It’s a shame I can’t remember the sound of the electric trolley transit buses that rolled up and down either side of Aberdeen Ave. They were yellow and white with black trim, and had rear doors that opened on the right hand side to accommodate loading on one-way streets and off the boulevard under the maple trees.

Aberdeen was a rather short street, T’ing off on either end. To the North was Fresh Pond, an urban oasis surrounded by running trails and off-leash areas for cocker-spaniels wearing knitted garments from Huron Village. To the South, Mt. Auburn and the entrance to a dauntingly large cemetery that I always wanted to visit but could never find a good enough excuse to enter. It was located on top of a hill overlooking the Charles River that wound through the area like a coiled spring. I love the Charles even though it always turned me about when navigating the streets. One minute it was on my left, then I’d soon catch a glimpse of rowing clubs and kayakers passing by on my right.

The Charles / Harvard

The house on Aberdeen, even with its lack of a yard, was pleasant, as were its twins up and down the street. Front steps, shrubs, porches, and that one house on the corner that perpetually displayed an “Impeach Bush” sign in the window. We were on the top floor, including access to the finished attic which was Jay’s room, so it seemed like two levels. You would open the front door to find a wooden staircase that creaked and as you ascended into the living room. The wallpapered ceiling in the stairwell seemed to get lower the higher you went but it soon opened up to a sitting room. The dining room was to the right and was separated by French doors that we never closed. From there, heading straight to the back of the house was my territory. Just off the kitchen, next to the bathroom.

My room alone was probably about 300 square feet - I had too much space and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I went to Target and bought some modular furniture including two side tables, a laundry basket, and this big drawer that looked out of place in any setting. Gazing out my back window I saw a canopy of Maple and Oak. Just past a small span of grass, there was a parking lot for a modest four-storey office complex. I didn’t buy curtains for a few days so I’m certain the workers got to know me very well, although I never peered back at them. In the evenings I’d walk through that parking lot on my way to Shaw to buy pasta, crackers and other depressing foods that couldn’t be combined to make a complete meal by any means.

Shaw was great, aside from the 4-litre jugs of wine available down aisle 12 they also had self-serve checkouts so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone if I was having a down-day.

Cambridge Water Works/Fresh Pond - Photo credit: FredSmith on Flickr

There were leaves, chestnuts and foliage everywhere, except on pathways. Being how wet autumn leaves on cement are conducive to slipping I’m not sure if everyone was just extremely considerate, or because I was in a nation obsessed with law suits, but every sidewalk was always cleared. Walking home from the grocery store I’d usually call my sister or mom with my one free hand as I huffed back up Aberdeen with my goods.

The hardwood floors were sturdy, polished and cold. I did buy a small rug for my room, which helped somewhat with making it less echoey but it still didn’t feel like home for quite a while. Jay gave me an old TV set that, when plugged straight into the wall, still received 3 channels. I bent a metal coat hanger MacGuyver-style and stuck it in the cable input to get about 5 more stations, crystal clear. On top of that, I had my laptop, candles and wi-fi, what else could a lonely girl in a new country and city ask for?

There I would sleep, wake, dress, do my nails and lounge for the next few months between trips to work and back. It started to feel comfortable, and like my very own space, even if the room was too big and insufficiently furnished. One afternoon I headed out to Harvard Square where I ended up in that Curious George Store on the corner and bought books for my niece and nephew. Then I had a brilliant idea. I called my mom.

“Are you walking? I can hear your heels,” she’d always say. I told her I was window shopping, avoiding towering snowbanks on the side of the road, and that I was returning home for the holidays. I think everyone from the Cambridge Common down to Peet’s Coffee heard her squeal and utter numerous sugary phrases about her baby coming home.

I packed up and jetted across the country, passing faces at Logan Airport that became familiar due to my frequent flying at that time. I came home for Christmas and New Years and I wouldn’t have been able to fathom not doing so. Thanksgiving was tough enough, and I suppose a stronger person might have embraced the distance and the new adventure - but this was Christmas. I just had to be back home.

For my Homecomings blog post mini series

Boston and I had a tumultuous relationship. I moved there alone not knowing anyone or having ever visited the city before. I had a new role with my company, a new house, and new friends to seek out, which wasn’t easy. One thing that I was able to go out and do by myself (that lead to meeting all kinds of interesting characters) was going to concerts. Music has a way of bringing together longtime friends and loners.

Central Square (in Cambridge) was hardly littered with pea-coat wearing MBA’s like the rest of Boston. It wasn’t pretentious - it had dive bars, diners, galleries, and great live music venues. From a couple Mighty Mighty Bosstones “hometown throwdown” shows to punk bands and lots of local acts, I checked out venues like TT The Bears and the legendary Middle East. This scene was mere blocks away from my old loft on Pleasant Street.

I loved living in the republic of Cambridge. Every now and then I pine for the life I lead there although I’m so glad I have already been able to share a slice of these memories with John.

When Matt announced he’ll be playing a US Tour I was pretty much crossing my fingers that a Boston-area show would be included. Much to my delight, he’ll be stopping in Cambridge, at the Middle East no less.

Funny thing is, when I lived in Boston I ordered Avalanche online and it almost became a soundtrack for those times. I can’t listen to “In a World Called Catastrophe” and not think about walking to work along the frosted brick sidewalks of Harvard with the Charles River following me every step of the way.

If anyone didn’t know what to get me for Christmas I think a plane ticket to my former zip code would make me crumble into little bits of excitingness. Regardless, you can probably count on John and I taking a long weekend in March 2008.

The smell of roasted nuts and hot chocolate mixed with exhaust is what I would experience every morning at Harvard Square T station. Sweetness combined with mechanics mmmm good morning!. A friend of ours who just recently moved to Canada from England pointed something out on her blog:

One thing we have noticed, bus stations and sky train stations don’t have any shops or news agents. [MapleMole]

I assume this is what you can find at Tube stations in London. However, as you head out into the suburbs, Skytrain stations like King George and Scott Road do have little shops where you can get a bottle of water, a pack of gum, and a daily read down on the street. But the thing I know for sure about Harvard Square, Downtown Center or Gov’t Center stations in Boston was that on track-level there was usually a Dunkin Donuts kiosk. Just grab your coffee and a paper and jump on the train.

Photo credit: kingdafy on Flickr

I’ve always wondered, in this caffeine-crazy city where you can’t go half a block without bumping into a cafe, why don’t we have a mini Starbucks say… at the bottom of the escalators on Burrard? Is there some type of by-law that prevents it? Vancouverites love their coffee, but would something like that just get in the way?

I’m not talking about the Chilliwack Bruins (sorry Duane). Every hockey fan can have their alternate team they cheer for can’t they? I mean the best part about my duo is that they’re in different conferences. However don’t think for a second that if my two teams meet up in the Stanley Cup finals that I’ll hesitate to toss on my stick in rink and wear it with pride.

When I was little I remember sitting on our couch in Newton, next to the pillow that had such intricate embroidery I swear I always saw a face whenever I looked at it, and watching hockey games. I don’t remember the scores, the action or much about the games themselves as I was about 6 years old at the time. I just recall that there was one team out there with a big “B” on the front of their sweater and that made them cool, cause “B” is also for “Becky”.

Since then, I’ve always had a soft spot for the Bruins and in 2002 when I moved to their hometown they soon became my team. Whenever I was jonesing for some hockey action I’d either gather ’round with other ex-pat Canadians to watch games, catch them on NESN or attend a handful at the Fleet Center.

I still followed the Canucks though, I would tune into CKNW’s webcast feed to listen to Shorty give the play-by-play late at night. When the Canucks came to town I switched gears and cheered for Vancouver, who won 6-4, which was pretty awesome. At that time they still had Thornton, who was a powerhouse alongside Murray, and I knew the guy who did the music in the Fleet Center for games. I could always tell when he was working when some Tragically Hip would come on before a faceoff.

At one game when everyone stood up to sing the national anthem a girl behind me (who had already had too many beers at this point) proceeded to tip and spill her entire beverage down my back. My shirt was completely soaked so I decided I would just go buy something to wear for the rest of the game. I found a cute little jersey, changed into it, and went back to my seat - reeking of booze.

I haven’t had many opportunities to wear the jersey since then, until recently. The local Vancouver teen who lead the Vancouver Giants to the Memorial Cup as tournament MVP, Milan Lucic is currently playing for the Bruins.

[He] has done everything asked of him so far - skating well, playing two-way hockey, finishing his checks, dropping the gloves…

…If Lucic plays in more than nine games with the Bruins this season, his service time will count toward his three-year entry-level contract, which is worth an annual $850,000.

With some ice time, Lucic, who’s projected as a grinder with some offensive touch, could provide depth at left wing, perhaps allowing the club to make a veteran available for a trade to beef up the back end. [Boston Globe]

Side Note: If you still haven’t heard DaveO’s “Vancouver Giants Day” coverage at City Hall last spring with Pat Quinn, Brent Festerling, Don Hay, Kendal McCardle, and Milan Lucic, I suggest you go listen/download over at HockeyNW.

Best of luck to Milan in the big leagues, and although we’ll miss him at the Pacific Coliseum, I hope he definitely gets his time to shine with the Bruins this year. If he needs any tips on some really cool places to hang out (that you won’t have to be 21 to enter), he should give me a buzz. I know of all sorts of wholesome activities in Boston, even though they mostly involve bowling.

For me, I know there was nothing like watching a Habs/Bruins game being thousands of miles away from home but still enjoying some exciting “original six” hockey action. With all the reasons why I hold the Bruins close to my heart, I really hope they’ll have a great season. They are such a dynasty of a hockey club with far more history that I can attempt to compound into a blog post.

On quiet Saturday afternoons after a busy week your thoughts can wander away from work and schedules and reflect on some of the more important things like… making a personal blog post.

I can’t believe it’s almost Thanksgiving and I must admit this is one of my favourite times of year. When we were young, my brother, sister and I would rake the leaves that fell from the oak tree across the street from our Oma’s house. We’d make one huge pile then proceed to ride my brother’s bmx straight through it. We’d rake the leaves again, grab the bike, and the fun would continue for hours. Heading back into the house we’d see the steamy windows and know that we’d be greeted by the warm smell of roasting turkey as soon as we walked in the door. Our cheeks would turn bright red and after being out in the crisp autmun air for hours it felt like your nose would thaw right off your face.

If dinner wasn’t ready, we’d head downstairs, our bellies rumbling, and put on some records. Yes, records. Either that or we’d play this game with toy cars that was sort of like shuffle board meets bocce ball and it required us to roll up the rug in the living room so we could slide them across the smooth floor underneath. Eventually our game was discovered and we got in trouble for rolling up the carpet, apparently rolling is bad for carpets.

Our Thanksgiving dinner was probably a lot different than others. We didn’t have yams (or is that sweet potatoes) and Oma would always make her famous coleslaw. Then there was the cauliflower smothered in secret sauce. Rumour has it that its recipe is scripted in an ancient language and locked away from prying, hungry eyes. Actually, it’s just something Oma throws together off the top of her head, and every time it’s delicious.

I haven’t always made it home for Thanksgiving, in 2002 I was in Waltham, MA at an extended stay hotel. The room had a kitchenette with two elements that didn’t work and a saucepan caked in grease, most likely from a previous guest. I walked downstairs to the lobby, which ironically enough always smelled like oven cleaner, and checked out the frozen foods selection they graciously kept in a mini-store up front. I had to make the tough choice between a bean burrito and a pot pie.

I opted for the pot pie, and shuffled back upstairs in my slippers to call home. I missed everyone so much and all of these memories made my eyes well up and my tummy rumble. Oma came on the phone, and God bless her, she proceeded to described every bit of food she prepared that day, and how good it was going to taste. Suddenly my from-frozen dinner didn’t seem so satisfying.

That’s what’s pretty great about my family, even though you’re thousands of miles away, they speak to you with so much enthusiasm and love that you feel as though they’re only seconds away. That any minute they’re going to come busting through the door (in a loving way, not a freaky Kool-Aid man way…) and mom will cover you in hugs like nothing has changed.

Photo credit: john bollwitt on Flickr

At that time my niece was 2 and my nephew was only 6 months old. I think that was the toughest part. I could handle being alone in a hotel, which was one of many in the area, surrounded by interstate and strip malls. I could handle being away for the next year without a familiar face to look at for months on end. But the one thing that got me was birthdays and holidays. My mom and sister made sure to send me little gifts like a Valentine’s Day card and my niece sent along a home-crafted Easter card, but I wished I could be there. Nothing compares to that feeling of bouncing up the back steps of my Oma’s house, making smoke with your breath, and entering the house knowing that you’re going to be met with hugs, smiles and little voices announcing your arrival to the rest of the house.

Photo credit: john bollwitt on Flickr

This year, I feel luckier than ever to be able to head home on that 40 minute Skytrain ride for Thanksgiving next Sunday. I am even more pleased that John and I will get to experience this same feeling with his family, for their Thanksgiving. I’ll have a whole other experience, with an entirely different group of people, in a place that’s far away. However I have a feeling, and am pretty certain, that the sense of homecoming, good food and warm hearts will still be there. And for this, I can’t wait.

Not a week goes by that I am asked some sort of question by a tourist on the street and usually it’s about the bus. Sure, the Translink “Trip Planner” seems to be a decent “A to B” service, although getting from the Westin to Granville Island really isn’t an FAQ I encounter. It’s more like: “How much is the bus”, “How long is this ticket valid”, “Where will this take me”?

Dave currently has some friends in town so he asked me if I knew of any special visitor fare passes since he’s experienced this in other cities. Off the top of my head I couldn’t think of anything, and after further research we both decided that the best short term fare option would just be a book of blank “Fare Saver” tickets although even those are separated in value by zones.

This inspired me to look at a few other North American cities to see how Vancouver, whose main industry is tourism, stacks up.

I compared Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, Boston and Seattle as they are all cities I have either lived in or visited. The image below shows just a few of the criteria I think would be useful to visitors or those new to town.

All cities offer day and monthly passes. Visitor passes are available in 3 of the 5 cities listed although they are in different forms.

In Calgary they have the “Show n’ Go” which is a 2-14 day pass you can obtain for the transit system if you are attending a registered conference or event ($4/day). Toronto has a weekly pass available, as well as the same type of “Convention Pass” as Calgary, available for 3+ days (from $3.75/day). Boston also has weekly passes for bus or ‘T’, which is the subway system ($15/week). Seattle doesn’t have any short term passes however they do have more long-term options, offering an annual pass for the system. Translink’s “Fare Savers” start at $18 for a book of ten 1 zone tickets.

The best transit system that I have used has got to be the MBTA in Boston. When I moved there in 2002 I was able to download schedules to my PDA and plot out routes across town and state just using their website and maps. Five years later and looking up information for this post, I still find the MBTA website to be the most useful (and it’s the nicest looking of the 5 as well). They have even introduced the “Charlie Card” which is a reusable, re-loadable fare card that you can manage online.

You would think that such a tourism-minded like Vancouver would offer better resources and options for tourists especially when it came to fares. Information kits explaining zones and time limits, weekly passes, convention passes or even special fare saver tourist bundles available from hotels would be a start. I think visitors would really benefit from more information about public transit to get around the city (and out to other regions) then maybe they won’t always have to ride in some big red bus that looks like a double-decker with its roof chopped off.

Interesting article/review of the new BART EZ Rider Smart Card - they mention Translink… but not this Translink

We went for a walk this evening and ended up in English Bay. With our bellies running on empty and not wanting to wait in line for a spot on the Milestone’s patio to enjoy some unimpressive spinach dip, we hopped into the Denman Street Free House. Aside from them not having the wine that was listed in the menu and the bill which was a bottle of wine over our total, it was pretty enjoyable. The establishment itself is in a narrow space, which sent me spinning into a Boston Flashback. It’s surprising that I haven’t blogged more about my East Coast experience but I suppose now’s as good a time as any to start.

When I moved to Boston I was living at an extended stay executive hotel, which was basically fancy talk for a motel room with a mini kitchenette with broken burners about 30 minutes out of town in Waltham. Since I was given a living allowance for the first few months, finding a place to rent was a top priority since all costs would be footed by the company.

So there I was, the fall of 2002, hitting Craigslist Boston to find someone to live with. The person I ended up meeting and becoming great friends with was Jason - an Omaha boy who had just finished up at Boston University and was working downtown with all the other “blue shirt + khaki” Boston grads. There in that 2 family home in Watertown, MA on Aberdeen Avenue I had a spacious room, hardwood floors, and instant friendship with my new roommate. One of the best things about Jason was Ia, his adorably sweet girlfriend who was originally from Arkansas. It was thanks to them that I got to explore most of the city, take trips to the beach, and eat at interesting places that I wouldn’t have otherwise discovered.

It soon became “our thing” to meet up for bowling nights. Now this isn’t something that’s caught on in Vancouver, and I’m not sure it will - but the idea of a pool hall/pub/music lounge/bowling alley is amazingly fun, and soon Jason, Ia and I would spend entire afternoons (and evenings) at Kings.

If it wasn’t a Sunday night roommate bowling challenge, then I would meet Ia after work at Bukowski’s in Back Bay - the bar that originally got me on this tangent in relation to the Denman Street Free House. It was located near King’s and was a slender building with wicked beer (over 120 int’l brews), hot dog combos and dollar burgers on the menu - not to mention the veritable shrine to the man himself on the wall. Unlike the Free House this evening, it was definitely a dive bar, but a fantastic one at that. We’d meet make the trip into the downtown core to have said hotdogs, meetup, and get our bowling faces on.

Photo credit: vasu42 on Flickr

At King’s we’d watch Red Sox games on big screens that were hanging in between the lanes, and drink Sam Adams’ seasonal brew. Ia and I would kick Jason’s butt (contrary to any rumours he’s spread) and oggle the hipster boy in the pompadour that worked behind the counter.

For a post-bowl meal within the same vicinity, we once headed to the Summer Shack. I believe I still have a book of matches from the place because I wanted something to remember it by as when I asked the waiter what the difference was between the Atlantic salmon and the PEI salmon on the menu, he proceeded to tell me that Prince Edward Island was on the West Coast of Canada, hence the difference. I giggled and ordered something completely different.

To this day I still covet a girl’s pink and black King’s bowling shirt, they were always ridiculously overpriced but now that I think about it, it would totally be worth it since it’s taken me 4 years to conjure up these memories and put them in a post.

John just sent this article my way…

“Reel Big Fish have announced a tour, but have only revealed that their tourmates rhyme with “Shmess than Shmake.” Some astute readers have noted that this probably - but not definitely - refers to Less Than Jake. Other contenders include, Stress Span Snake, or perhaps Mess Man Make. Dates for the upcoming tour are expected shortly.” [punknews.org]

Back in 1998 I was a huge fan of two bands a) Matthew Good Band b) Less Than Jake. I must admit this isn’t my first website as I had a fan site (as was the style at the time) for the latter.

Best Venue in Boston

The site for Less Than Jake featured discography, a sample mp3, and photos from their concerts in Vancouver, which I attended. Complete with scrolling marquee headers (as was the style at the time) the url was something extremely long like ‘members.home.com/ beckbeck9/index.html’. I created it using Netscape when we had this ‘new’ technology called cable internet offered by Rogers. It was pretty fun to create and maintain but when I moved out at 19, and Rogers Wave changed to Rogers @ Home and then Shaw, everything was lost. I continued to follow the band although the most recent album of their that I own is Anthem, so I’m a little behind and out of touch. (more…)