Vacation Recap #1: A Saskatchewan Affair

We were waiting for the bus because we were tired. So very, very tired in so many, many ways.

• we had been up since 5 am eastern time and it was now 7 pm western time, which felt like ten
  
• we hadn't gone to sleep until almost 2 am before that 5 am awakening
• the night before that our daughter had woken up every hour to remind us why we were going away without her
• that same daughter had stopped sleeping through the night on a fateful trip to Ithaca last September
  
• that works out to something like 240 nights since either one of us has had an uninterrupted night's sleep

Since the ferry back from Granville Island would drop us at the bottom of an incredibly steep hill, returning to our hotel by water was not an option. But the posted bus map was quite confusing, and we couldn't seem to figure out if it actually went downtown. That's when we met Saskatchewan.

She was probably in her late forties or early fifties and she was very round. Even her hair was pulled up in a loose bun with a poof of hair that crowned her forehead. Her face was moist and she told us how much she hated the humidity, so rare during her annual trip to Vancouver. She was unimpressed with Granville Island, but couldn't very well return from her vacation without having done anything. She was pleased that her hotel - right on the bay - was substantially less expensive than ours, although she confessed that she was getting a weekly rate. She told us about her one trip to Ontario, which was first too cold for June and then sticky with humidity, as she fanned herself with the top of her shirt. It was a cream-coloured shirt, short-sleeved, with a yellow and gray pattern across the front.

We eventually got on the bus and made it back to our hotel, where we slept - blissfully uninterrupted - until our brunch date the next morning.

In a hotel by the bay, we ate our eggs with an incredible view of the water. Then, as we were leaving, I heard a voice say, "I met them yesterday waiting for the bus."

There was Saskatchewan, sitting beside a man with a dark complexion. His heritage, like my husband's, was difficult to place. Mediterranean? Italian? Persian?

Saskatchewan's smile was also difficult to interpret. "Isn't it beautiful?" she said, gesturing at the view.

I noticed that she was still wearing the yellow and black patterned shirt.

"My hotel is right across the street."