Big Birds Across The Sky

At the entrance to the departure lounge in Auckland airport stands a huge vaguely Viking figure, a twelve foot high warrior resting on his sword.  It looks neither Maaori nor recognisably European and turns out to be from the set of Lord of the Rings - an oxymoronic giant dwarf!   With this unlikely tutelary figure to protect us we set out for another 13 hours of breathing recycled farts and watching unintelligible movies swamped by engine noise between being fed meals you would, I hope, eat nowhere else.

Eventually we arrive and stumble bemused, dazed and blinking into a blindingly sparkling view of snow streaked mountain tops and dark green forests.  It must be Canada.  And this is just the airport.

"Canada", said Saki, "is all right really, though not for the whole weekend".  Based on this first sight alone we could probably manage several years. It isn't 29°C any more, maybe 29°F though.  Refreshing.  And what is this white stuff? 

We commute with relative ease (if you look lost for more than a couple of seconds here, someone asks if they can help) to our airbnb flat in the upmarket, hipsterish Vancouver district of Kitsilano.  Things are different here.

If you see two images, please adjust reality.

The view from the apartment isn't bad:

A short walk to the sea.

We spent yesterday wandering down to the cold sea shore then along it to Granville Market. A collection of shops selling everything but mostly food and drink.  It was cold and we were happy to sit, watch what was happening and chat.  We eat and drink then cross the river as it begins to snow.

We take shelter in the vast warm attrium of HSBC, a very welcoming bank. Hot air comes from ducts in the floor next to which sit about twenty or so people, mostly cycle couriers, some shoppers or tourists, one or two more ragged people who may have no where else.  A vast pendulum - maybe 30ft long - swings slowly back and forth.  Time passes.  The bank operates insouciantly around us.  How very Canadian. The snow stops.

We find ourselves some cheap warm clothes at the Army and Navy Store.  The store itself feels vaguely sinister, it is dusk and the men's section is "across the alley", a prototype for every alley way you've seen in an America movie: it's dark, steam seeps from pipes, dumpsters (wheelie bins) probably contain zombies or shield mafiosi.  Ahead of us a man with three large unwieldy carrier bags seems to be having an argument simultaneously with himself and the door.  I open the door and he staggers through only to cross the alley and restart his argument on the other side.  I open that door as well but he doesn't notice and continues to disagree with himself. I think he is losing the argument. The men's section seems to contain several other customers with similar problems. We shop quickly and return to our hipster pad. I am now equipped to be a lumber jack and Eleanor would be a credit to any chic ski resort.

A rather busy day by our New Zealand standards.