monkeycrap's Diaryland Diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Canada Trip - Day 12
Day 12 - Seattle to Salt Central
I've been on the run, driving in the sun, driving down the 101, California here I come, right back where I started from...
Well, not quite. But there was renting of car though.
Dad drove from Seattle, taxied along I-5, made a little turn at Pacific Highway 15, reached dead end, reversed, sahmula balik lagi try again, find correct turn, continue cruising. Our dear Ford Focus played out this repeated motif a few times, and that pretty much took up our entire afternoon.
The drive through Seattle provided much monotonous calm, which I presumed was brought about by the endless strips of grasses and shrub fields. Common sight in many countries, I know, but coming from a place where the nearest flat neverending slab of grassland is to be found at a locality named Bedok Stadium, it was only natural, I guess, to be a little spellbound by the unsung beauty of it all.
You'll remember me, when the west wind moves, upon the fields of barley, you'll forget the sun in his jealous sky, as we walk in fields of gold. So she took her love, for to gaze awhile, upon the fields of barley, in his arms she fell as her hair came down, among the fields of gold.
Arrived at the visitor info centre, so intelligently plopped at the Canadian border. Seeing as it was rather late in the afternoon, our main priority was to, via the info centre, get checked into somewhere to stay. No, actually our main priority was to use the toilet. Anyway, I digest, er, digress. The staff at the centre were very helpful, and we were instantly booked 2 nights at Travelodge in North Van.
I was admiring the paintings/posters strewn along the wall of the centre, when one of them caught my eye. It was an unquestionably gorgeous artist's impression of the Okanagan Valley, with hills and plateaus and mountains and wild horses sauntering around in abundance. Like a scene from Spirit: Stallion of the Cinnamon. Cimmanon. Cirramon. Whatever. But yeah. I just knew I had to visit that place. So I went to check my guidebook, and found out that all they had at Okanagan were fruit plucking and wine tasting. No wonder la, must go to wine tasting first, then get drunk, then can see free roaming wild horses amidst neverending plains la. Cheh, get drunk already don't say horses la, dragons also can see.
By the time we drove into North Van, lingered around in the traffic congestion, found Travelodge and checked in, it was pretty late. Dad arranged to meet up with his long time buddy for dinner at Salt Central Chinese Restaurant. Of course, that's not what it's actually called, but it's actually more appropriately representative of the cuisine it serves up than it's actual name, which vapourised in my head the moment I tasted their Dead Sea Soup and Salt Lake City Chow Mein. I still wonder about their rationale behind placing salt shakers on the table top. They should be providing something to neutralise their, erm, overextravagant seasoning. Like cyanide. Ok lah, not that bad.
After dinner, it was an innate response, almost a reflex, from Dad to want to fix another appointment with his friend. Of course, one meeting is never enough, not when you're like 504852374 miles apart. Silly questions flooded my mind at that point, as I thought about people whom I've gotten to know, be it those residing in Singapore or overseas. How many meetings would be considered enough? When will we be able to see each other again? In some cases, will we ever be able to see each other again, to have what we had before? Would it be the same? Do we actually have to meet, in whatever sense of that word, to spend time? Is it a case of spending as much time as possible? If it's not, then how'd you determine quality time? Will there be more quality time spent if distance is not a factor, or is it a case of absence making the heart grow fonder? Am I taking people for granted, or is it just a case of it doesn't matter, everyone's moving on, gotta do their own thing, life goes on? Is it important, these relationships, or does it, like the time spent catching up over salted shit, all come to naught? The angmoh way of letting people know how much they mean to you, or the ching-chong way of letting actions speak louder than words?
Head rush. Stupid salt overdose.
11:09 a.m. - 2006-06-28
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
other diaries: |