Reggie Thomson’s Diary

So, we touched down in Gatwick uneventfully. After reclaiming my baggage and breezing through customs, I was at last free. There was no one in my house, so I left a message on the answering machine for them to leave the keys outside. Andrew said he might be able to pick me up.

I already had a ticket for the bus to Cambridge. A friendly bus driver chatted as I sat on the bench, moving my cookies over to make room. “I wasn’t going to steal them!” he joked. I showed him the namecards.

So, I was in Cambridge by one, though I couldn’t get through to Andrew. I drifted round Cambridge with my rucksack. When I finally contacted Andrew, he had sensibly left a key under the window ledge. I walked home. I went down to the Barn later on, but was distinctly tiring.

So, I guess I’ll finish my diaries here. It’s been an excellent trip. I shall try and write a summary

By the time I arose at five, there was already a long queue by the Continental check-in. Some Americans chatted, descrieing their “gun-slinging” president. There was no check on my baggage. It was just weighted, labelled, and send through. Then I had to join the back of an even longer queue. I wasn’t able to go to the counter to have my purchases validated so that I could reclaim the sales taxes. Finally, my hand luggage was put through the scanner, and I was inside.

After a brief wait, we were soon airborne. The flight was only about 70% occupied. I had an aisle seat - I’d forgotten to ask for a window seat when checking in.

In Houston, I ate some bread with Marmite, then went to a duty-free shop. I’m not sure it was cheaper to purchase here, but I bought a bottle of Drambuie. They bring the bottles to the boarding corridor to be collected when you get on the plane. I guess that in the past you could go into the waiting area with friends who were boarding.

I was surrounded by English people on the plane. Nothing untoward happened during the flight, so there was no talking to neighbours. (An Englishman’s seat is his Castle.). Still, it is disappointing that people who request the windows put the shutters down and use them as headrests.

The final CDs of original photos were programmed first thing in the morning. In all, I have taken about 8500 photos in three months exactly. With four hundred to a CD, that means 21 CDs just for Canada. Still, I haven’t managed to sell the CD of selected photos. One of the guys in the hostel had hitched across Canada with a guitar and no money, and people had just given him cash! Maybe I didn’t try hard enough!

By midday, I was on the final leg of the journey - I hoped - for the airport. A lift from Whistler to Squamish came within a minute, probably because I was first in line - there were several other people hitching further down the road. I was dropped at a large supermarket, where I stocked up on food just in case I got stranded in Texas.

I walked for quite a distance, and was almost beginning to worry, when a gentleman pulled over. He offered me a smoke, but I just opened the window. I mentioned that I was delayed going to New York because of the recent event. He said he had watched it on TV and was at first shocked to think he was watching people die. Then, with the constant repetition of the terrible scene, he realised it was just propaganda. What about those who died before the American helicopter gunships? What about the terror of those families? Now what are they going to do - just kill more innocent people or wipe out poppy fields in Columbia. He finished, “Well, what do you think - or are you just all f-d up?” Again, I was shocked. I gave no reply, and for the rest of the journey sat in silence. I could have asked to be let out. When we arrived at the ferry terminal, I said thanks, but he was the only gentleman to whom I didn’t offer a namecard, nor ask to sign the visitors book. He was the 180th lift from Halifax.

I just missed one bus - but that didn’t matter. The second one was a local, and now charged the evening rate of 1.75$. In town, I bought a bar of Twix at one shop. “Cute puppy!” the shop assistant admired. Yes, Pooch has done his job very well, and though at times I worried about the extra weight, he was never discarded.

It poured with rain while I was on the second bus. I wasn’t quite sure where to get off to change for the Airport. Finally, I was dropped at the terminal. I checked that my flight was still on schedule, and then found a socket to plug in my computer and do some more work. Finally, I took a blow-up mattress, and lay down in a quiet area.

Although the hostel was fully-booked for that evening, I was able to stay in the dining-room area for most of the day, scribbling away the usual nonsense that I fill this diary with. I showed a few of the photos to some Irish folks. Everyone, including the manager, left by late morning, though a few people arrived to check-in. So, I was able to get on with work in peace and quiet.

Later in the afternoon, I decided to walk round to Whistler. The sun was shining over the hostel side of the lake, but as I got to the village, the clouds thickened. I checked out the tourist information centre for details of cheap accommodation, but didn’t really wander round the streets much.

The Arts hostel was open with several lodgers inside around a wood stove. There was plenty of room - I could even choose my own room. The place isn’t in a very good condition, but at 15$ per night, it was affordable. I chatted for a while, and showed lots of photos.

There were still a few emails to send, which I typed before breakfast - pancakes, bacon and maple syrup! When I left, I gave the gentleman 20$ to cover my phone bills. As usual, I also gave them one of my postcard-sized photos - my last one. I started walking along the lake, but was picked up by the wife and taken to the start of the Rainbow lake trail head.

At the waterfalls, I met a couple who offered me a smoke. I declined the drugs.

The sides of the paths were dotted with beautiful flowers. Some, I managed to take photos of, but others were in the shade, so I hoped I would find a better example on my travels. There was no rush. The walkways were great, and I was taken by surprise by a curious Pine Marten, who popped up just in front of me. As I swung my camera round, he disappeared, only to emerge between the slats behind me. It took several attempt before I was able to capture a nice photo of him. Other people walked by without even knowing he was there!

With all the stops for photos, I began to realise that there would be little time left for the lake. I stepped up my pace, and made it there by five-thirty. By my calculation, that gave me just about one hour. I had to run to the other side, so just dumped my rucksack at the falls.

The journey down was uneventful, although I did try to run for brief stretches. I’d given away my bear-bell in Victoria, so had to make do with “yowling” every once in a while. When it grew dark, the small torch kept me on the track most of the time.

I made it to the road by 8.30 and commenced hitching in the direction of the youth hostel. There was almost no traffic. Only one car went by in the direction I was travelling - and didn’t stop. Not that I would have benefited much from the lift, as it turned out I was only a hundred metres away from the hostel! I checked in, and bought some eggs for my evening meal. I typed for a while afterwards, before chatting to some other hostelers in the open sitting room area.

The youth hostel was fully booked for tonight, but the gentleman said I could stay another night. I booked the hostel for Sunday.

It was an absolutely perfect day. I sat by the south-facing window, soaking in the sunshine, and typing replies to the emails. Some of my American friends have written expressing their shock. It was hard to reply. I didn’t write many emails. It was also useful to check up on my bank.

From time to time, I would watch the news. My flight is with Continental Airlines, and I hear that they are laying off staff because of the downturn in the airline business.

Some other folks came to assist with some house repairs. I was called to help out once or twice with the hot tub. In the evening, the lodger didn’t return with the steaks as promised - so we had a delicious pork barbecue. The sun cast a beautiful glow over the snowfields in the distant mountain range. I showed my photos to the family.

I woke myself up at 4.15, and was downstairs before the receptionist set off too wake me up. I cancelled my booking for tonight. Breakfast was a hot mug of chocolate with marshmallows. I left the remaining powder in the free area. The taxi-driver was on time. At this time in the morning, the only other traffic seems to be other taxis going to the airport. It cost 22$.

Inside, the departure board was ominous. Most flights were cancelled. I joined one queue for check-in. A gentleman seemed to be advising people. I inquired about the flight to Houston. It seems that there was only one flight to San Francisco. “Return to your hotel and come back another day!” he commanded.

It seemed more sensible to hang around the airport in case a flight became available. I went to the ticketing queue for the same airline, to see about rescheduling. “What are you standing here for?” quizzed the assistant. “I’ve already told you what to do.” He seemed annoyed. I decided to try the telephone. I had to hang on the line for half-an-hour before I was answered. Now my flight is on Wednesday.

With a few more days to spare, I looked at my map and decided on Whistler as a final (perhaps) destination. The gentleman in the information desk agreed it would be a good place to go to. I had enough money for a bus into town centre. There, I took out another 100 dollars to cover the next few days. I then caught the bus to Horseshoe Bay.

Another lady was hitching, but seemed to want to go it alone. I started walking along the narrow road, stopping to take some photos of the bay. There were some signs about not stopping on the highway, due to the danger from falling rocks. I found a place at a suitable point, and wasn’t waiting long before two rock-climbers stopped for me. They were going into Squamish to climb a fairly easy route up Stawamus Chief, a popular climbing spot.

I wondered what there was to see in Squamish. A gentleman in a Native Art Gallery and shop suggested I walk down to the local native reserve and take some snaps of the Welcome Post they have recently put up. If challenged, I should say that “Daryl” sent me. Native reserves are generally off limits to non-natives.

I liked this post better than some of the totem poles I have seen. There was a friendly dog who came to say hello. I took lots of snaps.

I thought the building at the entrance to the reserve might be a museum, so went up to have a look. A friendly gentleman who described himself as a “Peacekeeper” showed me round. It is a community centre for the Squamish First Nations people, with a large hall and many smaller rooms.

I took some snaps, and then bought what was, if I recall correctly, only the third self-purchased restaurant meal of my three months in Canada. (The other two were Buffalo burgers in Wanuskewin, and the meal at the Mennonite Heritage village, Steinbach).

The sun had swung round, and I figured it might even catch the west-facing waterfall that I had passed on my way into Squamish. I wandered up the road, stopping to try and spot climbers on the rock-face. The waterfall was still partially shaded. I don’t think I got a good angle on it.

Back in the village, I found a supermarket. I sat in a small park to eat my sandwiches. Some children were racing round to a nearby tree.

After finishing my meal, I went into gas station to clean my feet. They get quite dirty every day, and the grime seems to have tattooed its way under some of the cracked skin. In general though, I’d say the sandals have done extremely well - only one blister in three months of solid travelling. I’ve been carrying my shoes in the rucksack all the time, only wearing them once - on the Skyline trail in Jasper National Park.

I thought about sleeping out, but decided to try hitching to Whistler. I was in luck. A gentleman on his way to his second home, gave me a lift. He offered to let me stay in his house for t he night.

I met his lodger, who seems to have just broken up with her boyfriend. We watched the news fo r a while. The lodger seemed to imply that “the Americans had it coming to them.” I was quite shocked at the attitude, although some in the British press had taken a similar line. It seemed to justify the barbarism on “innocents” on the basis of their national identity. Moreover, she seemed to continue, any attempt to “retaliate” would only lead to the death of “innocent” people in Afghanistan. I could not see what made the Afghan “innocents” more precious than the 6000 Americans.

I was able to connect onto the Internet, though the line failed several times. It was very useful. Dad has put a message on my guest book asking where I am.

Today, also, I alternated between the TV room and the kitchen, where I can plug in my computer.

By the afternoon, I was tired, so walked to Granville island. It has lots of large indoor markets, and a nearby harbour to photograph. I didn’t take many photos inside. With low lighting, either one needs a tripod, or something to lean the camera against.

Some Japanese ladies wanted me to take a photo of them. I obliged. We started chatting, and I gave them each two of my namecards. They wanted to “nonbiri” together, but I wasn’t quite sure of the meaning, and wasn’t quite sure if they had actually invited me to join them, or if I was just presuming. So, I stayed a little, and then went on my way, taking a few more pictures.

There was another tiny rainbow this evening, while I was crossing over the Burrard Bridge. A rainbow, according to the bible, is a sign of hope. However, it was originally a confirmation that God would never again punish the whole world by destruction. The sunset was very beautiful.

I met some more Japanese people in the hostel. Some of them are unsure what to do in the current crisis. I telephoned Continental Airlines but had to wait 25 minutes for a response. While doing so, I gave Dawn a ring, to let her know my situation. According to the person on the phone, my flight is still scheduled for tomorrow morning.

I arranged for a wake-up call at 4.30 a.m., and a taxi at 5.00 a.m. Then, I went shopping for some bread and cheese in case I get stuck in the Airport, or in America. Finally, I took a shower and went to bed.

The hostel rooms are too hot because the windows are too small, and the rooms long, with no other ventillation.

I took my computer down to the kitchen area to do some typing. A German couple wanted me to take a photo of them to send to someone. I took a quick snap outside, and let them write a short message.

Sometimes I did some typing, and at other times I went back to the TV room to see what the latest news is. It’s hard to know what to think or feel.

I was up early. Downstairs, I met the Honolulu lady, ready for her bus to the Rockies. The radio was on, but I wasn’t listening. Just as I was about to leave, someone overheard that I was flying to New York. “There’s been a terrorist attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon - two commercial airlines slammed into them. All flights have been grounded.” I couldn’t believe it at first. “It’s on the news.” I began to listen. Sure enough, the disaster was real.

I telephoned the freephone number for the airline. The lady was very calm, and rescheduled me for a flight via Hueston, Texas, on Friday. In the reception area, I booked the last remaining single bed in the hostel for tonight and tomorrow. It looks like I’m staying in Vancouver after all. I tried phoning mum and dad, but the lines were engaged. The TV channels caught the terrifying details of the events in New York.

I need more money, so walked into the downtown area. An internet cafe would let me use a network connection to their network, but I don’t have my PCMCIA adaptor. I was able to get some money out of my HSBC account, just by typing in my code. Outside the convention centre, I again tried to get through to mum and dad. This time, the number seemed to be wrong. I phoned Morag instead, just to let her know that I was fine, still in Vancouver. I also got through to Andrew West. He told me of further problems with the house - the telephone is limited to local calls only, since the French lady was disputing three pounds of one bill!

I spent the rest of the beautiful day wandering round Stanley Park. Sometimes, I was able to put the thoughts of the tradgedies out of my mind, and allow myself to see beauty. But other times, I was wrapped up in thoughts of destruction. Perhaps nationalities should be wiped off the face of the earth. Perhaps the only response to evil is to become as evil as the evildoer.

Some people sat quietly on a seat. The seagulls were happy on their rocks. Beaver lake was full of beautiful lillies and a heron. For a while I put behind the black thoughts. I have no solutions to world problems.

I bought some eggs and milk for egg bread in the evening. Then I found a seat in the crowded TV room to see more coverage of the Attack on America.