Dan and I played zombies until 4am, neither of us able to keep our eyes open much longer. The most important fact thus far is that I went to bed knowing I led the kill-stakes. Bus Driver Wayne woke us all up at 7am sharing the news: we were parked in the belly of a ferry and unless we wanted to be locked in the lower decks, it would be best to get our bodies upstairs.
Retracing a wake to mainland Canada, I was able to ‘perform’ a blog on the boat, holding back the yawns in view of the trees of Prevost Island and its little rocky cousins in the Boundary Pass. Back on the bus in the belly of the boat, we drove off the ferry and onward to YVR, Vancouver International Airport.
We stopped and waited a mile from the airport until an appropriate time; we were originally supposed to have turned up later than we did, so initially Dave arranged some special treatment curbside, but running in fact early, we dropped our bags off with men in porters’ uniforms (I believe they’re called porters) and skipped inside with hand luggage and wavy bits of paper that say ‘ooh, me first.’ By the time we sat by the gate ready to go, I realised I was super-tired and managed a little snooze once on the plane.
Descending upon Regina’s flat, wind-sculpted skin of textured snowfields, I managed a thought: ‘Ew, it looks cold out there.’ And to be sure, it’s a little chillier than Vancouver Island — drier too. As I type, my eyeballs feel like skinned grapes left in the sun. Looking out from my hotel room, I see a snow-covered parking lot, some residences, and purposeful buildings under a grey sky. If I go out at all, it will be steered by a wanton desire to eat out of boredom.
I didn’t go out. I tried to stay awake but couldn’t, and catnapped until 11pm when I felt semi-awake, looking for something to do.