Saturday, August 26, 2006

Big Yellow Cab 

The cabbie was a mentalist. He weaved between lanes, he ducked and dived, he flicked between radio stations - bhangra, bhangra, bhangra, a genteel panel game about opera, bhangra - with the attention span of a man who doesn’t have one.
He asked about where we were from, recommended hotdog stands, gave driving tips and general advice on how to proceed in life that, if followed, would likely get us killed. He was a fun guy.
“It doesn’t matter how you laugh as long as you’re laughing, ’cos if you’re not laughing you’re crying,” he hooted joyfully as pedestrians scattered and bounced off his hood in all states of consciousness. And hey - he drove a Prius.

He dropped us off at our hotel some twenty one hours after the first taxi had picked us up, and it was still only mid-afternoon.
Question: If the sun is shining through your little window when you take off, then stays in exactly the same spot in your window for the entire journey, all five thousand plus miles of it, does it mean that you’ve been travelling at the speed of light?
I made a mental note to collect some data on the return journey.

I took a photo and a couple of Anadin then crashed out in seconds.
After a short nap we checked out the neighbourhood and added our names to the list for a table at Milestones Grill and Bar, the original one, on the corner of Denman and Davie Street in the West End, then had a stroll on the beach, checking out the volleyball game and dodging rollerbladers until it was time to eat.

We’ve both wanted to visit Vancouver for - oooh - years and years. It was one of those great pinch yourself moments to finally be there. We grinned like twerps and felt very excited.

For dinner, I plumped for the Go On, You Only Live Once Cheesecake, while Girlfriend opted for the White Rum, Champagne, Peach Liqueur and Sangria Slushie with a Cute Plastic Toy On Top.

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