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Hello everyone!
After the particular joys of this blog's past handful of entries, caught up reminiscing over my special adventure to the winter wonderland of Alberta for Christmas, it is time to return to Vancouver, to move forward into January - always my least liked of the calendar months - and to face the darkest days in my Canadian expedition thus-far, a shadow rivalled only in that cast by the spectre of Salmonella poisoning in Banos, Ecuador when regarding the sum total of days and challenges presented to me since first taking to the traveller's road some eleven months previously.
I arrived back in Vancouver late in the evening, some minutes before the stroke of midnight. The bright lights of first the airport and then the approaching glow of the down-town area broke the black pitch of night, but there could be little relief from the steady downpour of wet, chilling rain, heralding a bleak gloom over the urban sprawl. I took shelter where I could along my tedious, protracted journey home from aeroplane to front-door: in a sky-train carriage, aboard a trans-link bus, beneath the overhang of various buildings lining my walking route. Still, I was drenched and shivering long before I was finally able to dump my bags and my body in a dissolute, exhausted heap, strewn across my bedroom floor and hard, discomforting sleeping-space of lamentably thin futon resting atop of widely spaced, wooden slats, punctuating and puncturing the chiffon veil of sleep at the slightest bodily movement. Too tired to think, to recollect even my journey back from Calgary, I abandoned my senses to a confused, interrupted night of fatigued and fatiguing slumber.
January passed slowly, deliberately, in a grey-wash of leaden skies compounded by frequent barrages of rain. I returned to my increasingly tedious, increasingly frustrating, almost embarrassing job at Tim Hortons and returned also, night after night, to my cold, dark basement abode, to be punished with silence and loneliness. Two of my three female house-mates had absconded to Mexico, leaving behind a hastily scrawled note on my door that revealed as much and their juvenile cat, in need of food and water every evening and stern, continual reminders that I was not and would never be a feline devotee. In the additional absence of my third and final house-mate, who invariably spent her day-times working and her evenings and nights with friends and local relatives, I found myself growing into a despondent regime of returning home at the end of a day spent largely trying to avoid home, to read in the sitting area, adjacent to the boiler-room and thus the only warm space in the suite, my only living companion a tiresome, burdensome ball of fur.
This month was not all doom and gloom; there were certainly moments, entire days even, when rays of light and hope would pierce the thick air of maudlin complacency. Some days and evenings were spent in happy distraction with various local friends, whiling away the trickling sands of time in a cosy cafe or some such, away from the rising damp of the outside. The highlight of this month was the arrival in town of Seb, passing through from Calgary via Vancouver Island some ten days or so after me, on his maurauding path back south to San Fransisco, from whence he would fly once more to Mexico City towards the end of the month and from there, finally, home to Holland. We were blessed with some glorious days of sunshine and temperatures in the mid- to high teens Celsius as we explored some of Vancouver's treasures, made so bountiful in the warmer weather. It was during an idyllic extended stroll along the sea-wall around the perimeter of the beautiful Stanley Park, the sun warming our backs, lighting our faces and the views of evergreen trees, rocky, islanded stacks and majestic mountains rising to meet our gaze from across the waters of the Burrard Inlet that my epiphany struck. My spirit soared with the cooling sea breeze as I was powerfully reminded of the awe-inspiring natural brilliance of this place at each and every step. Greeted warmly much more often than not by the plentiful if transcient company of so many others making the most of the much-appreciated improvement in the weather, it was easy enough to recall exactly why it was that after seven months of itinerant roving around this continent, followed by such a brief sojourn back at home in England, I would take it upon myself to return in this time, to this place, for such an extended period of time. There were times even, as I trudged wearily home after eight hours of repeatedly making a hot drink the appreciation of which I have never been able to fathom, to be greeted by the muffled darkness of my tiny room, when this time seemed punishingly, needlessly protracted; wasteful and wasted. These halcyon days spent with my great friend Seb served to banish such dark thoughts for a time: whilst such musings are to be expected, even welcomed upon such a long, at times seemingly frivolous adventure abroad, aiding one's development and overall appreciation of the venture undertaken, it is rewarding nonetheless to savour also the happier reckonings offered up alongside.
Seb's visit brought about a host of fabulous memories tailored here in the city of Vancouver, to be set alongside the countless others stored up over the course of the previous nine months: perhaps my favourite arrived in the shape of a reunion between the two of us and my now erstwhile friends Mike and Jenna. The only previous time that we four had been in each other's company was that crazy day spent on the hillside in Cusco, watching the riveting antics of the 'Inti Raymi' festival held in honour of the Incan sun-god. Together once again, Seb and I arranged for a hasty, salutary drink or two in the Kitsilano neighbourhood, before our intended, extended night of debauchery, to be held all over the down-town area, with a particular focus upon the Gastown locality. A drink became dinner, followed by further drinks, eventually culminating in a night-long blow-out in a single pub along 4th Ave, still deep in Kits territory. We ordered copious pitchers (yes, copious pitchers) of beer to fuel our table-side talk, as we strove to recollect as many travelling anecdotes as possible over the noise of a live music band promoting some decidedly odd audio choices, vying both with each other and the colourful lead vocalist. Finally, our store of stories, our numerous pitchers, our hoarse voices, our virtuous waitress, our musical companions for the evening all utterly exhausted, we quit the scene a little after three o'clock in the morning.
We did not retire home. Some genius, displaying a modicum of vision above and beyond the drunken stupor happily inhabited by we three others, decided that we should continue the night across the road, at the famous twenty-four hour haven and sanctuary to all foods healthy, vegetarian and eco-friendly (such a virtuous ensemble), 'The Naam'. Here, three of us (I absolutely shall refrain from naming names) were quite content to limit our expenditure - finally - to a simple purchase of some 'munchies', seeking at a deplorably late stage to offset some of our intoxication with the consumption of stodgy carbohydrates that were most definitely too late to do anything to halt the relentless march of alcohol-fuelled limbo, swiftly followed by that happy oblivion so lauded by most (I shall prevent myself from writing 'all') of our finest poets. Our fourth noble member took the rather radical alternative approach to keep drinking even now, no doubt inspired by Oscar Wilde's belief that 'nothing succeeds like excess' (chosen above, I am saddened to record, Wilde's equally laudable and perhaps competing aphorism of 'everything in moderation and moderation in everything'). It was my considerable misfortune to be sharing my walk home, my bedroom and the ensuing following day with this very sophist. Still, we had a wonderful evening, one that would surely compete with the best of the action that we had been likely to encounter down-town and made all the more worthy by its being shared with two other good friends. Once again, I was provided with a firm justification for channelling so much time and energy into my prolonged undertaking here in this exotic, if all-too-regularly damp western land.
After these marvellous days, breaking completely the preceding weeks of glumness, it was time, at long, long last, for Seb and I to part one final time - during this trip at least. After so many previous farewells and goodbyes, it seemed surreal indeed to contemplate that this was it, that after this ultimate departure, we would not see each other again in the flesh for, most likely, many months, perhaps even years. What does one say to that? In the wake of so many amazing shared experiences and so many practises leading up to this final performance, which words can be deemed sufficient to match the moment? In the end, we have both learned enough from these past months to realize that it is futile even to try to encapsulate everything in a hastily spoken farewell: a meeting of the eye, a nod of the head, a smile and a bear-hug speak just as fluently, as expansively as a speech to match the length of one of these leviathan-like blog entries of mine. It does not do to make promises, to speak of exact future plans and intentions, for who knows what the future holds in store? So often in the case of Seb and I, especially in the early days, our meetings were random and coincidental: perhaps the future will be the same, although I am sure that I shall not leave it to chance to arrange a reunion with him once I am settled back in Europe at some later date, either this year or early in the next.
Seb's departure heralded the onset of another brief period of lethargy, lulling me into a contemplative introspection. Seb and I had spoken at length about our situations and I had concentrated specifically upon my plans for the immediate weeks after his exit from the city: I had it in mind to quit my rapidly deteriorating housing situation and find a healthier, more beneficial replacement. I wanted also to seek out a new and improved form of employment, confident in my abilities and intentions, with flexibility on my side. These formulations were dealt a significant blow initially, although time proved it in fact to be a considerable boon to me, just days before the end of January. In the space of less than twenty-four hours, I was informed by all three of my house-mates, including the female couple from whom I was sub-letting my room from their landlord, that they were moving out of the suite... imminently. I learned of their intentions on Friday evening; by the following afternoon I was alone and over the course of the following week, the furniture and trappings of the suite (such as they were) dwindled down to a plastic table, some rogue cutlery, a drinking mug or two and little else. The initial shock of the altered situation, the confusion borne out of such swift changes soon gave way to a very tangible sense of fear: I was not the only person to be left utterly surprised by their alacrity of action; our landlord also had very little notice of their desired intentions. Worse, their actions were in direct contravention of their existing lease agreement with this landlord. They reneged on the lease by refusing to honour the entire year period for which they had originally agreed to undertake to live in the suite and as I was sub-letting from them, this left me in a very difficult, very delicate position.
Despite the girls expressing sympathy towards my plight and making repeated assurances that they would find suitable replacements to cover the shortfall in February's rent (due at the start of the month, by this time roughly three days hence), I contacted the landlord directly and spoke with him for the first time since moving into the property some two months previously. He made it clear that the girls had acted abysmally towards him and hinted that he would expect me to move out before the start of February, thus reneging upon my own non-written agreement and thereby forfeiting my damage deposit of half a month of rent, so as to facilitate more easily the landlord's desired aim of re-leasing the entire suite out at the start of February. Such a scenario would give me a little over two days to gather together my scant belongings, search out and secure a new lodging and transfer myself and my entourage of bags to this new location. The landlord pointed out to me that it was his perrogative to fill the empty rooms, not that of the girls. The situation looke bleak and I faced rather dire circumstances, even for one of my plentiful optimism. In a panic, I sent out e-mails, text messages and word-of-mouth notices to all of my friends here in Vancouver, in a last-ditch attempt to find a safety net, whilst continuing to liaise with my landlord in an effort to salvage some good from a disastrous standing. For security, upon the advice of Dad, I took steps to remove nearly all of my possessions from the suite, as much for my sake as that of the landlord, if he did indeed wish to press ahead with forcing me to vacate the property over the next few days. In my mind, as fully entwined in this dramatic narrative as I was, the situation seemed poised on a knife-edge, and I would do well to heed the advice of every Tiresias that I could muster in my desperate attempts to steady the boat being tossed about in the surprise maelstrom of events.
In the outcome, all became settled, thanks in no small part to the mercy of my landlord, who decided that it would be too much effort for such a short time-frame to fill the entire suite for the month of February, at a time when he was already busy trying to fill the upstairs lodging of the same building, whilst simultaneously preparing for a European vacation to dodge the looming Winter Olympic Games, due to be held in Vancouver and Whistler in just two weeks' time. Incidentally, I discovered over the course of our conversations that Andrzej originally heralded from Poland and enjoyed some reminiscences with him over the country, inspired by my own trip there as a ten-year-old with my family to visit my intrepid aunt, who was teaching English at the time in the industrial city of Bydgoszcz. Bearing in mind his only extensive list of burdens and perhaps inspired by my talk of his native land, from whence he had once travelled to seek fairer fortune here in Canada, Andrzej instead decided to allow me to remain in my room for the month of February, granting me the time to find a new abode for the start of March. At the same time, he set about organizing for renovations to be carried out in the suite, which I was easily able to accommodate. The situation was mutually beneficial: Andrzej would at least make a token amount from rent for the month, whilst retaining a physical presence in his property at a time when both the basement suite and main floor of the house were otherwise vacant and he himself was due to be out of the country on holiday. I could appreciate a stay of execution as far as any eviction was concerned and, in fact, would be able to live in the property very cheaply for the final month, due to another humbling concession on the part of Andrzej.
In my dealings with Andrzej, I discovered that he had never received my damage deposit, that it was already paid for by the girls when they first moved into the property some eight months before and that in order to see the money, I would have to ask them for it back. Up until this point in the whole sorry episode, I had felt little towards the girls: I was disappointed of course that they had in some sense abandoned me, at a point when I was hopeful that we could begin to better bond as a collective "house" and in a manner that was rather underhand; they had given no indication to me that they intended to move out, nor even that they were seeking new accommodation prior to dropping the bombshell of departing when they did. This feeling of apathy existed despite many friends, upon hearing the news of my plight (mostly through my aforementioned, panic-prompted channels of communication), condemning wholly the girls' thoroughly selfish actions and some even going so far as to apologize to me on behalf of their delinquent country-women! Ah, Canadians; how wonderful a people they (mostly) are!
Now, upon learning that it was towards these girls that I must direct my call for reparation, I became incensed: they had specifically told me that it was from Andrzej that I should seek the return of my damage deposit, money that I could ill-afford to abandon. Their reasoning ran that they had initially paid him damage deposit for the entire house upon signing over the lease when they first moved into the property. My response to this was that if Andrzej already had a full damage deposit when I moved in, then to where had my own money disappeared? They answered that my money was returned to the person who had vacated the property before I moved in, as repayment of their own damage deposit, which the girls had presumably used to pay off the previous tenant again. All of this seemed rather haphazard to me and my suspicions were compounded due to my knowledge that the girls had been desperate to find a swift replacement to their previous house-mate when I answered the call: the girl whom I replaced had left the house at very short notice, leaving them in a tight spot regarding the payment of rent for December. Surely then, this girl had not been paid any damage deposit, certainly not mine, which arrived after I moved in and long after this other person had departed the house in something approaching disgrace? Here the girls had no answer, but still they would not hand over any money. I was left extremely disappointed and angered by their flagrant immorality and critical of my own naivety in trusting these strangers to such a degree as to hand over money to them without first informing myself of the correct protocols through the landlord himself. Here again, Andrzej displayed a kindness, as mentioned above: he agreed to waive the equivalent of my outstanding damage deposit in my payment of rent for February, which was equal to two weeks' worth. Thus it was that instead of finding myself homeless on the eve of the Olympics, I found myself the sole occupant (with all the privacy that such entailed) of a whole basement suite, for a final monthly sum that could not possibly be matched anywhere else in the city, let alone in a locality as exclusive as Kitsilano. After numerous self-pitying, rather alarming Facebook updates likening my current mood and situation to that of the general human condition in the Book of Revelation, I was able to relax, to breath easily once more and even to make significant gains financially in continuing to work whilst paying such a ridiculously low monthly rent, in place of the lost damage deposit and additional costs of securing a new abode that I had previously envisaged. I worked hard to reach such a successful juncture, but this was still very much a case of 'all's well that ends well'!
This entire fiasco took place over the space of roughly one week and occurred some ten weeks prior to this blog's actual composition. I was worried that returning to the subject matter now would also see a return to the negative emotions that threatened to overpower me then, but time is a healer and in fact, much like the Salmonella situation to which I likened this whole entry at its outset, this experience has taught me valuable lessons about both myself and others and once again, it has done so through adversity in a manner that cannot be mirrored in times of accommodating ease. I learned, finally, to speak my mind and to voice harsh yet honest words when the need arose, prioritizing the search for truth over the petty scruples and feelings of those standing in the way. If that last statement sounds ominously authoritarian, inquisitional even, it is not meant in such a tone: perhaps too often in the past, I have shied away from confrontation, happier to ride out the rough personally to maintain the smooth collectively. At the same time that I confronted the girls, I was able to open a frank, honest channel of communication with Andrzej and fight persuasively, fairly to further my case and secure my stay in the suite for one month more. Finally, in my initial panic concerning my potential impending homelessness, I was overwhelmed by the wonderful shows of kindness demonstrated by so many amazing friends. Mike and Jenna offered their couch; Aja offered the spare room in her new house, which in time has led to one of the best developments during my time here in Vancouver, but more on that in a later entry; finally, a Classics tutor that I have befriended at the University of British Columbia sent out a circular e-mail to the entire Classics mailing list stating my case, vouching for my integrity and asking if anyone could help me, short- or long-term. I am honoured and humbled to have met with such magical moments and in this case it was due entirely to a period of adversity.
A final boost arrived this month in the form of the offer of a working opportunity at the up-coming Olympic Games, but with the length that this entry has already reached, that is certainly a story for another day.
Best wishes to all!
David xxx
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