West Coast Autumn; from Dublin to Rotterdam

And so after a magnificent summer in Vancouver, spent—to some considerable extent—either on the beach or very close to it, it seems like the sun has sailed away and autumn is here. The breathtaking beauty of Vancouver-in-the-sun has been replaced with a less breathtaking—yet still much enjoyable—greyish hue.

It isn’t cold here yet; it’s comforting to know, though, that even at the winter’s peak, temperatures here are still above zero and snow is seldom seen in the city.

My first summer in this pearl of a city appears to be over, making its way to autumn. It’s September already… and as every year, there’s the “September thing”.

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In every year since I came to Canada, the month of September always had some weird “atmosphere” in it. It seems as if the chilly winds of September carry the seed of change with them; just when you think you became comfortable enough where you are, doing what you do, comes the breeze of September and shuffles everything.

While living in Waterloo, Ontario, I used to rent out two bedrooms in my house to students (as Waterloo is world-renowned for its excellent universities). September was when tenants moved out and new ones moved in: old, familiar faces to bid farewell (mostly with extreme jubilation on my part; seldom, like in Laura’s case, it was hard and sad) and new, unfamiliar faces to welcome and get accustomed to.

The Jewish high holidays usually take place in September, emphasizing the feeling of being away from the family.

Travel plans are usually done in September, as the outlook for the rest of the year becomes clearer and my annual visit to Israel can be scheduled without being worried of it interfering with everything else.

And of course, last but not least… September is when autumn comes.

All combined, it gives me the feeling of some sort of an end… end of something. Change. A slight touch of melancholia. Change. Again.

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People who know me well would tell you how I dislike promising things I don’t know for sure I’m going to deliver. Rarely, if ever, do I put the carriage before the horse.

I won’t get much into the details of how and why, or why it took so long; I’ll suffice by saying that things haven’t been very simple here over the last few months (relatively speaking) so only very recently I finally made up my mind.

I will attend the first third (ten eleven shows) of Mark Knopfler’s joint tour with Bob Dylan, from Dublin to Rotterdam, inclusive. I will fly to Amsterdam to visit my good friend Jeroen this coming Saturday; on October 5, I’ll be flying to Dublin and join the tour (as a spectator; no, I still haven’t made it to the band’s line-up) by trains and a couple of flights, ending my share of the tour in Rotterdam.

Plus, I may be doing some writing throughout, in this blog you’re reading at the moment.

So, if you happen to catch one of these shows, come by and say hello; don’t be a stranger.

I just have to warn you in advance, though, to avoid confusions and shock. I know it might have been a bit irresponsible for me to do it, but I did. Please, try to contain yourself if you come by and say hello and find out that something’s not quite right. Don’t freak out.

I shaved.

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Isaac