue in Tomato Sauce, I took to the closest contender: the House Special Baked Fried Rice with Seafood and Pork Chop (C09 牛仔雙色焗飯 (海鮮及豬排)). Occupying one half of the ceramic dish was pork chop covered in starch-thickened ketchup sauce; frozen seafood medley in starch-thickened white sauce was found on the other. Not a strand of choy was in sight.
A good day starts with uninterrupted sleep. Next comes the unhurried sipping of coffee. And thirdly, maybe some editing to kickstart the day.
Drawing away the blinds revealed reveal blue skies, bountiful fluffy clouds, and the distant beauty of mountains - a bona fide BC backdrop.
River Road at No. 2 Rd Bridge Lookout Point (49.174108, -123.158823)
The weather was splendid - ideal for my planned bike return trip. Gearing up in cycling attire inclusive of a hi-vis top and padded bottoms, I set out to complete the L-shaped route to Steveston, edged by the Fraser River.
No. 1 Rd North Drainage Pump Station Lookout Point (49.174197, -123.181108)
Admittedly, the path was of a greater difficulty level than anticipated. With the north side of the River Road trail being mostly gravel, it wasn't the smoothest of rides, but the view was spectacular nonetheless. Tree cover was minimal; with ample sunshine flooding the skies, I began to feel the blaze of the sun on my arms, especially as breezes subsided.
The River Road trail transitioned to the West Dyke Trail at Terra Nova, the northwest tip of Richmond. Despite desires to undertake the detour, I decided against cycling through the Rural Park. At peak afternoon hours, the park had filled with young families and children, filling the play area to capacity.
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Who Am I?Formerly an avid owner of several interest-based portals, Random Thoughts of a Quirky Blogger presents precisely the elements expected. From experiments in the kitchen to miscellaneous musings, from IGOT7 reflections to developments in transportation infrastructure, it's all consolidated here. Welcome to the raw, unfiltered side of Quirky Aesthetics. Archives
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