We spent An’s last day in Vancouver seeing some sights, going up the tower (worth it), walking around in Kitsilano and Granville Island. The night before she left we went and splashed out on a top-end sushi meal (Tojo’s) – well worth it, only delicate touch of western influences in a fine japanese meal.

The next day we parted midday, she went to the airport, and I took the Greyhound bus to Kelowna. Kelowna is in the middle of Okanagan Valley, and I had a confused notion of checking the place out, and to take the time to think of what to do next.

From fertile hinterland, the mountains approached from either side until they surrounded the road – green and sharp, with the highway following a little stream. Then the green faded and the mountainous landscape became drier, covered in yellow grass. Then we descended into Okanagan valley itself, with a view on the lake – I didn’t see many vineyards, but maybe they tend to avoid the highway.

The bus dropped me off at a mall, and I had to laugh – this was a typical Mallrats scene, with fluo-clad teenagers lounging around waiting for the bus after a hard day of skateboarding and other activities around the mall. Sometimes we forget that those films, that seem exotic to us, are based in daily fact.

After breakfast the next day, I shopped for lunch and went on one of the advertised hikes: Knox Mountain. Knox Mountain is probably a hill, since I climbed it in about an hour. The feel of the place is distinctly mediterranean, dried vegetation, pines, crickets, the aromatic smells. The path: dry and gravelly, reminding me of short hikes we took into the Pyrenees.

I wasn’t alone, as Knox Mountain obviously was some kind of city park, with power walkers and bikers taking a go at the steep slopes. After going back down, I settled myself in a spot in the shade to have lunch at the waterfront.

This holiday is a bit of a mosaic of holidays. Provincial and charming Victoria, the intense hike at the West Coast Trail, city trip in Vancouver, and now I felt like being on a lakeside resort, Lake Garda American version.

I criss-crossed the town, finding it a bit boring in the drowsy afternoon sun. I scoped out the local supermarket in great detail, as any traveller knows is fun to do. I did laundry. I found the local beach after wandering in another direction, and sat there for a while. Then I went back to the hotel and hoped that it was early enough to be bedtime already.

In short, I felt grumpy and antisociable, which I indulge in when I’m alone, since nobody gets hurts, or cares. The SameSun environment didn’t help – I resolve to try to avoid them – with the loud music blaring at any hour of the day, the jaded 22-year old partying around the world, the happy-hippie colours and the eye-bleedingly bad murals.

After much agonizing over my lonely planet guide, I decided to go to Banff, for simple reasons of time and budget – in a future holiday I’d like to visit the Queen Charlotte Islands, and take the boat up to Alaska, but that was simply undoable in a week.

This morning found me in a better mood already, on a bus to Banff. 8 hours of bus, but i didn’t mind: I’m now surrounded by postcard mountains and pine smell, so I think I’ve made the right choice. More later.

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