On Foreign Shores
As I alluded previously, we drove north to Squamish, BC today for a long weekend. We congratulated ourselves as we sped north out of town, while the southbound lanes of I-5 were at a standstill. This is Seafair weekend in Seattle, a festival of Blue Angel exhibitions, unlimited hydro racing on Lake Washington and archipelagos of rafted-up drunkenness. I-5 was backed up due to FAA-mandated bridge closures during Blue Angel practice sessions today and tomorrow.
Our smugness lasted all the way to the border, where there was a 45-minute wait at the Blaine crossing:
Click to enlarge:
The fun continued as we approached Vancouver. I consulted Google Maps for our routing to Squamish, and it prescribed following Hwy 99 straight through town and up the coast. I thought this would be a cool way to get an eyeful of the city; I neglected to discern that Hwy 99 becomes a surface street through town, subject to ill-timed lights and impossible left turns. At one point, sitting on Georgia St, I began to wonder if we had enough food on board to last a weekend, and whether the plants in the hanging baskets along the street were edible.
In (over)due time, we made it to the Lion’s Gate Bridge, which afforded truly stunning views east and west. A couple other major slowdowns/stoppages at Horseshoe Bay and at some construction zone (they’re bulking up the pretty little Sea to Sky highway in order to accommodate traffic for the 2008 winter Olympics, which will be held largely at Whistler/Blackcomb), and we landed in Squamish. We were entertained for most of the drive by one or more French-language stations, and Mrs. Perils, veteran of French I - IV at good old Perrysburg High, amused herself by trying to track the announcer’s patter.
We first hit Starbuck’s, and without thinking I plunked down a US $20. I was startled to get $19.95 back, then realized I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, fiscally, anyway. We left messages for our son and his companion, who came up to Squamish on Tuesday morning. We’d like to meet up with them for dinner at the Howe Sound Pub, but they’re up here somewhere:
Mrs. Perils, I think, is channelling our recently-departed cat, yowling and scratching at the door, so I think it’s time to head to the pub for dinner. More anon.
