"Your bag is too heavy! You need to take some things out and carry it." piped a middle-aged lady in a thick European accent.
She pointed to the repacking area, where I somehow managed to rearrange my belongings to meet the threshold precisely.
Just as I despise evening movies, I'm not a fan of afternoon flights heading east. Surrendered to the natural phenomenon that is geographical time difference is productivity - a factor that I relentlessly strive to harness in this eternally advancing world.
I booked my return trip around the late morning hours, and proceeded to hop on an Uber after a frenzy of egg-boiling, laundry-doing, and last-minute packing. All was smooth sailing until I arrived at baggage drop-off; my bag refused to join the others on the belt.
"Your bag is too heavy! You need to take some things out and carry it." piped a middle-aged lady in a thick European accent. She pointed to the repacking area, where I somehow managed to rearrange my belongings to meet the threshold precisely.
Thankfully, there were no issues at security. I had made the boarding call with time to spare, munching on cookies on RITZ as the Zones were called up, one by one.
A Grilled Chicken Summer Salad, several short shut-eye sessions, and a quick round of mahjong tied me over until I was back home at the chillier end of the country.
0 Comments
Of all the stops along the Canada Line corridor, Marine Drive was one at which I had never disembarked since the completion of the SkyTrain. It had mainly served as a transfer point in its first few years of operation, until shops and services began forming what is known today as Marine Gateway
Development around the station had been observed during previous years, while en route to Downtown. And, with the lunch destination suggestion of a local Vancourite, I was able to peruse the area (with its unopened shops and all their eerieness) at long last.
There wasn't much to see at the early hour of 10:30 AM. Steve Nash was open, and so was Timmy's. But the Marine Drive bus hub primarily served as a transfer point for those heading east or west from the grade-separated rapid transit system.
Read Part 1 HERE !
At the 4 PM mark, I unloaded my first package of baked goods and bid farewell. My next order of business was to head downtown. First on the to-do list was a Compass card from the Stadium-Chinatown service station. It was an odd request from a certain transit-abhorring prehistoric creature, but nonetheless a manageable task to attain in between social activities.
I dreaded the neighbourhood and all its foulness. Personally deemed to be "Homeless Central", it's not a far cry from the poverty-striken pits of DTLA. Brimming with sleazy, smelly souls hunched from overdose and intoxication, the only elements missing are tents.
Having endured my twenty-minute wait at the service counter, I then maneuvering swiftly to International Village's Oomomo for more cookie cutters. International Village was not far from Jackson Square's odd retail attachment, except not even Hamilton had garbage taking joyrides on coattails of the wind.
Thankfully, there are alternate routes to remove oneself from the heinous hoodlum turf and ease back into the calming confines of Gastown.
A Torontonian-turned-Vancourite met up with me and gladly assumed the role of a tour guide. From within Herschel's West Coast flagship, one could partake in retail therapy in addition to appreciating a panoramic perspective of Canada Place and the Vancouver Cruise Ship Dock.
Suppertime crept up slowly, and we proceeded to the pre-determined location of Kokoro Tokyo Mazesoba.
My former Scarborough suburbanite of an Uber driver had been correct: the city gets a bit grouchier during rainy climate.
I awoke to grey, overcast skies, demonstrating not even so much as a streak of sunlight. There was little incentive to go out, unlike the previous day, where the climate had essentially beckoned me from the other side of the glass.
I took to my partially planned baking endeavours instead. After all, eggs and heavy cream were now in possession (at long last).
First was Sunday Baking's Basque Cheesecake. The concept of the cake was ridiculously straightforward, as are most cheesecakes; obtaining the signature charred surface was the trickiest aspect. Between the "Convection Bake", "Gentle Bake", and "Surround (Bake)" options, I made do with a mixture of the latter settings, then let the cake cool overnight as directed.
Re-attempting smitten kitchen's sugar cookies were another tale altogether. Summarized by an excess of baking powder, insufficient matcha, and a too-tiny oven (that resulted in baking tray burns), the cookies fell short of the brilliant green profile and satisfying bite that I had achieved the last time around. A softer shortbread finish emerged instead.
Opulent azure skies and beaming rays of sunshine overlooking ceaseless, mellifluent ripples is a honestly sight I could never tire of.
Each morning spawned a different view of the waterfront: some hazy, some cloudy, and some offering a crisp prospect of snow-capped mountains in the remote distance.
The best part of all: I was separated from such breathtaking grandeur by a mere pane of glass, and could easily dive into this scenic dimension at my heart's desire. It essentially beckoned me forth.
"Come enjoy me! You know you won't get the same treatment back home." And that was an aspect I could not deny.
I suited up for an outdoor run along the river - an act completely out of character. Hiking underneath the shield of forest cover amasses great fondness, though the same can rarely be said, if ever, in regards to sunny sprints. Alas, with such a stunning landscape caressing my vision, the opportunity simply could not be turned down.
Post-shower and post-stretch, I came to the conclusion that weather conditions were too optimal to remain house-ridden for the rest of the day.
A Lyft ride later, and I crossed onto Granville Island, experiencing the breath of the creek and gusts of the dock.
My last trip had entailed only a swing by Steveston. Meanwhile, my most recent memory of the tourist-friendly attraction was so vague I could barely recall the setting, let alone season of visit. Sauntering about the district enabled re-familiarization; the single element that persisted in my mind was the busking area, a space of minimal evolution.
"Beautiful British Columbia" - there's tremendous validity behind this description.
Foreshadowing a sunny afternoon was a mysterious blue cloak overlooking the Fraser River. Streaked with a breathtaking glimmer of pink, it very nearly emulated light at the end of the tunnel.
In wait of sunrise, I began to assemble breakfast. But something felt lacking.
I took to another iteration of smitten kitchen's Banana Bread recipe, swapping out vanilla extract for 24 g of honey. Roasted peanuts were also incorporated into the mix, but ultimately discovered to be too big and not as suitable as walnuts.
Observing the oven from a distance, I proceeded with my scheduled blogilates/Zumba program - in bursts, if you will - before munching on some greens and readying myself for some much-coveted katsu.
Dosanko would have been the ideal choice. Alas, the closest outpost in the vicinity was Aberdeen's Saboten.
By no means is Saboten mediocre - since there really isn't "bad food" in this part of the country - however it wasn't a seamless alternative either.
Heavy hankerings for a katsu dish devoid of rice, I earnestly expressed my request to the boy behind the cashier. He turned to evaluate the options on the menu board behind him, then turned back to face my inquisitive gaze. "There isn't one without rice." He went on to suggest one of the sets, for they supposedly "contained the least amount of rice."
Having somehow sustained the chaos that was a 23-hour period of activity, I expected absolute annihilation by fatigue. Yet, the body was met with a jolt of energy come the next morning.
Weather conditions were unbelievable, in the most wondrous, exercise-encouraging manner. With potential plans in the late morning though, I resorted to heading downstairs to the gym instead.
Post-activity stretching took place while overlooking the beauty of the Fraser River.
Pangs of hunger began to externalize soon after, so instead of gearing up for the arrival of the next bus, foodora's services were summoned.
I've never one to be a last-minute packer, or a last-minute anything-er, as a matter of fact. Howbeit, I've found myself asking others time and time again whether certain tasks are "really all that urgent" - whether they deserve the "p" word (that I've learned to distinguish as "priority" and not "please").
Six hours of tossing and turning later, I was airport-bound. There, the lengthiest domestic security check was endured, and I soon came face to face with the new terminal's retail and gating developments. The restructured appearance came as an utter surprise; remaining consistent was my old friend, who greeted me with a smile, as if three-and-a-half years had not elapsed at all.
A banana, apple juice-ginger ale hybrid, and a foamy airline Breakfast Sandwich tied me over until arrival at YVR.
Whilst awaiting the buzzer of the baggage belt, I ventured up to the Departures floor, where a Vanilla Latte was secured with much glee. Ahhh, coffee.
I then proceeded with my surprise landing plans. Lugging four pieces of luggage across the pedestrian overpass, onto the SkyTrain, transferring, then rolling back onto the vehicle was no easy feat. Eventually, after far too hefty of a fare deduction, I made it to Aberdeen.
|
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
September 2024
Categories
All
|
WHAT DOES "QUIRKY AESTHETICS" MEAN?Quirky = a term that commonly refers to something/someone distinctly different and unique |
Contact MESubscribeJoin our mailing list today!
|