pilgrims

The first person to pick us up as we hitchiked out of Keremeos was a born-again, self-proclaimed "radical Christian" in a green 1975 volvo. To make the 50 km ride to Osoyoos more fun, I told him how interesting and wonderful I thought Islam was and asked his opinion. What could have been a meaningful conversation about the challenges and benefits of differences in religions and just what those differences are instead turned into a tirade about terrorists and the unquestionable and utmost sanctity of Christianity by our driver, his steering wheel suddenly turned pulpit. Eh.

In Osoyoos, we were lucky and got picked up by a engineer in a new rental car and since he liked to speed, we got within 50 miles of our destination before it got dark. Just as it got dark and we were contemplating how many bears our smelly leftover tacos would attract if we slept on the side of the road, a Swiss restaurant owner picked us up and dropped us off in downtown Nelson.

Nelson is kind of like Ann Arbor, similar size and pretentiousness and number of organic co-ops and hemp clothing stores. We knew our money would be sucked right out of our pockets if we stayed to enjoy the food, live music, etc., so after a couple nights couchsurfing, we were again out on the highway with a sign reading: CRESTON.

A DJ from the Shambhala festival picked us up and let us off at the entrance to the festival, where he was going to set up a stage. Within 5 minutes a car stopped, headed right for Creston. We rolled into town just as the sun was setting and opted for a campground rather than lugging our stuff around from farm to farm. Things would be much easier without that electric stove.