I've been away recently. Yes I had a lovely time. Canada ay? Yup.
Actually, I went to Las Vegas (that's another story) first. Then up to Vancouver, up into British Columbia (that's yet another story) and back to Vancouver.
I hadn't been to Vancouver before. My bags had, once. Meanwhile, I landed in a freezing Toronto without anything warm to wear.
It can be grey, wet and cold in the winter in Vancouver too - so much so that they've got the winter Olympics there in 2010. Apparently they're not worried about global warming making life difficult for the event in a place where the mountains rise out of the sea. A combo luge-waterslide might not do much for the sport, but the kids sure will love it.
But this was summer. There I was wearing shorts and my new all-terrain tourist sandals at 9pm on a Wednesday night, listening to the Raconteurs - otherwise known as Jack White's other band and more fabulous than his White Stripes were at the Big Day Out - at an outdoor concert in the city's grand and verdant Stanley Park.
Afterwards, I walked back to my hotel just as a giant fireworks display - some sort of sister city thing - lit up the harbour. On nights like these homesickness can mutate into dreams of emigration. This was only Wednesday ... so, gee, what do you guys for for fun at the weekends?
But Vancouver does have its downside. Well, two. Its downtown area has a one-way system that forces tourists picking up rental cars a few hundred metres from their hotel to drive to Alaska and back - hey look it's Gareth Morgan coming the other way - to return to their accommodation.
It has also has a guy named Cliff.
Cliff might be a jerk but he was also able to define something: the price of an anecdote in Vancouver is seven bucks Canadian.
More seasoned travel writers know that as anecdotes go that's pretty cheap. In the Third World, anecdotes can sometimes cost you hundreds of dollars and the temporary use of some internal organs.
There I was, strolling towards the Cirque Du Soleil gates when Cliff approached me. He said he and his wife had locked their car keys, tickets and wallet in the boot. Could he borrow $7 to get a cab home?
He had an honest face, sort of. Actually he looked a lot like William H. Macy which isn't quite the same thing. I was reluctant. I gave him a "Why should I believe you?" look and asked him how he intended to pay me back.
We arranged to meet at the Cirque merchandise tent at half time. I told him my name. I gave him the money. I actually thought at the time: This will be a true test of my affection for Vancouver.
Cliff said thanks and took off. Actually he ran off. I figured he was in a hurry to get a cab or keen to tell his wife, "Hey this nice Kiwi fella has saved our evening."
Do you think he showed up at half time? Of course he didn't.
Why did he run? Because 200m in the direction he headed is yet another of Vancouver's many attractions - its casino.
And you don't have to go through its doors to be made a sucker.
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