More pictures

Last Sunday I cycled down to the Vancouver airport -- about a 30-minute trip -- and stopped at the park located right next to the airport. "Right next" means you're sitting outside the barbed-wire fence boundary of the airport directly under the arrival path for domestic flights. Planes zoom and screech overhead at the tip of your nose. Some people lie on the grass on blankets, others steady themselves on their cars with their cameras in hand. Or you can go to a central cemented area where a compass has been painted on the ground giving such helpful information as:

I was glad to find this out. (Fact check: Google Maps says the distance is 3547 km walking. No word on how one burrows through the earth.)

Then it was on to the botanical gardens. The colors are starting to change, and the most delicate plants have already given up the chlorophyll ghost and are heading into winter slumber. If they were old men, they would be wearing stocking caps.

Sundown on Sunday at the garden always reminds me of how far I am from home. The gardens go bare around dinnertime, and the high westward bluff blocks the sun prematurely and puts a chill in the air. It hastens me to head out.