In the morning we woke up around 1 pm. Berck pulls all the curtains closed as far as they can go and is sure to shut the door to the bathroom, where there’s a window. By the time we got to the bus to go downtown, it was around four. I had forgotten my pocket watch and couldn’t turn my phone on, so I was pretty much clueless to what time it was, since Berck told me it didn’t matter and wouldn’t tell me what it was. We missed the first bus that came because I hadn’t found out how much it cost and if exact change was required. So we bought a couple of Cokes at the Subway across the street and then successfully caught one. I would have asked some of the other people waiting for the bus, but we were in a heavily Chinese area. All the businesses had signs in Chinese except for a couple of chain restaurants.

The bus ride from the hotel to the end downtown took about 45 minutes, I’d say. We got off and walked around. Vancouver is very much a city under construction, fueled by an intense excitement about the 2010 Winter Olympics. I’d hoped to wander around Canada Centre, but it was all fenced off with construction barriers, and I couldn’t figure out how to get in. Instead we headed southwest toward the Vancouver Hotel and then the art gallery. It was expensive, but Berck flashed his expired student ID and saved $5 Canadian. It wasn’t a bad collection, though naturally favoring Canadian artists, whether or not they were any good.

Next we headed down Robson Street. Berck had been feeling left out every time all the other pilots had been exiting the pub to smoke a cigarette. One of the students had been complaining about the pack he bought, that they were really strong but tasted terrible. Berck asked him what brand they were, and he said, “I dunno, warning label brand.” The whole pack was covered in warning labels, but we finally found the brand name on the flip top. They smelled really funny too, very familiar but neither Berck nor I could figure out what it was. The guy said, “It’s like tea or something.” Sure enough, they smelled exactly like rolled up black tea bags. Maybe that’s why they were so strong.

So Berck ducked into a tiny smoke shop that promised they had Cubans and asked the proprietor for two inexpensive but good cigars. “For who, for you and the lady?” the guy asked. He picked out a Romeo y Juliet for Berck and a big mild one for me. Then he offered to cut them for us, since we didn’t have one with us. As he put them into a Zip-loc, he said, “Forty-five dollars. I give you special discount, no tax.”

Next we stopped at Hon’s for some Chinese food, where we were seated with two plastic glasses of hot tea. Berck didn’t want to order, so I got us a couple of local beers, some fried dumplings, some tiny egg rolls, and some noodle soup with barbecued duck on top. The duck was possibly the best duck I’ve ever had, but the broth the noodles were in was fish based, and Berck wouldn’t eat it.

We took Robson down until it ended in Stanley Park and started walking along the harbor toward the totem poles, watching the crew rowers practicing. The sun was setting, and we were getting tired, so we walked back and caught the first bus downtown, then transferred to the 98 to take us back to the hotel. I’d brought a map I’d printed out, so I’d know when to get off.

Berck was hungry, so we went back to the Foggy Dew for supper for a steak sandwich, Caesar salad, and two black and tans. Back in the room, we cracked open some local beers Berck was keeping in his fridge and went out on the balcony to light up. My cigar was nice and mild; Berck’s was more bold, but they suited us. I’ve had a better cigar, but I’ve had a lot worse.

We went to bed around 1.