As if I had not had enough of Lillooet, I returned to stay another two days before I journeyed on to the Buddhist retreat. It will be another days ride from Lillooe to Rock Creek and I needed to look further into this strange town. The first night was at Leslie’s again where she hosts a bi-weekly jam night. Since the previous owner had died suddenly this spring from a heart attack the place was left to Leslie to carry on the tradition of hosting the jam nights. The amplifiers, record collection, even a stash of strange substance was left there in place for all to come and enjoy in the spirit of friendship and non-competitive behaviour.

 

That night a new face turns up with two first nation people, they were all pretty drunk. Derrek, a hulk like figure had played there before arrives with Brigitte. Brigitte, plum, drunk and with learning difficulties (I think Derrek had the same unpredictable combination as well), immediately changed the ‘vibe’ – To uproarious hilarity. Brigitte squints at me during the evening and asks me repeatedly “are these your family?” eventually I nod to satisfy her question.

Alex, who kindly invited me last week onto CHLS (radio station) –  went off in a sulk  and the party continues.

The following night was based around two bands, one a Vancouver based trio who played the Victoria Bar and the other, a country and western 6 piece band played the Lillooet Hotel. The Victoria’s customers were mainly first nation people and the atmosphere crazy and raucous. Guys staggered over from one side of the bar with fists held out sayin “I’m gonna kill ya!” then laughter breaks out until another in a cowboy hat whistles over to the other side “Oh, yeah? … etc” More first nations walk in wives and family and all… next to me another one in a Coboy hat asks me where I was from and his friend on the other side points to an old man with a stroke and huge ears, nudging him in the ribs, “He don’t say much but what he says is a lot’

Later that evening after listening to some Radiohead and Stevie Ray Vaughan covered reasonably well by the Vancouver Band over the banshee screams and whoops from the 85% first nation audience, I walk up the main street to the Hotel, this time it was 85% Caucasian. The waitresses all wear battered straw cowboy hats and flutter their eyes at the overweight males drinking weak lager. The music here is traditional fare but more interesting, covering many songs and they are a good act, allowing each other to take the front stage in turn. The mainstay is a first nation guy again cowboy hated, playing his guts out on a Telecaster.

Worth hanging on for and I was rested to face more travel