Gastown, Part II

So. There I was, in my dingy hostel room, with the flaking wallpaper and a barrage of interesting odors wafting through the open window. It was hot inside the small, dark room, so I didn't want to close the window, but I had some concern for the decibel level outside and the implication that might have on my ability to sleep. There was a heavy drape, and I left the window open but the drape partially covering it so that I could get some cool air but drown out some of the noise.

I ate the dal soup I had bought earlier, and I journaled for a bit. I was trying to wind down. I had gotten very little sleep in the days leading up to Vancouver, and I could feel my body growing lethargic. I was growing less and less concerned about the man downstairs, and anyway, I figured his shift would end soon. I decided to go in search of a washroom. I took my toothbrush and toothpaste and found a washroom/laundry room on my floor. I also had some wet clothing from in impromptu swimming excursion in rural Washington the day before (stay tuned for a later post on skivvy-dipping in the rain outside of Olympia), so I rinsed them in water and was wringing them out when a young man appeared in the doorway.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said.

"I'm just checking out the laundry room. I haven't seen it yet," he said. He was small-ish, or maybe young-ish, I couldn't quite decide, and he had short, fat dreadies growing outward and he smelled of sweet, musky marijuana. "I'm Ben," he said, and he extended his hand for me to shake.

Thank God, I thought, someone halfway normal. Eye contact and a handshake. I smiled and shook his hand. "I'm Liz."

He told me that he was from Manhattan and in Vancouver on an internship, staying at the Grand Trunk because it is cheap and not too bad. I told him I was here on vacation, that I had just gotten in tonight. We chatted for a few minutes, he told me he had to get going because he was going to a concert, he had scored free tix from someone at his internship and he hoped to get smashed. I laughed and said, "Have fun."

He nodded and gave me wave as he turned to go. I started to feel more at ease. It was nice meeting someone friendly in a non-paranoid kind of way. As I was gathering my rinsed clothing, Ben appeared in the doorway again.

"Hey," he said, "Do you smoke?"

Dammit! I thought. Being somewhat herb-savvy in a former life, I knew he wasn't asking me for a light for a cigarette. What a lovely, enticing, thoughtful invitation, but...I have been on this sobriety kick for over three years, excluding even the most benign of drugs from my repertoire. You have to understand, I am writing these posts backwards, and I had already been subjected to gratuitous invitations for partaking in a number of drug and alcohol related events. In all my years of sobriety, I had received more offers in the past week than in the previous three years. It was getting a little difficult. Plus, I still have that conversation with myself about pot being not so bad. You know, it's natural and so forth. So...here I was, all alone in Vancouver, with a new friend offering to share, and I won't deny that I felt both flattered and tempted. What could I do? What would you do?

Begrudgingly, I shook my head, "No," I said, somewhat apologetically. "Not anymore, but thanks, man. Have a great time at your concert."

"That's cool," he said. "Alright, see ya later," and for the second time, my new friend took off.

Still feeling flattered and a little disappointed, I headed back to my room. I got myself ready for bed and took out Eva Luna and began to read. I read for an hour, and finally began to feel drowsy. I was aware of noises in the hallway, outside the window, above me, and on all sides of my room, but I tried to imagine that they were very, very soft, and that I was in a quiet, dark, comfortable room.

I hoped to get a good night's sleep because I would be getting up early to meet Stacia at the port. I turned off the light and lay down on the creaky bed to try to sleep.

I did fall asleep. I was exhausted. And then I was rudely awakened about an hour or two later, to the sound of loud voices. I recognized Spanish language filtering through my door, through the cracks in the wall, getting louder and louder until I was certain there were people in my bedroom. I got up and turned the light on to see that I was alone in the small room, but there were certainly people standing directly outside of my door. I put on my shoes and padded out to the toilet, both because I had to pee and also to see what the ruckus was.

It was like a frat party in the hallway. People were milling around the entire length of the hall, drinking beers and shooting liquor and laughing and talking loudly. Somewhat annoyed, I made my way to the toilet. On the way, I slipped on spilled beer. All around me, people were laughing and having a great time. "Cheers," I heard someone say, and I looked up to see someone offering me a Stella Artois. "No thanks," I said, escaping to the bathroom. I, you know, peed, and then headed back to my room, where I quickly closed the door and sat down on the bed to think. How could I drown out the noise?

And then something in my head said, "Forget it, Liz, just go out there and be sociable. Why not join the party? Why not....have a beer?"

Oooh! Insidious, mischievous voice!

No. Not an option. I supposed that I could go and be sociable without drinking, but I was sooooooo exhausted. I began to feel more and more alone, as I realized that I must be the only one in the entire building who was trying to sleep at 1:00am. This is a culture I do not belong to anymore, this late-night, party crowd. It felt very isolating.

I lay back down and put a pillow over my head. I was sleep-deprived, fatigued, alone, and anxious about experiencing a night without sleep. I was also feeling sad about being sober, feeling a little prudish, you might say. It didn't even occur to me that I might not be the only one around who was annoyed with the noise, which by the way, was coming both from the hallway and outside the window, as I was only a short distance from a series of bars.

My frustration growing, I tried to wait it out. This can't go on all night, I thought. Another hour went by, and I listened to Spanish mix with English, then Japanese, then all Spanish again.

Then out of nowhere I heard someone saying, "You are SO LOUD! People are trying to sleep here!" and I thought, "Oh thank goodness, I'm not the only one!"

And the party disappeared outside. Just like that, it was gone. Slowly, I drifted back to sleep...and was awakened again, probably less than an hour later, maybe 3:30am, the same people, back on my floor. Louder, louder, louder, and more rowdy. This was too much. Teeming with exhaustion, I began to cry. Poor me. Poor, lonely, sleepy, me.

As I was indulging in my sorrow, I heard a vaguely familiar voice. "You're fuckin' assholes, eh? You think it's good to be so drunk? You're a bunch of drunk assholes. Eh? You're a fuckin' asshole. I'm gonna call the police on you." I tried to place the voice...it was very distinctly Canadian. "You cause cancer. You are cancer assholes, eh?"

Oh my. It was the paranoid guy! He was upset about the noise. I lay very still and listened to him rant:

"You're a fuckin' asshole, eh? Do you think I want cancer? My mum and dad died of cancer. I was just a kid. I was all abandoned. You are drunk, eh? I'm calling the police. Get out of here, eh? People are trying to sleep."

And I could hear the other voices saying in broken English, "We not drunk, man. Ok, you call the poh-lice. You call them!" And I heard laughter and taunts and a chorus of, "Wee-oooo, wee-oo, weee-ooo!" They were imitating a police siren.

"You are cancer, eh? I have people here trying to sleep. Get out, or I'll call the police. I will! Get out. I don't care where you go, go out on the street, eh? Get drunk out there. I don't want cancer, eh?"

This was ridiculous. The paranoid guy was not making any sense, and the drunk people were pretty much ignoring him. I heard the Canadian guy go back down the stairs, probably defiantly, probably thinking he had intimidated the cancer-causing party-ers. Then...a few minutes of silence.

Then I heard someone say, "Vamos afuera," or, let's go outside. And someone else said, "Hey man, there's a balcony, let's go out there."

And then the loud crowd made its way to the fire escape, where I could still hear them, but with a pillow over my head it was very faint, and I finally, finally, drifted off into a light sleep for a few more hours before awaking to a very quiet morning.