September 11th 2009.
After a severely delayed flight from Manchester Airport, we arrived in Vancouver. Expecting the weather to be much like England, though less mserable, we were ready for a sultry 10 degrees. We were wrong. it was T-shirt weather and very much summer. We'd been set up for two nights at the Delta hotel at Vancouver Airport. After locating a local bar, we decided to do what we did best; drink.
This is my first trip to Canada. I've been to the US before but this place is totally different. For one, the paranoia is non-existent. everyone seems really happy. The first stereotype of North America I encountered was the bar itself, The Flying Beaver. 10 screens with 10 different sports, wings and ribs and varieties of beers in jugs. This was the dream I'd seen in so many films.
After smashing through a pizza and a couple of beers, we retired to our room. It was difficult to grasp the currecny and exchange rates at first but now (and this is late February) I'm very much at home.
And that's how we felt straight away. Home.
