Vancouver, B.C., ...eh?

Another weekend in the Pacific wet coast. Since Canada is just a hundred miles north of Lynnwood, WA where I'm staying, I hit the I-5 to check out Vancouver British Columbia, Canada.

After what seemed like half of forever getting out of the Seattle metroplex, I eventually began to skirt along the edge of the Cascade mountains, seeing little villages nestled beside small clear lakes and vineyards.

Getting into Canada was a snap. A Canadian border patrol agent of mid east origin asked me if I had any alcohol, tobacco or firearms. He also asked if I had been communicating with anyone over the internet. "No, sir." After adjusting my GPS and rental car settings to metric units, I was then on my way.

It took a little getting used to seeing my speedometer registering 100 and not going all that fast and speed limit signs posting 60 inside neighborhoods but after a while it didn't matter.

I found that the fall colors were still intact but the grass all over the place was still a verdant green. One traditional thing I saw was the logs floating on the Fraser River. It never occurred to me that they still used that method to get them to the sawmills.

Downtown Vancouver was a blend of old town and high rise buildings. Just like any other city, there was the usual collection of oddities, bums sleeping on grates and tourists snapping pictures. Vancouver has a thriving Asian population that expands well out of the traditional Chinatown.

Stopping at an ATM, I wondered if I could get Canadian money with my card, but that was a piece of cake. The bank was more than happy to charge me $1.50 for the experience. Incidentally, with the devaluing of the US dollar, the exchange rate is only a cent or two difference. I remember when it was as much as 1:1.75. Not wanting to return with unused foreign cash, I would later remember to spend all my Canadian money with the exception of a couple of quarters and a Loonie.

I listened to Canadian politics on the radio but didn't seem near as heated as our own. The radio also reminded me that long lines back into the US was inevitable and should expect waiting times as much as an hour. Heading east along the river in intermittent rain, I eventually decide to turn back south toward one of the crossings and face the long wait which only turned out to be 45 minutes. I have to say, security on the American side (cameras, electronic sensors, etc.) scrutinizes you a little more than the Canadians.

Even though it is anther country, the appearance and experience might as well have been another city in the state of Washington.