“Babe, we’re not going that way!”
My wife calls out in a slightly irritated voice. She’s on the verge of getting genuinely mad.
We’re walking along a shady, deserted trail on Bowen Island, just a 30-minute ferry ride from Vancouver. It’s the kind of path where you wouldn’t be surprised if something… or someone… suddenly popped out.
Let’s rewind a bit.
Today is April 18th—Good Friday and a public holiday. I mean, come on, “Good Friday”? That’s an awesome name for a holiday. I imagine some Canadian president (or prime minister, technically) was just having a great day and decided, “Let’s make this a holiday!” Japan has a bunch of holidays like that too. In fact, Japan has eight more public holidays than Canada. Who knew Canada had so few?
So, with the sun out and a long weekend ahead, my wife and I decided to take a little trip. We rode the bus for about an hour and a half from downtown to the ferry terminal. Then we waited another 40 minutes to board—apparently, the earlier ferry was mysteriously canceled. The place was packed, of course, because everyone had the same Good Friday getaway idea.
By the time we arrived on the island, it was already lunchtime. Forget sightseeing—we were starving. The delicious smells wafting through the streets led us to a cozy little pub-style restaurant. I went for fish and chips; my wife ordered fajitas. She gave me a whole explanation about fajitas, but honestly, I forgot. Basically, it’s a DIY wrap sandwich kind of thing.
As we waited, we listened to the Indian family at the next table. Their kids were endlessly playing “Would You Rather,” and their parents had clearly checked out, just letting the chaos happen.
The fajitas arrived. So good! I think it was my first time trying them… or maybe not. Hard to say. But one thing’s for sure—Latin American wraps are always delicious.
Once we were stuffed, we decided to head to a charming little area called Artisan Square. It’s a community of artists with boutiques, workshops, and a well-known chocolate shop that’s been listed in Vancouver’s Top 100.
Google Maps said it would take over 15 minutes on foot and involved a steep uphill climb. But hey—I do a lot of hiking, and my instincts told me there must be a shortcut, a local path.
“We can take this way. It has to be faster,” I said, full of confidence.
My wife was skeptical, but I persuaded her to follow me down a sketchy-looking trail.
About five minutes in, the trail got even more suspicious—dense trees, zero people around, and a vibe like a bear might pop out at any moment.
“Babe, I said we’re not going that way!” my wife shouted from behind… flipping me off.
Just as I started to doubt my own instincts, the trail opened up into a parking lot behind Artisan Square. Victory!
My wife’s mood lightened, and we strolled around the shops. I was casually checking out rings when—brrrrAPPP!
A tourist walking right in front of us let out a massive fart. Just like that. No shame, no flinch. And then came the encore—brap!
Trying to contain our laughter, we rushed into the chocolate shop and ordered chocolate ice cream. It was, of course, delicious. But all we could think about was that fart.
Will we ever be as bold and carefree as that guy?
Maybe someday.
(Probably not. )
