Some of the things I learned this week-
1. Everybody wants to tell high school students what to do
2. Saturn and Venus are due to cross sometime this week
3. And yes, there ARE 70 year old men (wearing sweat pants with suspenders and a button-up shirt no less) who are fitter than me, and unless my blog is followed by any record-holding trail runners, the guy was fitter than you too
Oh? Context? You need context?
Okay fine.
My aunt whose room I have currently commandeered lives in a neighborhood in North Van referred to as Edgemont Village which surpasses even the Beaches in feeling like a small tourist-trap town that was inexplicably plunked in the middle of a city (or in this case, its northern periphery). I swear to god the main drag reminds me of nowhere so much as a year-round Bobcageyon or a down-sized Coburg. Actually, let’s roll with Coburg because the principle demographic is retired and small-dog-owning. Where was I going with this?
Oh yeah, they park diagonally and buy organic and I (a young, back-pack toting person parked outside a coffee shop) was informed not once but TWICE by two different women with grey perms and cardigans that I should be in class. And I was sniffed at. I guess you can’t really blame them because if you live here you’re either retired or parents or living with your parents. All the houses are in the 800 000 plus range so its not a hot-spot for idle twenty-somethings or touring high school grads. Still, I must have some remnants of bratty teen embedded in my psyche because it took every incidental interpersonal-relations experience I’ve ever had to resist yelling “I DO WHAT I WANT.” But I did resist, and thus didn’t get gasped at by interfering middle-aged housewives.
I spent all of Friday wandering Edgemont and pretending that I was a writer holing up in a small town, just for a change of scene. I walked through a ravine and sat by a pond and stared at some ducks. They were sort of awesome because one of them would start doing something (I say something but the options were really a) nibbling at weeds, b) drinking, c) sleeping or d) perching on rocks) and then the rest of them would slowly follow suit until they were all doing it and the whole thing would begin again. One particularly intrepid water fowl with good leadership qualities would fall asleep with its head tucked back between its wings and slowly every other duck would stop nibbling and do the same and then the whole thing would change every 3 minutes.
The duck pond actually looks like it was pulled straight from a fairy tale book. It’s surrounded by willow trees and on the bank opposite from the one I was perched on was a little log cabin with lace curtains and a wood pile. It was actually weirdly idyllic. I started imagining that I had fallen into an alternate reality but after some investigation determined that the cabin was actually the “Groundskeeper’s Residence”. Seriously. There weren’t even any roads connected to the place, it was in the middle of the woods. Magical.
In my wanderings I walked by a family of five that was standing around on a street corner, all of them wearing medical masks. I realized when stuff started crashing and banging that they were watching a house being demolished but for one moment it was like something from a really artsy absurdist play and I couldn’t stop laughing. I wandered down the street laughing hysterically. And figured it was about time I went to bed. And that was pretty much Friday.
On Saturday I headed out to explore historic Chinatown, another site my guidebook was highly enthusiastic about. At first glance, Vancouver’s Chinatown hadn’t seemed so vastly different than what I had at home, but the area has so much more historical depth than Toronto’s multi-culty takeover bid. A lot of the stores had the same sort of junk on offer- incense, fans, cheap light bulbs, plastic Buddhas and very affordable socks all set against a background of shelves and shelves of waving Happy Cats of varying sizes (see above).
I stopped in a store that was all rough-hewn wood and creaky floor boards and hundreds and hundreds of colourful paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling and looking for all the world like a Chinese lantern festival frozen in time a moment or so after the great release. That was one of the gems. I waked up the creaking stairs to a level that was more dimly lit attic than second level retail and packed to the gills with furniture and statues. The second level only took up half the space, so beyond the stairs it was open to the rest of the store below and you could see all the lanterns from above. Most were the typical round variety but there was one in the shape of a dragon, glowing red from within, surrounded by a bunch of scattered, colourful stars buoyed up with the rest.
And guess what? I forgot to bring my camera. I know. Someone revoke my traveler’s license. I tried really hard with the limited possibilities of my phone’s camera but it really, really doesn’t do it justice.
I poked my head in tea shops and clothing stores bursting with embroidered silk, fortune tellers and massage parlours. I haggled for the listed price on some mass-produced memaborilla.
“Six dollars”
“What do you mean six dollars? The sign says they’re 75 cents each”
“No sign, six dollars.”
“There is too a sign, this is the basket I got them from! 75 cents each!”
“Five dollars”
“Three dollars or I’m leaving! I’m just asking for the listed price!”
“Three fifty.”
“Oh my god, fine. Here.”
Well… I tried to haggle.
I think I must’ve dreamt about space that night. I woke up thinking about stars and decided to figure out if Vancouver had a planetarium. My brother’s the scientist of the family, not me. I love space when Cole’s the one talking about it, because his eyes go all wide and his words speed up and mush together and he flexes his forearms like some muscle-memory part of him still wants to flap his hands around like he did when he was really little and happy about something. I love hearing anyone talking about the stuff they love really, when they get really excited and forget to be embarrassed and their voices catch fire. It makes you excited about whatever it is too. I don’t remember when or where I visited a planetarium for the first time. My subconscious keeps supplying Montreal but I don’t know for certain. I remember loving it though- reclining in the dark and moving through space until your brain got tricked into thinking it was actually flying.
Vancouver does have a planetarium incidentally. It’s in Vanier Park in the H.R. Macmillan Space Centre, near the Maritime Museum. Apparently this is where I go to miss my guys back home and go see stuff that they’d be jealous of- first Calder with the ships and now Cole with the stars. I went to see a show in the planetarium called The Searcher. The show itself was a little cheesy cause it was about an alien travelling through the galaxy trying to figure out where his fellow aliens went when their planet imploded, but the visuals were awesome. The planetarium seemed to have a real community following too- the usher greeted a lot of the fellow star-seekers by name and you had the option to hang around after the show and the the narrator dude who stood in the middle of the big domed room walked you through all the constellations and cosmic events that would be visible over the next few days.
It was a great way to spend an afternoon- laying back in a dark room watching galaxies and black holes flicker by in the dome above you until your inner ear was tricked into thinking you were flying too. Like an amusement park ride, but stationary and educational. After that adventure I met up with Brett and Sarah and we missioned it down Robson on a quest for gluten-free pizza making materials and grabbed dinner. I haven’t spent much time in Ontarian Whole Foods branches, admitably, but I’m fairly certain that the Vancouver ones are unique in their near restaurant status. There’s salad bars, hot food counters, reusable dishes and cutlery, free water and in the case of this location, a massive wrap-around patio. Sort of awesome, and pretty much the healthiest dinner you can find for $10 if you make good choices.
And on Monday? I checked off the last big thing on my Vancouver to-do list and sweated it out on the Grouse Grind. For the uninitiated, the Grind is a famous Vancouver-specific brand of masochism that involves a 3 km trail straight up the side of Grouse Mountain. Straight up. You gain 853 metres of elevation in 3 km. You do the math and figure out the grade of that trail. It’s nearly all stairs of course, each about 2 ft tall, so thank god for my ridiculous 35 inch inseam. The trek takes the average soul between an hour and a half and two hours, to quote the back of the t-shirt I bought at the top, and I made it in an hour ten. I really wanted to break an hour and earn a claim-to-fame spot alongside my stupidly fit cousins, but I guess this means I have to come back out and try again some time! But in my defense nor did I FALL ASLEEP ON THE TRAIL like someone who shall not be named as I enjoy drinking his beer.
I have to say though, the Grind offers some of the best people watching in all of Vancouver. Like aforementioned old dude in suspenders who SPRINTED up, blowing all the young things with athletic gear and three-times-a-week Pilates class memberships right out of the water. Or like the girl in jeans and converse wasting precious lung capacity SCREAMING at her boyfriend for ever thinking this was a good idea as he meekly panted on ahead of her. I could hear her almost all the way to the top, the chick knew how to lay down the law. I think he was single by the last quarter.
I went solo, but met some friends on the way who I ended up pacing with and joining to get coffee and check out the grizzly bears at the top. I didn’t stick around to see the lumberjack show because you have to leave some sights unseen. Surprisingly I’m not even sore today. I think my legs are just 100% done with my shit after Jasper and are too tired to even protest anymore. And right now? I’m in Gastown! It’s not that exciting, mostly filled with tourist trap shops filled with over-priced maple syrup and shot glasses with pictures of moose on them going for, oh, about $45 each. I’m in a coffee shop, independent and WiFi-less, so I’ll probably post this from Marie’s place when I head back.
Update: Yay procrastination! Its now about a quarter to 9 here. My Aunt Marie and I went to a little raw vegan place for dinner where I had pizza that was lacking in crust, cheese and tomato sauce (think veggies on a cracker) and was actually pretty good. And I had nut-based chocolate cake that was really good! With no sugar!
The whole area around Lonsdale Quay and up the hill where the house is has stunningly beautiful views back down towards Vancouver across the Burrard Inlet where all the ocean liners are anchored. When we were driving down to the Quay the light was rose-gold and soft and lit up all the building and the trees, the tankers in the harbour and the cranes. I understand why people come here and stay. I’ve been to Paris, Rome, London, Florence, New York, Amsterdam, Miami and Venice, but there are times when some algorithmic combinations of green mountains, blue waves and golden light make a case for Vancouver being the crown jewel of all the cities in my collection.
The Wander Year 