Connecting the Dots: Vancouver, Part 1

Connecting the Dots: Vancouver, Part 1

A Supernatural convention travelogue by Axy @Aaaahhhxy

Sometimes, it feels like life is a game of connect the dots. You know, the ones we’re given as children, that, supposedly, once you’ve connected it all, give you a bigger picture you wouldn’t initially suspect. Going to Vancouver, attending Vancon this year was, for me, connecting the last dot. I now see the bigger picture. And it’s a stunning one.

***

I was 8 when the first dot presented itself to me. Twenty-five years ago. As I was a little different than most of the other 8-year-old kids you could leave in front of some random cartoon for hours -- besides Scooby & the gang -- my dad decided to upgrade my viewing habits and attempt to show me something more adult, darker and deeper than I was supposed to be receptive of. My dad introduced me to The X-Files. Needless to say, it freaked me out… And ignited a fire in my soul that my dad was desperate to create.

Being a realistically damaged child doesn’t necessarily wait for puberty to fully show. For my father, it was painfully obvious that I was a broken kid, and if some of the reasons were relatively clear, some others weren’t, and he was struggling to make me whole. Or find something that would do it for him. This was it. By showing me what fiction and storytelling were, he made me cross a line between two worlds, and a line I’d jump all the time, to either and both sides, to find shelter or avoid harming myself in order to cope.

Back then, the internet wasn’t exactly what it currently is, and nourishing a blossoming sense of belonging to a fandom required the talent of a detective. I would haunt the local newsagent and library for glimpses of information, or the latest, rare number of the official Philes magazine. And that’s when Vancouver first became the place where all this goodness came from. The place where my show was shot. My own private Hollywood.

I was barely 9 when I swore to my father that I’d go. That we’d go. He laughed it off, barely capable of traveling out of the city, let alone the country.

But I had decided that I would.

One day.

***

Fast-forward to 23 years later. Supernatural crashed into my world  -- not unlike one of those meteors Fox & Dana enjoyed studying -- and drastically changed my landscape, shining yet another light on the Canadian capital of TV production, pushing me so far out of so many comfort zones I don’t think I’ll ever be able to properly quantify exactly how many. The Winchesters’ (go)spell worked a little too well a little too fast, since I had barely reached season 3 when I firmly decided I would attend a convention.

Coincidentally, that’s when last year’s Vancon happened. It was the very first SPN con I followed from afar… And the call was hard to resist.

On September 28th, I clicked on a big, green button, one that would finalize the buying process of gold passes and photo ops for Vancon 2018. It stripped me away from several thousand euros, and was the most expensive thing I’d ever bought in my entire existence, but it was exhilarating.

For a while.

Then I fell ill, grew a tumor the size of Texas, was overwhelmed with big procedures and scary names, and as Birmingham’s SPNUK was announced, I was ready to bargain Vancon out if only I could get Birmingham. When a bunch of green blouses don't want to allow you to see further than one terrifying surgery, you are quick to pick the easiest choices and drop the biggest ones. In all fairness, Vancon was such a dream… It was almost too easy to bargain it out. Too big to happen, right? I’d been postponing any trip to the other side of the world because of a fear of flying for two decades, I wasn’t gonna change my mind now. Even if I lived, this was out of reach. Impossible.

Not for Supernatural.

Not even for Vancouver.

Not for Canada.

Not for Jared…?

It’s not exactly a mystery that as much as love the whole cast and I’m very much a Team Free Will lady, the youngest Winchester is about the closest thing I’ll ever get to the most perfect fictional character ever. The most me. The most inspiring. The one who kept me alive when very few things could. Jared… Jared is the perfect third axis to that beautiful relationship.

So, cold hard facts?

Had it NOT been for them, I’d never have made it through last year.

Had it NOT been for them, whatever fight I had left in me would never have sufficed.

Had it NOT been for them, I’d have bailed a long time ago, and would never have faced taking that goddamn plane to that goddamn country for that goddamn show.

Sam and Jared are important.

They’re not a dot in this picture in progress.

They’re the fucking ink.

They’re the goddamn line.

***

First, it was a night bus. Then, the outlines of Paris at dawn. The cold and violent structure of Charles De Gaulle airport. A breakfast at Starbucks. The nervous knot inside my stomach about taking a plane, any plane, of any size, and hoping the connection wouldn’t suffer any delay. Fastening my seat belt with shaking hands as we were taxiing on the runway, a little late, not enough to jeopardize the rest of the trip. Hopefully. Shutting my eyes the hardest I can as it takes off, gripping tight any part of the seat ahead of me when it starts shaking for reasons I’d rather ignore.

Team Free Will does help with the overwhelming stress. Know what you are fighting for. 

Someone wants a bite of my breakfast.

Using the angel to access the yoghurt. Classy move, Winchester.

And then there’s this gigantic blue monster looming over me at Amsterdam. I’ve never seen a plane this huge, and it lurks behind my shoulder as we barely have any time to breathe in between flights and already embark inside its belly for a final destination summed up in three letters I’ve been dreaming about for so long…YVR. I fight hard a panic attack that reminds me of one I had the morning I had to undergo surgery, which confirmed to me that my fear of flying was a tad worse than I first envisioned. For a minute, I thought I was going to bail and let the fear win me over… But I didn’t. The promise of spending more time with those people I admire and love more than I can tell kept me from giving up on a dream.

It is a big plane indeed. The in-flight entertainment muffled the sound of a gigantic bird taking off and struggling to pierce the highest clouds, but as we flew over Iceland, on our way to Canada, the joy of knowing that next time I’d touch the floor I’d be in Vancouver started to take over me.

Whoa. 

Eight hours until Canada. 

Ten until my friends.

Three days before convention. 

Five before J2’s day. 

Dear pilot, please don’t fuck this up. This is the biggest of all dreams I’m about to taste, and I’d be so pissed if you sent us head-first into the Atlantic Ocean. 

Surprisingly, two hours before landing, the mountains, the lakes, and the red and gold shades of autumn everywhere below us rendered Jurassic World completely obsolete. Suddenly, dinosaurs on the loose became far less interesting than the virtual line between us and Vancouver that was becoming smaller and smaller on the flight-watch screen. I’m usually pretty excited about landing… But that was nothing compared to how joyful I was this time. 

Probably because from the runway only, the view was stunning. Mountains, clear sky reflecting itself into the sea, and the delicate yet modern outlines of glass buildings a few miles away. 

And the little voice inside my head repeating that I’d finally made it. I was about to take my first step in Vancouver, and this was nothing but my biggest dream to date, finally coming true. 

Dad, I told you so.

***

Have you ever Googled Vancouver airport? Do it. Because it is ridiculously cute. There are fountains everywhere, and plants, and it legitimately looks like a place you’d spend your Sunday afternoon to relax. Regardless of my monumental jet lag and the fact that last time I’d gotten any sleep was a little over 38 hours ago, I was entranced by the beauty of everything. Even the damn loos were about 10 times prettier than the ones at Paris. I looked like a child who had been promised Disneyland for so long, and finally gets it, and it is so much better than envisioned. And everything was exciting beyond belief. Getting Canadian dollars! Finding a Tim Hortons! Moose key rings  everywhere! Even the young man who checked our traveling authorization caused me a chuckle rather than my usual eye roll… In all fairness, he thought we were working for Supernatural, and had a hard time figuring out what a convention was. SPENDING TIME WITH SUPERNATURAL PEOPLE, DUDE. 

“So, what, like meeting the actors? Why?” 

Because they’re my family. That’s why. 

There were meetings with friends. Carrie, Taylor. Hugs. A taxi driver who almost killed us, twice. A breathtaking view over the bridge. Another one from the balcony. A hotel room that was more like a fully fledged flat. 

Mountains by my window. 

Not too bad. Not bad at all.

Lights on trees. 

Life and smiles everywhere I went. 

And the strange feeling that something inside me was knowing peace for the first time ever. 

I never got over the beauty of the sunset and the sunrise from the living room’s window. Each morning, it would take me by the gut and leave me close to tears at how happy I was to be there. Just to be there, regardless of why. For the very first time in my life, I didn’t have to fit in a place. The place was fitting me. It was mine. 

Every street I’d visit, every corner, every time I’d be silenced by the beauty of it all, it felt like home. It felt like I belonged there. It felt like it was a part of me just as I was a part of it. 

And everything would consolidate that feeling, from each and every single person we’d meet who would be nothing but kind, to the quietness of my usually troubled soul, to the unexplainable joy I’d feel at everything we did, from the most touristic of activities, to something as boring and mundane as getting groceries. Everything was a cause for happiness. I don’t know whether I fell in love with Vancouver, or Vancouver fell in love with me, but as I write those words, stuck in a pale and empty French city, I can locate the hollow part of my heart from the missing piece I left there. 

In all fairness, between the city and Jared himself, they played puzzle with me that week.

During the first couple of days before the convention, we walked around 35 kilometers. In two days. I don’t think we really wanted to take a cab or a bus -- every one of us wanted to experience the city to the fullest. It led us to places of ridiculous beauty, to breakfasts and dinners where you wouldn’t expect to find delicacies that would beat any of the finest French cuisine, to instants of actual eternity when the entire universe seemed to push us toward happiness. 

There was a pretty amazing shopping spree at Hot Topic to spend the present from the TSWL team for not breaking down after the last week of insane work on the main book, there was a walk down Gastown and inside a Japanese garden where we befriended a couple of Koi carps, and there was an afternoon at the SeaWall, spent naming squirrels after Michael, finding strange pieces of wood looking like a moose, and spying on raccoons while contemplating the deafening beauty of this city. Despite the dozens of miles walked, and the short nights, I never felt more rested than I did there. I never felt more happy either. 

Stunning.

Dean Winchester would approve of this place.

Stanley Park. I fell in love with the place within seconds.

When you see it... 

Unexpected visitors at the bus station.

Michael the squirrel. A red squirrel would have been called Dean, but this one was definitely a Michael. 

Michael, looking for food. That’s about when I questioned whether he was a Dean after all. 

The calm before the storm. 

And that storm would make Birmingham -- my perfect, amazing Birmingham -- look pretty weak in comparison. 

I didn’t know it yet, but once again, the stars were aligning. 

Connecting the dots. 

Read Part 2 here.