jawnbc | Saturday

After dinner on Friday night, we planned on snoozing late Saturday morning. But we decided at the last moment to breakfast with the NYers. Then we headed back to bed for a couple of hours, including a bit of wo-wo-wo-wo. Already the momentum of the wedding was sapping our time (and energy).

querrelle wanted to commune with nature, and wanted mountains or crashing waves. It was a dark, raining, misty day in Hongcouver, but I though we'd give the mountains a quick go first. We drove over the Lion's Gate toward Cypress. The urban/bush intersections in the Lower Mainland (the local term for greater Hongcouver) are both close at hand and profound. Coyotes inhabit the region, to the point where one shouldn't let cats and dogs roam freely anymore. Friends with cat doors in the houses have mostly closed them up, both to avoid their kitties become coyote snacks and because raccoons think nothing of coming into a home and ransacking the kitchen. And in many parts of the Lower Mainland black bears periodically make their way into residential areas; they're usually timid around people, until they discover garbage-as-cuisine. The odd cougar also inhabits the North Shore mountains, making solo hiking in twilight a problematic proposition (cougars do, on occasion, stalk humans).

Cypress has a stunning view of the Lower Mainland, with Vancouver Island, volcanic Mount Baker in Washington State (part of the same chain as Mount St. Helens and Rainier), and all of Vancouver at one's feet. It's a vista that never fails to move me to tears . . . unless it's 13C, pissing rain and foggy. We saw nothing. But having come so far, we drove up to the ski area, in case above the cloud line there was something to sea. There wasn't. We drove down the switch-backs to sea level, and sought option 2: the sea.

Lighthouse Park seems to be purposely hidden from tourists: it's entrance drive is barely signed and is reached after several km along a windy residential road that clings to the cliffs over the Strait of Georgia. This part of West Vancouver is the most affluent postal code in Canada: mega homes with mega expenses and private beaches and docks. If anyone cares, Brian Adams has a house here (he's a North Van boy). Driving along the road is itself interesting. After 20 minutes we found the Park, and meandered down towards the water. The Lower Mainland has Vancouver Island as a barrier island, making huge swells unusual. Today was no different; there were lots of splish-splash waves, but no crashers. Still we stood on a promontory, looking back across to downtown Vancouver, and held each other. We talked about our path together, we shared the awe and beauty of life, and we had a lovely sweet pash. Then it was back to the car.

querrellehas discovered the joy of wireless internet since being given a laptop at work with WiFi. His desktop machine has been crabby as of late, so we decided to see what deals were available on laptops whilst in Soviet Canuckistan. We stopped at Future Slop, Canada's unctuous discount electronics retailer (every country has one, eh?). We looked at lots, considered lots, but ultimately reason won out over impulse (he's sooo much more mature than me). Instead we picked up some memory for his digicam, a case for said cam, and sought a cuppa in the mall. It only took about 45 minutes in Park Royal mall to remember how different the North shore is to Vancouver proper: less smiling, a status-conscious tension--ew. We tead, made our way to the car and back to the hotel.

We booked into the Jacuzzi suite, and dagnabbit we were gonna jacuzze! It filled quickly, we bubbled it up and climbed in. After a nice long soak, we made our way to the lobby for The Approval Dinner. While the NYers were planning an en masse dinner Saturday night, we discretely asked Tom and Theresa to forgo that and join us for a more intimate gathering: it was important to me that they get to know

querrelle than cordialities. Saturday dinner was our only real chance. The four of us walked up through the West End (the rain was mere drizzle at this point), and made our way to The Keg, a local chain of good quality steak houses. I knew the menu would appeal to all (Tommy, like most Egans, isn't an adventurous eater). I went for surf and turf;

querrelle, Tommy and Theresa each ordered prime rib (

querrelle hadn't ever had prime rib before). Our meals were excellent, as was the company. Without having to facilitate (control? me? jamais!) things, everyone got to know one another a bit and the food was excellent. Everyone approved of everyone.

We strolled back down Robson Street, with a stop at Starbucks for warm bevvies. Then back to the hotel for our last night as single men. I suggested we forgo nookie until after the wedding, to which

querrelle agreed. Only one more sleep . . .