CHAPTER 105

Orginal: 2004-08-31

Rewritten: 2025-11-14

After immigrating to Canada, the first time we had the mood to travel outside the city was our trip to Whistler.

In September 1989, we had just returned from visiting family in Hong Kong, and our spirits were low. The main reason was that our relatives in Hong Kong had gone through an event that shocked the world, and it was impossible not to face the reality of the upcoming change of sovereignty eight years later. We could only hold tightly to the then-relaxed immigration criteria and apply for our close family members to immigrate to Canada.

At that time, Canada was governed by the Progressive Conservative Party, with Brian Mulroney as Prime Minister. They accepted unmarried adult children to immigrate along with their parents as family members. For that, I remain deeply grateful even today.

Since we had already decided to settle in Canada, after returning, we took Lun—who was not yet three—to travel around and lift our spirits. We’d heard that Whistler was a famous tourist destination, so we decided to go.

I remember going to the gas station near our home to buy a map of the town, only to have the clerk reply that Whistler was merely an attraction and did not have a town map. I couldn’t understand this explanation at all. In the end, we relied only on a highway map to guide the three of us from West Vancouver northward.

At that time, I had only about six months of driving experience. I usually drove no more than ten kilometers at a time, so the moment our car entered Highway 99 heading north, I was already tense and anxious.

Back then, the Sea-to-Sky Highway had only one lane each way. Many sections ran along cliffs, with narrow roads full of twists, turns, rises, and dips. A long line of cars trailed behind us like a dragon. I was sweating, fully focused on driving. Whenever the road widened to two lanes, I moved to the right to let the faster cars pass. I had no time to enjoy the scenery at all.

Driving that old American gas-guzzler, I battled for two hours and finally got through the toughest stretch, arriving at the visitor information center at the southern edge of Whistler. We were already very proud of ourselves, and honestly, we had no courage left to continue northward. We completely missed both the Whistler Village and its large hotels.

After asking for directions, we continued north. At one intersection, the northwest corner had a gas station, and the southwest corner had a small motel. Turning west past some houses, we soon reached a lake. For Hong Kong city folk traveling abroad for the first time, seeing such a paradise-like place at a glance was breathtaking.

My wife, wearing a thin windbreaker, sat on a large horizontal tree trunk by the lakeshore. Lun lay in his maroon-coloured stroller. I took several photos with film, and they have been kept to this day (2004). Lun is now almost eighteen.

Whenever I look at those photos, I always feel thoughtful. Because on that day, the great wheel of fate had already begun turning. Lun had not yet been diagnosed with autism. The three of us were living alone in Canada by chance, thinking constantly of our family in Hong Kong and hoping for their arrival.

Fifteen summers later, I made a special trip to rediscover that grassy lakeside spot, but my memory had become blurry. Fortunately, the gas station and motel were still there, but everything else had changed beyond recognition.

The once-vacant grassy area had become a children’s playground. The long fallen tree trunk was gone. The shabby houses had been replaced with million-dollar luxury detached homes, with neatly manicured front and back lawns. There was even a private golf course within the residential area.

With the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics approaching, Whistler was bound to flourish. We decided to vacation there every year if possible, to witness its development. After the 2011 Winter Olympics, returning again to review the changes should be quite meaningful.