Hour 0: After bus confusion and wandering around lost downtown for a bit wondering what direction Nelson Street is, I finally caught the cushy community bus and headed toward Comox & Denman, to the Urban Rush Cafe—the official headquarters of this year’s Vancouver 12×12 Photo Marathon. I register. Am ecstatic to see that I am lucky number 7! Glancing around I feel a bit intimidated by the amount of GIGANTIC lenses there are, and fancy-schmancy cameras attached to them. Tripods, crazy compartmentalized bags, and every other photographic implement of destruction imaginable is present. Humbled. I struggle to remember how to even load film into my crappy Canon Rebel. Man, this is going to be a long day! Briefly consider running away unnoticed;  instead decide that although I have none of the expensive equipment, nor knowledge on how to use it, at least I have a relatively quick trigger finger in order to be the 7th person registered. I drink congratulatory coffee and celebrate small miracles.

First theme announced: Your Entry Number/Different Angle

And we’re off! Feeling refueled by the caffeine and excited by the process, I head out in search of 7 of *something* with which to photograph. I’m hoping for a parade of frolicking ponies pulling wagons of adorable babies but realize this is probably pushing it. Settle instead for standing under a string of seven balloons tied to a stop sign, and wait… ever… so… patiently for them all to line up perfectly. They do, and SNAP – commitment! Not at all sure if I caught the shot. Am suddenly painfully aware of how dependent I am upon the LCD screen preview on my digital camera.

Hour 2: Back at the cafe, excitement in the air. I wish that I had a chance to go to the previous week’s meet-up because everyone seems super friendly and familiar to each other. Feel a momentary pang of shyness. Decide to drink more coffee.

Second theme announced: The Usual Suspects

I head out again in the same direction – back down alleyways and through the residential areas. I think it might be cool to try to locate some pigeons and crows for this shot. Cannot find a single bird to save my life. Finally, I stop a homeless man who tells me a Canucks joke and chats to me about being a camera repair person in his former life. He is fascinating and so very sweet; he tells me I should go to the beach for birds— they like the garbage down there. I wish him well, and am off again. Finally spot two crows on top of a power line. Look through my pitifully small lens and wish that I had thought to rent something better. Wait again patiently for the bird’s heads to line up to show their beak profiles. In the split second between me pressing the shutter and it catching the shot, the birds move. This is ruined shot #1. This is the first of many. This game is harder than it looks.

Hour 3 – Feeling a little sad about my missed shot, I start thinking about how we take for granted the ability to curate our work. How often people don’t understand that out of the 30 great shots that you post on Flickr or Facebook, there may have been 300 others that weren’t. quite. right. It’s a strange feeling thinking that people will be able to see your glory and all your mistakes in this project. No retakes. No trash bin. I’m again humbled when I think of the giant lenses and professional photographers no doubt currently taking masterpiece shots of prancing pony parades and flocks of choreographed seagulls.

Third theme announced: Human Nature

After the bird fiasco, I’m feeling the pressure to do something better with this particular theme—it can be interpreted in so many ways! This is where the challenge lies. I just have to carefully decide what direction I want to take it. I remember seeing a bunch of shoes hanging from wires in a back alley about an hour back, but cannot remember where, for the life of me. Spend the next 45 minutes wandering aimlessly looking for shoes, unable to shake the idea to see other possibilities. Funny how your brain will sometimes fixate. Finally locate them… thankfully they do not move at the last second.

Forth theme announced: Reliable

By this time, my feet are really beginning to ache. I contemplate taking off my shoes and just walking barefoot. Decide instead to stop at Shoppers Drug Mart for emergency Band-Aide triage kit. Oh, good god there is still 8 more hours left. What have I signed myself up for?? I take a picture of my feet. At least they are still attached to my body.

Fifth theme announced: My Greatest Wish

My greatest wish… ? I wish for a shopping cart and someone to push me around in it. And a popsicle made of Strongbow. The odds of this combination happening also seem slim, so I decide instead to find something simple. It feels a little like a cop out, but my feet are killing me, so when I spot the fluffiest cat I’ve ever seen hiding under a bush, I think he would make a perfect wish (No Pets building for me, boo!). He sits patiently waiting for me to compose the shot (an obvious pro photographic subject) ready, set… press the shutter, cat MOVES. Mother$*#@er!!! Curse out loud, in manner similar to sailor. Pet adorable cat to console myself, despite his obvious leanings toward sabotage.

Six theme announced: Odour

After grabbing a bite to eat and a couple of beers, everyone seems refreshed. Odour seems like a great theme—everywhere I look today I’ve seen fragrant things: flowers, dumpsters, porta-potties atop flatbed trucks. Decide in the end to shoot some people crossing the ‘Finish’ line of a bike marathon. Wonder if any of these things will make any sense once printed without the aid of artistic explanation? Decide to risk it anyway.

Seventh theme announced: Echo

Man, these themes are getting tough! My creative brain is throbbing much like my feet, although the beer and band-aids helped immensely for at least one of those issues. My friend Craig talks about his idea which admittedly is pretty awesome, and rides off to capture it. I wonder if it’s possible for me to finish the rest of this marathon without actually moving from my chair? Curse you, footwear. I think of all the cool shots that might visually echo… reflective surfaces repeating, over and over. Head back to Shoppers Drug Mart to see if I can find a hand mirror. I buy it, but am used to knowing how a shot will work on my D80, with the 18-135mm lens. Through the film camera, the shot doesn’t seem nearly as good, but I do my best, anyway. Not sure if this one will come through. Drink more beer. Congratulate myself on strenuous tasks already completed today, like breathing and walking upright.

Eighth theme announced: Trapped

I’ve gotten a chance to talk to a few more of the participants. Funny how you see the Photo Marathon lanyards from across the street and nod and smile knowingly at each other. They understand your pain. They know your exhaustion. Fellow troops in the trenches. By this time Denman is starting to get insane with the amount of people heading downtown for the fireworks. I take my picture and then wander down to the beach. We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day! On the way back to the cafe I see another marathoner taking the same picture that I did for this theme. I wonder how many duplicates of any given subject there will be?? It’s kind of great to know that similar things catch your eye. It will be interesting to see the different takes on the same idea.

What’s this? A beer? Don’t mind if I do. No longer feel quite so glum about my inadequacies in the lens-department, due largely in part to being slightly tipsy and mentally exhausted.

Ninth theme announced: Take it to the Grave

After sitting on a park bench in the sun with my friends Ryan and Ruwan, eating burgers and bitching about first world problems, we discuss the day’s events thus far. I love how clever my friends are. They were organized and brought props. PROPS! I didn’t even think to bring a tripod… or shoes that actually fit my feet. Clever. Lessons learned for next year.

Beer time?

Tenth theme announced: Second Chance

I debate trying to recreate the echo shot, hopefully get it right this time, but the light is waning, and I know that pretty soon I’m going to be screwed. So I tried instead to find one more street subject. I locate a tattered couch in an alley. My already shaky hands are generally adept at messing up shots in the sunniest of conditions; henceforth, it’s unlikely that I will get a steady picture, sans-tripod. I wish I could shoot “Second Chance” tomorrow, with a new roll of film and a better camera. Again, unlikely… I’m now imagining difficulty moving my limbs in the morning.

Coming into the home stretch!

People galore, downtown! Seriously, I am normally claustrophobic, so the steady and constant stream of bodies down Denman Street is starting to make my heart pound and my hands sweat. Then I see some policemen ride down the street on giant, gorgeous Clydesdale horses, and the Hare Krishna’s following — dancing exuberantly with trumpets and tambourines. This is the best. day. EVER. Is there always this much cool stuff happening around here?

Eleventh theme announced: Not for Sale

By this time all I can think about is my limited light options and lack of tripod. I head into the thick of the crowd at the beach just to try to catch the last shred of sunlight. Line up the shot beautifully. This might actually work! I realize after the fact that I set it on the wrong shutter speed. Dammit. This one is bound to be insanely overexposed. Oh, hello camera— have we met before? I apparently have no idea how you operate. I silently vow to teach myself better photography skills, and hope that my roll of film mysteriously goes missing during the developing process.

Twelfth theme announced: Expectation

We are all rejuvenated knowing that the torture adventure will soon be ending. This has been one of the most interesting experiences I have had in a long time. It’s been so amazing to come together with a great group of creative people, of all levels and backgrounds: from film novices like me, to seasoned professionals—bound together by the appreciation of the photographic medium. I can only imagine what goes into organizing an event like this; everyone did an incredible job! Although we are all tired from today, I can only imagine that this is just one of several really long days that have been put in by the entire 12×12 Vancouver team. Bravo, you guys!!

The final exhibit is in a month. I’m both excited and nervous to see it. I realized after this weekend how much I depend upon automatic settings and trial-and-error in my own work. I’m not sure what the final result will look like, but even if I get 2 decent shots from the film I’ll be thrilled. I can’t wait to practice over the next year, and *fingers crossed*— I’ll get a chance to participate in this event again in the future. Vancouver is a special city, and to have an opportunity to meet amazing people, drink beer together, and be collectively creative? You can’t really ask for anything better. (Except maybe ponies).

With all this busing around in my spare time I’ve gotten a chance to do a lot of thinking. Looking back on where I was, and where I am now, and honestly – it’s all pretty great. If I go back only 6 months, I am so far ahead of where I was. If you are ever feeling shitty about life, just look back a few years. Inevitably you will probably be able to say “Thank god _______ happened to me, because if it didn’t, I never would have found __________!” (I hope you fill in those blanks with: I inherited that marshmallow factory, and, how good I am at tap dancing!).

A friend remarked to me recently that I seem like an eternal optimist. Which is only partly true. I think in the back of my mind when I am most worried about how scary life can be sometimes, that is when the optimist switch gets flicked, and I start to look at ridiculously small wonderful things all around me, as a reminder that despite it all – life is pretty outstanding.

I’ve begun to write down a bit of a personal manifesto for myself. Loose rules of thumb that work for me and ultimately help me to become a better, happier person (especially when I’m feeling like a mediocre, negative person). I write it all down in my Wonder Woman sketch book. What started as just a few statements has now descended down the page and around the corner. Here are a few snippets:

1. Enjoy what you already have – get to know it before you move on.
2. Use it up (toothpaste, shoes, and ideas).
3. Listen. Really.
4. Have very specific dreams.
5. Reevaluate often.
6. Always have something to bring to the table – if not creativity, cookies.
7. Take care of what you own (mind, body, spirit).
8. Do your best. In everything you do, no exceptions (love, life & laundry)
9. STOP MARKING TIME.
10. Go outside.
11. Stop living life wishing things were different… change, or change your thinking.
12. Always have a jar of pens. Sketch often; jot things down.
13. Never trust your memory.
14. Nothing exists until it needs to.
15. If you don’t have anyone to go with, go anyway.
16. Drink water.
17. Guilt causes resentment; avoid both at all costs.
18. Give people the benefit of the doubt.
19. Don’t be afraid to fuck up. Don’t be so hard on yourself when you do (and you will)
20. Talk to as many people as possible. It’s good practice for making friends.
21. Make opportunities for yourself.
22. Notice the details, they are what make life interesting.
23. Try.
24. Baby steps will lead you there eventually, no matter how daunting the journey.
25. Be kind.

Where am I going to be in a month? Will I have found a new amazing job? Will I be working at an in-between position until my dream one comes along? Will I have met some new friends? What new music will I have discovered that I now cannot live without? Time will tell…

26. Time = Perspective.

The media is of course having their usual exploitative heyday with the Vancouver Riots. I don’t even really want to acknowledge the whole thing, because frankly, it’s all been done. It’s be said. Over and over until we want to collectively cry. And yes, it was horrible. But out of that dark again, Vancouver proved herself to be comprised of some of the most inspiring, caring and selfless people around. This is what that post is about. This is a post where I talk about how I came to the realization tonight that since moving into this little apartment, the best possible thing could have happened: my extreme lack of space forced my hand into not having a TV. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love watching HBO series and documentaries as much as the next person. But I found that when I had an actual TV in my possession, i often ended up watching a lot of News. Under the guise of educating myself, I was in actuality poisoning my psyche, one day after the next with the endless constant negativity. Now yes, i understand this sounds all very dramatic, but there was a definite downward slump in my mood when I was watching the news 2 hours a day. The sometimes subtle sad or hostile undertones, well – we’ve become so accustomed to them in our daily lives that we don’t question them anymore. But undoubtedly, they are toxic.

Now, because I don’t have my own TV, but have still become quite the hockey watcher during the playoffs, I ended up at my best friend Tara and her husband Jim’s place for Game 7. We understandably we all super excited, and drinking beer and having fun. And then we lost. Disappointing? Yes. Of course. The end of the world? Not in the slightest.

Then we got a call saying that the downtown core had begun the rioting. So we switched the station, and then we watched, stunned. Horrified. And for a few wordless minutes, heartbroken. Despondent. Those pictures – those Molotov cocktail throwing testosterone enraged psychos… this couldn’t be our city? Admittedly, i was in a tipsy state of denial. A friend and I walked home together, and overhead you could hear the helicopters circling, and the endless drone of ambulance sirens taking load after load of casualties to nearby Vancouver General Hospital. What is one to do in this situation?? Well, obviously – the only thing that made any sense to my mind in that moment: go find some swings, and swing the hell out of them. So we did. Then, after the swinging had concluded, it only made sense to further continue the tipsy party in the back courtyard, sipping Granville Island Raspberry beer, and laying in lounge chairs under the stars. Listening to our city, which had in the course of a handful of hours resembled a war zone.

Had this been my old apartment, I would have rushed right home, plunked myself in front of the TV and stayed up until 4am watching in horror as the police struggled in vain against a bunch of hoodlum assholes hell bent on creating destruction. But, because I didn’t, I brushed my teeth, got into bed, and fell asleep.

When I woke up this morning, I felt melancholy. I wasn’t bummed out about the game loss. The Canucks played a great series. Bruins played a better one. It’s ok to admit that your opponent is good. I kept reading Facebook posts about a clean-up that was going to start happening early in the morning downtown – people would be heading there with bags and brooms and dustpans, ready to put the city back to right. Back to normal.

I grabbed my camera and hopped on a bus, preparing myself for a few hours of documenting the carnage, and perhaps lending a hand, if I was needed. But when I got there, my heart almost burst at the weight of it all. The sheer number of smashed windows, the burnt dumpsters, the blood on the ground. BUT… and here is a very large BUT – I was absolutely blown away by how many people were out already, making the city sparkle. People from all walks of life were there – children, teenagers with mohawks, seniors in wheelchairs, businessmen in expensive suits, women in high heels. And they were all working together. And they were all doing it with smiles on their faces. There was no hand-wringing; there was no endless bitching about how the city has failed us, and all the things that could have gone wrong. It was just people in love; bursting with pride for their little city, protecting her and shining her up. Not quite brand new, but almost. And it brought tears to my eyes, several times.

Tonight I realized – I’m so much better off without the TV. I’m better off surrounding myself with things that inspire me, or restore my faith in people who care to do good for those around them, and the place they call home. You can look elsewhere for scathing commentary on the downfall of humanity and the ineptitude of whoever the fuck you think dropped the ball. Personally, I think that the Vancouver Police Department did a bang up job. I think the paramedics and firefighters and civilians who threw themselves in harm’s way on behalf of a city we all love so dearly— you were all amazing — and words cannot thank you enough. So instead, I will do what comes easy to me – I will tell the story of my day through pictures. And I hope that the positivity comes through. The optimism and gratitude. Vancouver, don’t let this get you down. You’ll shake this off just as you have before. You really have no other choice – there are too many of us here, cheering you on.

I have built a ridiculous amount of Ikea furniture in the last 2 weeks, during which it was necessary to utilize both the accompanying allen key, as well as a case of Strongbow to help to decipher the universally confusing instructions. There are no words (well, except for the occasional copious profanity from me) to explain the process — only seemingly easy, yet-always-confusingly-ambiguous diagrams. I like to imagine the Ikea Informational Designers laughing heartedly at the millions of North American dopes swearing profusely while trying to patch together the Lerberg shelving unit. Frustration ensues (as does more Strongbow). Everything ultimately ends up working out fine, albeit slightly considerably off kilter. My friend Meghan lent a hand with the large Expedit room divider thingamajig, and if she hadn’t, I might not be here typing this right now. I would instead be visibly twitching in a corner muttering about wooden dowels not fitting into too many holes. Why are there holes if nothing fits into them?? Why, also apparently confused Ikea Instruction Man, why??? At times I was concerned about my mental desire to punch an illustration in the face. But, it all worked out in the end.

There are subtle differences to my feelings for this apartment vs. the last. I love the hardwood floors. I dis-love the lack of counter space. I love the brightness. I dis-love the fact that sometimes I feel like I’m living in a fishbowl. I love the fact that I can walk from one end of my place to the other in roughly 3.2 seconds. I dis-love the fact that I can walk from one end of my place to the other in roughly 3.2 seconds. The windowbox of course, goes without saying.

For once in the history of me I have far too many shelves for books, and not enough volumes to put upon them. Over time, one builds a substantial collection. Bit by bit, your personal library expands to fill the space, to tell the story of your literary life, your tastes and trends as you get older. But books are tedious to move, and being that I knew I would be coercing my put-upon friends to help me move again at some undetermined time in the future, it seemed only right that I cut my collection in half… in quarters. So I gave them all away. And now my shelves look alarmingly empty. I never realized how much I felt my book collection somehow reflected my intelligence or ability to be interesting. Funny how those ideas seem to develop all on their own, in the back of your mind. So I’m beginning again. At least now I can been more choosy, and can do arty things like color-coordinate them, as opposed to my tried-and-true ‘lining them up in terms of height’ method before.

Here is some photographic proof that despite me not having any sort of cohesive style, it still sort of works, in all it’s randomness. (It also proves that I, like the rest of the city have fallen into NHL playoff watching fever). I love color. I love texture. I love vintage ceramics that involve anthropomorphic cats wearing hats and smiling mischievously. I love out of date technology like cameras and typewriters. Although mildly alarming sidenote: my typewriters are currently M.I.A. (which when you think about it, is it a feat it itself, being that they weigh about 20lbs each, and there are 4 of them).

I have managed to separate the space with the shelving unit, which actually ends up making a pretty sweet little bed nook. I hung paper lanterns overhead and curtains at the foot of the bed to close off the space a little. Which ends up making it feel really cozy when I’m tucked inside.

I was afraid that if I moved into a bachelor suite that I would end up feeling like I never left my bedroom. I was worried that people would come over to visit me and it would feel awkwardly small, but the opposite has been true. I think the mirrors and giant windows lend themselves well to opening it up in here.

Plus, the times I feel like I need to get away from these walls, I can slip out into the back garden, which is absolutely gorgeous right now. There are bluebells strewn about, and people have staked out tiny garden plots and filled them with vegetables and soon-to-be-flowering plants. There are chairs to laze around and read books in. Trees to lay under, and quiet enough to forget that I am living in the city (well, except when I am actually inside the apartment, when there is no way in hell I could ever forget that I live in the city, and more accurately, on the side of a highway). Thank god for earplugs.

So here I am – feeling pretty damn good about life in general. It’s nice to tick one thing off my life list. Having a home base that I feel excited to be in makes for a pretty contented me. I’m still on the job search, but it will come soon enough. In the meantime it’s officially dress and t-shirt weather, and the days stretch past 9:30. Hurray for Spring (and very shortly, Summer)!

I had kept in contact with the manager of my old building and asked him to keep me posted on vacancies. He had mentioned that a large suite would be opening mid-July, and it would be almost identical to the place my cousin was currently living in. I didn’t think I could wait that long, I said. Although he knew I was looking for a 1-bedroom, he mentioned that they had just evicted a man who had lived in a bachelor suite for 11 years. But he had been both a recluse and a chain smoker, so the place was in pretty rough shape. Although I had no desire to live in a bachelor suite, my curiosity to look at the bachelor suite won. So I agreed to check it out.

Holy hell, was I unprepared for the state of the apartment when I walked into it — despite the landlord’s forewarning of the disgusting condition. I discovered that not only was smoking his favorite hobby, but he was also an expert at avoiding cleaning and not taking out the garbage… FOR ELEVEN YEARS. Without a word of exaggeration, this man could not have cleaned that apartment a single time that he lived there. It was like a scene from “Hoarders”. There was garbage piled everywhere, and this was apparently after the they had already trucked out 4 gigantic bins to the dumpster, including a pretty impressive collection of porn VHS tapes from the 80′s. Cobwebs clung to every wall, and the smell of stale smoke hung so thick that I had to cover my mouth with my jacket sleeve to quell the urge to throw up. It was horrendous. Instantly, it was confirmed: not only did I not want to live in a bachelor suite, there was no way in hell I could ever live in that bachelor suite.

In the meantime, living in Maple Ridge became increasingly more stifling, creatively speaking. I had not written, taken photos or done much of anything aside from sleep, eat, job-hunt, and dream of a new life since I got here. My wheels were spinning.

Long story somewhat shorter: I imagined this amazing life in this end-of-July, large 1-bedroom upstairs apartment without actually seeing it. When I finally did see it, it left a lot to be desired. The interior bones were different from my cousin’s suite that I was basing my image upon. And honestly, it just didn’t feel… mine.

One heart, sank.

I was so conflicted. This is the problem that arises when you live much of your life in your mind before it tangibly unfolds in reality. Back to the drawing board. I went to ask the landlord to continue to keep me posted about future vacancies. He was deep in the midst of reinventing the Hoarder’s Den.  I was absolutely astonished by it’s transformation. It’s pretty incredible what a few coats of paint, ripping out of hideous filthy carpet, trucking out 2 tons of toxic garbage, several weeks of fumigation, and complete gutted renovation can do. It was beginning to shape up beautifully! The inlaid floors were in gorgeous shape (that was one thing I always longed for in my old place… hardwoods). The black & white tiles were laid in the kitchen, the clawfoot was in the living room, waiting to be reglazed. The windows, beyond repair, are set to be replaced with double paned ones to keep out the street noise from 12th. The new appliances ordered. It was a work-in-progress — but still, all of a sudden, I realized…

This was my little apartment.

I would end up paying substantially more than I would if I chose to take another bachelor suite down the hall, due to all the cost incurred while renovating the Hoarder’s Den. But it seemed worth it because this would be new and clean and quaint and wonderful. It had the tub, the tiles, the high coved ceilings, the floors, heritage built-ins, a kitchen window! This apartment had everything I was looking for… only bite-sized. This apartment was giving me the vibe that I had been waiting for from all the other larger places I had been checking out. This little place was giving me the sense that I could live within her walls quite happily, despite her small stature. I was as surprised as anyone to realize this.

This was my new home.

Now realistically — I know myself, and I have lived in bachelor suites at previous stages in my life. It’s tough. I like having space to create, and make a mess, and lay on the floor in the middle of the living room listening to records and drinking wine. But this apartment didn’t have a living room. Or rather, it had one LARGE living room, and no bedroom. Admittedly, it was going to be a huge challenge condensing all my stuff into one minuscule space. I would need to be more organized. I began taking a lot of inspiration from Apartment Therapy’s website, and it’s “Small Cool” contest — where people who live in small apartments send in photos of their homes and discuss how they deal with the challenges of condensed living… (some with only 200-300 sq ft, which make this bachelor suite’s 430 sq. ft. seem spacious!).

I understand that it’s unlikely I will live in this place for much longer than 6 months… ultimately I want to have a place that is not right on 12th — a place I can actually put roots down in. Luckily, I will have first dibs on any other apartment that may come up in the building, so I can continue to be choosy, IN VANCOUVER. But for now, I am prepared to take a beautiful tiny apartment for an undetermined amount of time. For now, I’m prepared to think of this place as my home and make it amazing, as best as I can. For now, I’m really just excited about the thought of picking up my life and getting on with things, already. I’m hoping once the reno’s are done (mid-May) and I’m settled in, I’ll be able to carve out a space that’s all my own, and my currently-on-life-support creativity will be revived.

Next up, just a few other small details: new job, finding a boyfriend, financial stability, general grown-up-edness, dinner parties hosted in a teeny apartment. Baby steps… one square foot at a time.

I was cynical, and flip and smug and negative. And I was so, so wrong. I have thus been absent in a beer-clouded haze of wandering and cheering and high-fiving perfect strangers. This in of itself shows the extent of the celebrations that took place during the Olympics, as I personally equate the high-five somewhere up there with university beer-bongs and riding mechanical bulls in redneck bars;  I tend to avoid it more due to public humiliation as I always either grossly over or underestimate the distance of hands and inevitably it turns into an awkward half-arm-slap where both parties are forced to pretend that it never happened.

So yes – over the course of 2 weeks I had possibly the most fun of my life. I started waking up at 5:30 a.m. to avoid the commuting congestion, and in the process laughed more than I have in ages. I witnessed more incredible sunrises than I have ever seen before.

I made amazing new friends, watched the sky light up with a million fireworks and bright art installations, and the twinkle of lights on the mountains. There was live music on every corner, street entertainers and massive t.v. screens all over the place so thousands of people could stop their meandering and join into impromptu renditions of “Oh Canada” when we took yet another gold. I cried on several occasions, out of tragedy and pride for our athletes. The patriotism that filled this little city was overwhelming. It was thick in the air and everyone was just on their best behavior – helpful and friendly and ecstatic and wonderfully amazing.

I watched undoubtedly the most exciting hockey game in the history of hockey games (or rather in the history of *my* hockey games as I’m fairly new to it in the past few years). I ate no less then 284 pieces of pizza and consumed 681 pints of beer* (*numbers are approximate due to my inability to count when tipsy). On the last day, when Canada scored that unbelievable goal in overtime to win gold and the yell of an entire nation went off simultaneously we were so overjoyed that we dropped our aversion to the giant crowds and headed downtown. We bought Strongbow tallcans which we sneakily placed in paper bags and walked over the Granville Street Bridge. The people so thick, it was like nothing I have ever witnessed. Laughing and dancing on bus shelters and rooftops of hostels, celebrating in the streets, hugging  policemen and the aforementioned high-fiving happening EVERYWHERE. Top that off with a sunset on the beach, more Strongbow, delicious burgers, and still more beer, and it was arguably the best party Vancouver ever witnessed. Suck on that, you “No Fun City” naysayers.

The snow didn’t really make much of an appearance (until today, mid-March once everyone has planted their flowers), but we made due as best as possible. We wooed the media and travelers from all over the world with our gorgeous views and million cherry blossoms and huge magnolias on every street corner,  already in bloom. Yes, we will undoubtedly be paying for this party for a long, long time – but the collective well-being, and the unbelievable ability to stir up excitement in Canadians who are often known for their indifference, it was worth every penny. You did good Vancouver, and proved us all wrong in the end – we are more proud than you will ever know.