I was only in transit in LA, but they made me go through customs there, get my baggage and leave the airport so I could go back in again. The rude man at the US customs desk asked me what my purpose of the trip is. I wanted to tell him it was none of his fucking business, but I was afraid I’d be shot, or that he’d cry or something. I told him I had no business in his country, and was heading to Vancouver for a conference. He asked me what the conference was about, and the same thoughts came to my head, but not my mouth. Then he took my fingerprints. I don’t know what that means in the US, but to Australians it means you suspect me of having already committed a crime. So I’m a criminal just by passing through LAX.

When I arrived in Vancouver the guy at the customs desk chuckled quite heavily when I thanked him for not taking my fingerprints.

Vancouver is beautiful, but also in your face. As soon as I dropped my bags at the hotel I walked two blocks to a bar where I knew some conference guys were hanging out. On the way I was approached by three beggars. When a mate and I went out of the bar for a cigarette we were approached another two times. One of them actually didn’t want money, wanted me to buy him some food. So we walked together to the nearest supermarket where I bought him Froot Loops and milk. He told me he loved me.

I’ve been in the city for about 24 hours now, have been approached about fifteen times, and have given away about twenty-five dollars. ten of those people have given their unying respect and love to me. Hey, what can I say, I’m a saint. It’s a real shame that a foreigner with money like me is treated better than actual residents. But I know Melbourne is getting worse with its growing number of beggars, so I shouldn’t be too critical.

After the bar another mate, Jan, and I headed to a nearby house club. It was only midnight so it hadn’t gone off yet. I was feelinga little worn out so I didn’t stay. I went back to my hotel but couldn’t sleep, so I went down for a walk. I headed downwhat I thought was a main street but quickly turned into Vancouver’s version of Kings Cross. The number of prostitutes calling me honey started to overwhelm me to the point that I would have paid any of them fifty bucks to drive me back to the hotel. But I resolved to walk faster.

Wound up in the gay district somehow, that by 2am on a Tuesday night seemed like 10pm Saturday on Commercial Rd. An old man came up to me, told me he was from Prince George or Saint George or something that sounded remote and Canadian, said he was lonely and wanted to buy me a beer and conversation. If he weren’t so pissed to the eyeballs I would have had a beer with him – not because he was in any way attractive, but that he looked and sounded indigenous and I thought he would have had some interesting stories to tell. But he couldn’t do more than mutter to me how pretty I was, so I caught the nearest taxi back to bed.

Overslept way too much, went for an afternoon stroll through the pretty old part of Vancouver, which looks just like a movie set of old Canada, and wound up in an actual movie set (they’re pretending it’s France – they took down all the English signs and put up french ones. Made me think why not just film it in Montreal?). I was shuffled around a corner by annoyed camera crew and ended up in a run down part of the city, and was approached about four times by people wanting to sell me heroin.

So at the moment I don’t know if I should walk around twon as little as possible, or even more just to see what would happen next.

I went to the lookout where I got some fairly amazing views of the city and the coast. Will put the pics up when I get the chance.