Our last sunshine in Canada — on a train in Bear Creek Park.

Museum in Vancouver.

While making careful plans, we completely missed the possibility that the Blue Angels would be already training for their Saturday performance in Seattle and the closures were in effect on Friday. Furthermore, we got deceived by our low-resolution map and opted for the shortest route, which goes through down-town, and it was a rather unnerving affair. It seemed that we would perhaps never finish those few tens of miles to Canada.

Eventually the border came close. Perhaps I am spoiled by airport customs agents, but the Canadian Gestapo man was truly obnoxious. It did not help that his English had a strongly Asian accent and I did not understand. Nevertheless we were let in and continued towards Vancouver. Pažouts recommended us dropping the anchor in a suburb named Surrey. A familiar logo with Quality Inn lured us in, we tried to get a room. Tom, who was feeling somewhat down since crossing the border, asked whether we were already in Canada and if so, why there was no snow around. Then he addressed a man sulking in the line behind us with, "Welcome to Canada!" — apparently Tom, too, lacked a touch of elementary human decency since we crossed the border, something like saying "Hi" or being simply friendly.

A thirty feet deep pool in Lynn Park.

Crowds on a suspension bridge in Lynn Canyon.

We asked the receptionist where we could have the kids run around before dinner. She recommended Bear Creek Park, which we found after a moment of searching, and understood WHY she did so. A few trails through a forest, over a creek, with a huge playground on the end, an athletic oval (on which local Sikhs marched seriously in their formal suits and turbans) — and most importantly, a small train engine. Fortunately for us, they accepted our American dollars at the train's cash register, and we could ride. A geezer of the trains was chatty, pulled out a map of Vancouver and began to circle for us what to see without paying too much. Thus began a series of conversations with locals, who were very helpful in consistently pointing out attractions that were free of charge. First it felt strange — but soon we understood. Canada is truly expensive and for a four-member family is by far not easy to pay all the incredible admission fees.

Encouraged by this wonderful park, we set out to find dinner. After half an hour circling through Surrey it began to dawn on us that it may not be so common to dine out on a weekday in Canada. We could choose between fast food — and a pricey Italian restaurant. We went for the latter. Again, the service was quite nice, the food excellent — but the prices! For three helpings of pasta (only Hippo ordered meat with his) we paid more than we would have shelled out for quality sushi in the United States.

In a rain forest.

Shannon Falls

Our night at Quality Inn was another disappointment. The hotel stood thirty percent more expensive than their namesake chain in United States, but offered very little of its basic function — opportunity to sleep in quiet. First, noise and bustle continued throughout the whole night on corridors, with people a-stomping and doors a-slamming; second, we had a choice to close our window and perish in a sweltering heat (and by suffocation — the room was certainly insufficient for four people), or keep it open and forget sleeping on account of noise — all other guests ran their very loud air conditioners. The reason for their actions remained unknown — the air outside was very pleasant, just the right temperature for sleeping, with fresh scent of rain.

In the morning, that is after Hippo and I managed to take our showers and dress, which worked by one person putting clothes on and the rest of the family huddling in a corner of our bed to avoid being randomly hit by a stray elbow (so small was the room), a family council has ruled that this indeed would not do. Hippo was sent to explore another hotel next door, which looked a bit better. Again, we had to pay considerably more, but then we got a large room with a sofa corner and a kitchenette. Canadian hotels apparently don't believe in spoiling their clientele; we did not encounter any attempts to offer their guests breakfast included in price (and actually not even extra). As much the quality and selection of included breakfasts in America differs from one place to another, it's a relatively common amenity, therefore priceless. Especially if you're in a hurry and don't want to pay for a full breakfast at a diner, or gulp groceries from plastic bags in front of a supermarket.

Stawamus Chief + Shannon Falls

We moved our largest bags in, and set out into a light drizzle towards New Westminster, to visit Pažouts and their twins. We were clear on the point that with little babies, we could not plan any extensive trips, and even so we talked them in a lunch with us. Trying to minimize casualties, we mixed among two cars — Hippo in our bus was being navigated by Pažout, while I gave company to Pažitka. Ok, I admit the two of us arrived a bit later than men, but then again we checked out half of the way towards Whistler (not that we would have planned for it).

A small Slovak restaurant Danube represented a truly refreshing experience after our impressions of the previous evening. Tom resolutely ordered his fried cheese, we stuffed ourselves with bread dumplings and quaffed beer. Then the kids discovered Brumíks (their favorite Czech pastry) for sale on a rack: what joy! The weather outside remained bad, thus we left our car with Pažouts and set out on foot to Vancouver downtown, visiting their famous Science World museum. Naturally another million of visitors had the same idea, but we still somehow made it in and sometimes pushed through to see the exhibits. We came late in the afternoon, the crowds began thinning and soon there was room to play.

A creek downstream of Shannon Falls BEFORE the kids fell in.

On the ferry, to each according to his/her needs.

In a steady rain we discovered a local Safeway and agreed to make our own dinner in our room at the hotel. The longer we gazed at the forecast, the worse it got for Sunday and Monday, the days originally promising improvement. Still we did not want to continue with more of a city program on Sunday; instead, we went to the universally recommended Lynn Park.

The scene reminded of a background to a popular Czech kids TV show (a fog one could cut with a butter knife); still there were throngs of people at the park. I don't really want to see how it looks there on a sunny day. For us, desert-dried Californians, a wet rain forest is a marvelous experience, including the fog and despite the tourists. A pedestrian suspension bridge was the greatest attraction there — for us and several tens of other people, and taking a picture was rather challenging.

Having completed this hike — we continued driving north: the coast is pretty, with ocean colored light cyan by drifting silts from the rivers. Sun flashed on us through patches of fog, opening up at Shannon Falls into a full summer and sunny day for moment. We paid a dollar for parking and went to run around the waterfalls. The children discovered a massive log fallen across the creek and played wonderfully. Just as I settled down next to Hippo, savoring the moment without providing entertainment or similar service for the rest of the family, Lisa disappeared under the log and a terrible screaming ensued. This was, naturally, the only day of our whole trip, on which I DID NOT LUG our complete set of bags; we left our spare clothes at the hotel. Eventually I found some shorts and a sweat-shirt and sandals, and Lisa did not stay completely naked. Tom was making fun of her, but before I completely changed Lisa, he came back wet to half-thigh. I had nothing else for Tom; he was forced to spend the rest of the day in his underwear.

A millipede

A bug pretending to be a leaf.

Now that we got so far, we completed the route and turned around in Squamish. A beautiful rock similar to walls in Yosemite, Chief Stawamus could be seen from the marina, flanked by the unfortunate Shannon Falls. Hippo and I could admire the scenery on this windy afternoon, but our half-naked children had to stay in the car. On our way back, we tried to stop at an Olympic lookout above Vancouver, but since we could only see first five yards of fog, and the evening was approaching fast, we returned to our singular point of reference — the proven Danube restaurant. Tom automatically received ketchup with his fried cheese, Lisa got to choose between jelly and chocolate pancakes (you can guess which she had). They looked so yummy, I had to order one myself as a dessert.

At night at the hotel we began to work out a realistic plan for our next day. We intended to visit the Vancouver Island, but after checking out ferry prices and schedules we had to part with an idea to reach the island with our car and ferrying off the other side directly to the American coast. Local mass transport looked much cheaper and friendlier, and so came the decision to leave our bus at the ferry terminal.

In the morning at the hotel, Tom was looking out of the window and said, there goes a mouse — and really — a homeless man rummaging earlier at the garbage bins was displaced by a fat rat. I admit that I truly did not expect such a view from a $140/night hotel room. We packed quickly and then rushed along the map-recommended route to the terminal. Parking was easy; the terminal was just a few steps away, the only problem came in the shape of a person selling the tickets. We asked about the public transit options on the island (as their internet pages were not clear where and how to buy tickets), and the person at the register shamelessly claimed that the buses on the island may not operate and must be awfully expensive and if we want to use them, we'd have to walk quite a distance from the terminal, but they (the company operating the terminals) also run a bus line, which will take us for mere eleven dollars per person from the boat to Victoria downtown. Since we knew from the internet that the local bus line costs two fifty, Tom half, Lisa for free, it appeared as a very peculiar technique of offering information services to the tourists.

Tireless docent Henry

A wake.

Juniors liked the port, Tsawwassen; we were perhaps the only family watching on a viewing balcony in a light drizzle, as the ferry docked. Tommy then demanded to walk the top deck, although the weather worsened rapidly and the wind drove rain droplets almost horizontally. Lisa intently watched an interpretive entertainment in the safety of the main cabin, for which she was rewarded by a decorative pin with a lighthouse, to great Tom's envy. I was set aback by the duration of the trip; for a long time we threaded through a maze of islands and straits.

Our expectations regarding bus transport were met at our destination port. A public bus stop sign stood right at the entrance to the terminal. However, the situation with tickets is at par with any third-world country. There's no ticket vending machine (no such thing on the whole island), the driver accepts only exact change in coins (paying with a card or larger bills is out of questions). Fortunately, they at least take pity and accept U.S. dollars at parity, in which we happened to get the obscure price ($6.65 to the cent) together in the end.

Georgina Point Lighthouse.

A wall of fern.

The bus slowly bounced towards the historic capital of British Columbia, Victoria. We tried to inquire with our fellow passengers, who looked like locals, where to get off for the Bug ZOO that we have spotted for the children on the internet; they would not stop talking about it since. Alas, no one on the bus has ever heard of the Bug ZOO, and so we got a general advice to go all the way to the Inner Harbour and find tourist information there.

A traffic jam in Victoria was so bad that our nerves gave in and we concluded we'd get faster along by walking next to the bus; we stepped into the streets before reaching the harbor. We must have been guided by some tourist guardian angel — a wall a few step away from our stop sported a small sign pointing to the insect exhibits, and in less than five minutes we stood at the register.

The ZOO consists of only two rooms, but I have to say that I may have never seen an exposition as interesting as this one. Two docents circulate through the rooms; we latched on to Henry. One by one, he took various bugs and critters in his hands, and now I know for sure what the difference is between a centipede and a millipede, and that a millipede is a herbivore and harmless = does not bite. Then we saw huge grasshoppers, mantises, scarabs, leaf bugs (they look like a chewed-on and a little dry on the edge leaf, not to look too tasty for herbivores, either), we adults could cuddle a scorpion, and the kids could pet a tarantula. Henry said with great compassion that they hold about forty tarantulas there, and every morning they select the one who is in the mood to endure tourists.

Splashing bridges.

Unfazed elks near Fern Canyon.

Over time Lisa lost interest and started drawing pictures, soon followed by me. Tommy, however, followed every Henry's word, even after two hours, when Henry completed the round and returned to bugs that we had already seen. Eventually we almost had to remove our son with force. I'm not surprised, for Henry mentioned slightly different details in the second round, keeping it interesting. I dare to say that this small unorthodox zoological exhibit became the highpoint of our whole stay in Canada (and I would like to thank my internet buddies for discovering and recommending it).

In a side street nearby we found a Vietnamese restaurant — finally something that welcomed us with the scent of home cooking (i.e. what we mostly eat at home). Their pho (soup) was good, prices adequate, they gave us coins at the register, and thus pleasantly refreshed we could wait for our ride back, clutching our exact change ($6.65). Even with twenty minutes to wait, we had plenty time till our boat departure. Meanwhile the clouds have thinned out and sun came out, giving us a chance to see a portion of the island on our way back. A friendly family on the upper deck of the bus adopted our kids on their front seat, and Tom could play to be the driver, having fun the whole way.

The boat trip back was more interesting thanks to better weather, letting us emerge on the top deck and see our surroundings. We approached land at nightfall; part of the delay was caused by another ferry boat blocking the dock, to which our crew responded by angry, long blowing of the ship's horn. Stumbling through the parking to our car by nine, we still had a long way ahead of us, crossing the border and looking for a hotel (our recent experience with Canadian hotels sufficed). Our earlier pick, Guesthouse Inn in Bellingham, was full and we had to take shelter in a much pricier Best Western. There was no time for heroics; we have had enough.

Simulated volcanic eruption.

Port Trinidad, California.

In the morning we jumped in our car and drove and drove, all day. With an old hand skill, we avoided Seattle, driving through the whole state of Washington, missing Portland and crossing entire Oregon; in the evening we ended in Crescent City, California, in a relatively miserable Motel 8 (again there was very little choice — we shall have to reserve rooms during vacations). Still, at least they gave us free breakfast the next day (as opposed to Canadians — where they'd give us nothing — just as was the case at the Canada-infected Best Western in Bellingham — where we avoided an overpriced and thus deserted snack bar). On a somewhat merrier note we headed in the Redwood Park, wanting to stretch our legs after the previous day spent in the car.

Our bus waded with us through several creeks all the way to Fern Canyon. We had hoped that our children may like the place — and we were right, although I doubt that our offspring noticed any foliage — their biggest attraction was jumping on little wooden bridges in the creek bed and listening to their splashing in water and mud. This activity had dismissed my doubts about the wisdom to equip the kids with rubber boots — envious looks of other children's parents confirmed the property of my decision. Then we had a picnic on a beautiful beach — Tom and Lisa built volcanoes and demonstrated eruptions, Tom simulated pyroclastic flow of St. Helens. Happy to be able to run and dig in the sand, juniors would still be sitting there now, but their parents are old and long for the comfort of their home — and thus the little explorers got stuffed in the car again and reach their own beds in the evening.