beautiful british columbia

I'd heard Vancouver is beautiful. I was also told it's expensive, with one of the best qualities of living; that many of its residents are active; that it's home to an outstanding number of cultures, ethnicities, and languages, as well as a visible socioeconomic divide. But, having only ever been to Montreal and Toronto, I still wasn't quite sure what to expect from Canada's westernmost seaport city.

So let me tell you, it is beautiful—and not just because the clouds hang artfully across the not-so-distant mountains and the air is deliciously fresh and the trees are just beginning to change and the water shines clear and bright in the sun; though I did get exceptionally lucky with the weather. My personal experience in Vancouver was made beautiful by the warmth and generosity of the community I'd flown there to work with; a religious organization that raised ~250k to provide care and opportunity for thousands of people they'll likely never meet who've been placed under inconceivable circumstances. A definitive hell yes for humanity.

And if the festival weren't awe-inspiring enough, I also received a great deal of kindness; like the woman who treated me to gelato after she overheard the cashier apologizing that they didn't accept US debit; or the elderly couple with whom I exchanged stories, who remarked at my "beautiful Spanish last name"; or the bartender who made me feel at ease in her Saturday local bar scene; or the airbnb host who gave me ferry tickets to explore the city by waterway; or the places and friends the darling Gillian directed me to.

I enjoyed my time in Vancouver immensely. There's an incomparable sincerity and calmness to the beauty I came to know there; one that isn't acknowledged enough in the daily grind of our stresses and responsibilities. It feels silly—naive even—to say that I crave this kind of evidence, proof that there's goodness in people and strength in our connection to one another and considerable potential in the impact we can have on the world; and yet, to be perfectly honest, I still do. Forever grateful for this past weekend.

rosé in montréal

Yesterday, in addition to creating a Facebook page for this blog and working a 9-hour workday, I survived a persistent mild headache. The culprit: unintentionally enjoying half a bottle of rosé the night before. My friend had invited me over for a barbecue, and being that it'd been oh-so-humid here, nothing sounded better than chilled wine to have with grilled chicken, peppers, couscous, and salad. Apparently the tolerance I had living in Santiago and Strasbourg has diminished. It's been five years since. Go figure.

Looking back, it's also been a good amount of time since I last savored a rosé. Nine times out of ten, I prefer a red; unless I'm by the water, where white seems more appropriate, or the sun is incredibly strong, at which point I reach for a beer. Rosé will always hold a very special place in my heart though. I failed to mention this in the story of my affair, but it's the first bottle of wine I appreciated and drank legally at the age of 19, all because I'd accidentally befriended Mia, a French graduate student at SU at the time.

She was (and is) wonderful. Not only did she help me study for my French language exams, but she also encouraged me to take a weekend getaway with her to Montréal. She had friends studying abroad there. We left Syracuse at 5am Saturday morning.

After spending the afternoon wandering, we went back to their eclectic apartment for pizza and drinks. Then, a night on the town.

We had so much fun, I eventually forgot I was younger than every single person there... and, oh, could hardly speak French.

The following morning, we awoke at a reasonable hour to explore more of the city with a best friend from her French university. (On a nostalgic note, I was in this same spot with my college best friend just two years and four months later.)

We planned on grabbing a quick lunch next, before leaving the city all together. But something happened as we were wandering through Vieux-Montréal. I realized we had no reason to rush; enjoying a leisurely lunch al fresco with a bottle of rosé between the three of us, then strolling through the cobblestone streets until we were comfortable enough to drive sounded so much sweeter.

So, that's what we did.

C'était parfait. I'd had a challenging fall semester that sophomore year of mine, and it was just the escape I needed to remind me of who I was, what I wanted, and how much this world had to offer. I was somewhat of a deep 19-year old, huh? That, or dramatic.

P.S. Looks like I'm not the only one enjoying rosé this summer.

Words by D. Alvarez, Photos by M. Nomalanga Diimbi

senior week, day 5

Hello my sweets. I hope you enjoyed the recap of my "how the heck did I get so lucky? somebody please pinch me" night in Toronto! Friday wasn't quite as exciting but nonetheless pleasant. It began with a stroll along Lake Ontario and ended with a night on the town back in Syracuse, NY. In between, K and I amused ourselves with a walk through  the historic North St. Lawrence Market, the general downtown area and then along Yonge St. for some last minute graduation shopping before our drive back into the states. I'm feeling quite tired and somewhat sick today so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. Enjoy...

P.S. I like this template better, it's sophisticated without the flashy factor :).