Return from Canada & Seattle

My dad and I had a lovely time traveling up north, to Vancouver and Victoria in British Columbia, and then to Seattle. Ani DiFranco is right: you really do have a greater sense of freedom in Canada. Victoria is a particularly easy-going and friendly town. It’s also very beautiful, with the harbor and many Victorian houses with blooming flowers (rather like my neighborhood in Portland, Oregon), and with a late Victorian mansion called Craigdorrach Castle. Vancouver is brimming with art galleries and museums, and both cities have plenty of Native–or should I say Aborigine–art.

My dad is an extremely outgoing extrovert who talks constantly. After two weeks with him, I (an introvert) am indulging in solitude, silence, fasting, and meditation. Actually, a more accurate word than “indulging” is “nurturing.” Extroverts are energized by associating with humans; introverts are energized with solitude. The silence and solitude are therefore necessary for any introvert. Meditation is necessary for me, to keep me sane. Fasting is also a good idea, because we ate out so much, and my dad strangely believes you should always eat three meals a day, no matter how large your breakfast and/or lunch.

While I greatly enjoyed the trip, it’s great to be back home with my codependent one-person cat.

From Seattle to Portland

I drove us to Portland. I had said it was supposed to be a three hour drive, and it actually took us two hours and fifty minutes to get there (yes, my dad kept track). We picked up his car, as good as new, and dropped off my car at a place a couple blocks away that fixes auto glass. The business is called Action Auto Glass, and the owner assured us that the windshield just needed a patch, not a replacement. That was a relief.
 My computer problem was more complicated. I kept up an e-mail correspondence with Maude, who when I gave her the exact words of the error message informed me that it sounds like MS Windows is corrupted. I couldn’t find the original Windows disk, so I called up Office Depot and explained the problem.

Unfortunately, the guy on the phone said that the Windows disk is specific to the computer, so you can’t just borrow it from someone else; you have to contact the manufacturer and buy a new one.

After some more correspondence with Maude, I contacted the manufacturer, and via e-mail a staff member gave me step-by-step directions for downloading a cleaning-up program that’s on the computer.  After I backed up all my files on a DVD-rom, and ran this program and saved it onto two DVD-roms as instructed, I restarted the computer. That’s what it took to solve the computer problem. It actually took me about a month to get it all cleared up. Sigh.

Pike Place Market and Downtown Seattle

We took the Monorail downtown. It was such a fast-moving train, up in the sky, and the distance was so short, that we arrived in about a minute at the mall where the train stops downtown. We got out and walked around, seeing beautiful architecture; a lot of the downtown buildings are about a hundred years old.

Our wandering at that stage was in the general direction of Pike Place Market. We started to wander around the market, in the drizzle, and we discovered that not much was open. It’s funny, since my travel book recommends showing up early in the morning to avoid the crowds; the author must have been assuming you were there during the tourist season. My dad rubbed it in, that the travel book wasn’t accurate in this respect, and he mentioned this to many of the people he talked to (and of course, he talked to a lot of people). So we walked back up to I think it was First Ave, very close to the market, and we had breakfast at  a bagel place; my bagel sandwich was a veggie dried tomato bagel, and I drank a cup of chai.

After breakfast we resumed wandering around Pike Place, though some booths and shops were not yet open. However, more had opened during our meal. One of the indoor shops was a used bookstore, but it was closed; I peered through the window and saw enticing antique books. After wandering around one section of Pike Place, we crossed the street and came to a structure that looks original (this is a market that’s been around, in the same location, since 1907), with white-painted columns along what looks like very long hallways flanked by booths, mostly arts and crafts booths. We saw lots and lots of beautiful flowers. I picked out a Chinese brush painting of a cat, and the artist painted my name in Chinese at the right side of the painting.

We wandered into a radical collective bookstore called Left Bank Books—it’s more like the anarchist book collective in San Francisco than like the Left Bank Books in St. Louis, although that’s a cool shop too. I purchased three books, Cracking India by Bapsi Sidhwa (I started reading it after we got back to the hotel, and within the first paragraph I figured out this is the novel that Deepa Mehta’s film Earth is based on), an academic nonfiction book called The Femicide Machine, by Sergio Gonzalez Rodriguez, about the great number of women killed and forgotten in Mexico, and one other academic book published by the same university press (at least, I think that was the other book—I definitely got three).

We started to explore downtown for real this time and wandered into a Nepalese restaurant, Kastoori Grill, where we had a great buffet lunch. The food was Indian, Nepalese, and Tibetan (including a Tibetan soup that I actually liked even though generally I’m unimpressed with Tibetan food). I call it a Nepalese restaurant because all the staff I saw looked Nepalese, and the décor included Nepalese things such as a beautifully beaded and sequined bridal shawl and Nepalese Buddhist images.

As we resumed walking around downtown and admiring the architecture, we came to the Fifth Avenue Theater; the façade at least had traditional Chinese style, and the theater clearly dates to the vaudeville/movie palace days. The current play was Damn Yankees, and I was really tempted to ask my dad if he was interested in seeing the play tonight, even though I knew he’d want to go to bed early in order to leave early in the morning; not to mention, it was still the afternoon and we’d have to either hang out downtown an awfully long time or leave and come back in order to see the play. So I didn’t ask. Or at least, I don’t think I did.

We descended a staircase underneath the theater and strangely ended up inside a Hilton Hotel. My dad needed to use the restroom, and we found restrooms that required a numbered code; that is, there were a bunch of buttons for typing in a combination. An employee saw us and told us the code (1947), probably under the impression that we were guests at the fancy Hilton Hotel. We did some more wandering before getting back on the monorail and heading back to our neighborhood.

We visited one more bookstore: the little independent used bookstore around the corner from the hotel. I’ve been to three bookstores in Seattle (not counting the Pike Place one that was closed at 9 am). Books, glorious books! I’d better not buy any more books for a long time. Sure.

Our First Full Day in Seattle

EMP—the rock music museum (particularly the Jimi Hendrix bit)—I learned that Hendrix grew up here in Seattle, and the science fiction museum (Avatar exhibit and a Horror exhibit in the basement—not to mention Doctor Who stuff in the museum shop).

We had lunch at the Thai restaurant just down the street from the hotel (I had green curry with tofu, and a tall glass of Thai iced tea). We had lunch at about three in the afternoon again; this reflects how quickly I get through museums when I’m with my dad. If I’m alone in a museum, I’m typically there the entire time the museum is open. Like most of the restaurants in the immediate area, this one was a cross between a restaurant and a bar. It had some lovely Buddhist murals—lotuses and Buddhas, predominantly green.

We took a bus ride to Capital Hill—the Broadway St. stop—for Twice Sold Tales, the bookstore with multiple cats. Contrary to what the Seattle City Guide claims, the cats are not aloof—they’re all very friendly and cuddly and purry. If you expect cats to run up to you, then you might think these cats were aloof; you do have to walk up to them in order for them to acknowledge you and be friendly, but that’s not exactly difficult to do. There were five cats, two of which were foster cats and the others live there. Two of the cats were curled up together on top of a cat tree; they licked each other, and one of them licked my hand.

The bookstore owner was really cool—she seemed like a very progressive woman, in addition to a cat person and a book person. We got into conversation, and I showed her the listing for Twice Sold Tales in the travel book. I think it would kind of make me feel famous if I ran a bookstore that was described in a travel book. I purchased (well, actually, my dad paid for them) a bunch of books, especially in the Buddhism section, and it just so happened that I got a discount because it was happy hour by the time I was done shopping. I asked her about the Jimi Hendrix statue down the street, and Dad asked her for directions to an appropriate bus stop, and she was helpful and accurate on both counts.

Bus ride to Seattle Center: we got off at the corner of Denny Way and Broad St. I had previously noticed Pier 70 on a map, and now I persuaded my dad to walk with me down to the pier. We walked down a very steep hill and passed a sculpture park on the way to Puget Sound. We had a fine view of the water, in addition to walking past a fountain and some sculptures that looked like giant eyes, at least some of which were benches on the back.

Seattle

I used the computer (the inn lobby has one) to get directions to the Queen Anne Inn rather than the Moore Hotel (downtown) that I had previously picked out. According to the Lonely Planet’s Seattle City Guide, parking downtown is hell. Remembering Vancouver, I picked a different neighborhood but one that is close to downtown: Queen Anne.

   The harbor and the Empress Hotel

We had to get to the ferry port at about 9 am, and it just so happened to be a very short drive from the inn. We lined up behind other vehicles, and U. S. Customs officers were there along with someone in a Canadian uniform. My dad chatted with a customs agent and made a comment about Canadian police being better organized, and the guy in uniform agreed whole-heartedly and talked about how messed up the system is in the U. S.

The ferry ride was one and a half hours to the Port Angeles, Washington. I took many photos and some videos outside on the deck, though it was chilly out there. The ferry was significantly smaller than the one we took from the mainland to Victoria.

I drove when we weren’t on ferries; and it didn’t seem like much driving time. I was shocked at some point—when my dad said it was 3 pm; this was shortly after we got off the second ferry, not far from Seattle.

After we'd only spent about ½ hour on the second ferry, a larger ferry than the second one earlier the same day. The car deck was open in front, and a collie and a Chihuahua got to be friends at the front of the open deck; I was looking down at them from outdoors. I spent most of the ride outdoors, up front, although it was cold and extremely windy. Few people stayed out for long. I saw seagulls and black ducks with white wings.

We had a late lunch (beginning at about 3 pm) at a Chinese restaurant just a little beyond the ferry. I had broccoli and garlic sauce over steamed rice. Yummy broccoli fix.

We arrived in Seattle—driving and parking in the neighborhood was slightly hellish, after all--probably more than anything because I'm simply not familiar with the neighborhood. I ended up grabbing a meter parking place next to the hotel (Seattle has the same kind of “meters” as Portland), and we went into the office and got a room (#156 on the bottom floor). We took stuff out of the car and took it to the room. At the front desk, we also got details on where to take the car and a parking pass for valet parking through a hotel around the corner. I had a horrible time driving around in the immediate neighborhood, with one-way streets and all, but eventually I pulled up in front of the hotel, the MarQueen Hotel, my dad found an employee responsible for valet parking, and I gladly relinquished the car. The Queen Anne Inn, where we were staying, also had a parking garage, but it was full.

We looked at maps in the room before walking out to the Space Needle, which is about two blocks away, in the Seattle Center. We passed some interesting buildings, after passing a water fountain with a rainbow and a bunch of kids running and playing in the water. We also passed the museum building that actually contains two museums, including the Science Fiction Museum and the Everyday Music museum. I believe I’ve convinced my dad to go there tomorrow. I’d also like to visit Twice Sold Tales, the book store with many “aloof cats,” according to the travel book. It’s open till 9 pm, so we could go there tomorrow after the museums.

The Space Needle looming over a glass sculpture by Dale Chihuli

The Space Needle is overpriced, but quite an adventure. You can see all the way around, probably the entire city. You wait in a long line for the elevator, and about twenty people can get aboard at a time. It moves ten miles an hour and shoots past—during part of the ride, you can see through a glass wall. Up above, the elevator stops at an observation deck; wobbly telescopes, 1962-era background music playing the entire time. Eventually I figured out that above the sheets of glass it’s open to the outdoors. I took lots of pictures, all the way around.

The Streets of Victoria

Parliament Building

We stayed at the Royal BC Museum from 10 am to 2:30ish. That includes not only exploring the First Nations exhibits and the Century Hall and the Old Town (in other words, the entire third floor) but also visiting the two gift shops and the café (where I had a berry smoothie, a veggie calzone, a little bit of my dad’s salad, and one half of my dad’s carrot cake). We bought nothing at either gift shop. I’ve noticed that my dad is very enthusiastic about shopping, much moreso than I. I get into it if it’s book shopping or wandering around an art gallery.

Lobby of the Royal BC Museum

We wandered downtown, which was full of pedestrians. Tour guides had several booths set up on the sidewalk in front of the Empress Hotel.

Russell's Books

We went to the arts and crafts fair on the street, or rather, spread throughout three alleys. I especially liked fairies carved from driftwood, The artist is Debra Bernier (shapingspirit.etsy.com; www.facebook.com/ShapingSpirit), and I fell in love with her work, but it was quite pricey. I bought a card with a photo of one of her fairies on it.

I also liked little porcelain kitties, a variety of handmade jewelry (by the way, Canadians spell it jewellry), and sock monsters that have mouths into which you can stuff “food.” The monsters are made from old sweatshirts and socks; the artist gets them at thrift stores. I was tempted to mention that in Portland we have “free” boxes on sidewalks, some of which have those garments. On many occasions, there are plenty of things I might have said if my dad hadn’t been talking on and on, as usual. Granted, I’m very shy and often refrain from saying things.

At the jewelry booth, a woman I recognized said, “Did you like dinner at Green Cuisine?” I laughed and gushed about the previous night’s restaurant, and my dad said he really liked it even though he’s not the vegetarian but I am, and we had kind of a long conversation with her. Some people here are very friendly—I think it’s friendlier and more laid back than Vancouver, but we stayed downtown (aside from the drive to and from downtown) while in Vancouver and were really in the business district. Maybe Vancouver has some hippie neighborhoods, some bohemian neighborhoods like Portland.

After hanging out at the street fair, we walked a few blocks to Russell’s Books, a new and used bookstore with great deals—I got four Buddhist books for $9.99 each. My dad (who’s been watching Grimm and Once Upon a Time though he’s not terribly familiar with the traditional fairy tales that inspired them) got himself a middle grade Penguin book that’s a collection of some of Grimm’s’ fairy tales, including “Aschenputel.” Initially I warned him that it’s a kids book, and it’s not the complete Grimm’s fairy tales, but it occurred to me that really, it’s sufficient for his purposes. After picking out that book and leaving it with me, he went elsewhere (the shop occupies two buildings). Meanwhile, I grabbed a stool and got comfortable in the Buddhist aisle; that’s how I ended up with a bunch of Buddhist books. Actually, the aisle was for many different religions, but Buddhism covers at least two whole bays plus part of the “Indian Religions” section. Oddly, no “Hindu” section—all Hindu-related books were categorized as “Indian religions,” as though Hinduism has never been practiced outside India. I think it would have been better organization to have a separate Hindu section, etc; on the other hand, maybe the shop sometimes has books on Jainism and other less popular religions that began in India. The subcontinent has many Muslims, but of course that religion didn’t begin in India, so Islam was separate.

We headed back toward the hotel—indirectly. Still downtown, we passed Darth Vader playing a violin on a street corner. No joke. We walked down Belleville and took a look at where we need to get on the ferry to Port Angeles in Washington state. In doing so, we passed a beautiful old Neoclassical building with the words “B. C. Coast Service Offices” over the door, and the date of 1924. I peered inside, and it has an impressive fireplace inside and looks like nowadays it’s used for public gatherings, perhaps art shows and whatnot.

At my urging, we went back downtown in the evening to look at a couple of historic buildings on the grounds of the Royal BC Museum: the Helmckien House, originally built in 1852 and the oldest building in British Columbia still standing at its original site; and a school house built in 1858 and moved to its present site. We also saw more totem poles and a native house built in 1953 and featuring a big face in basically the same style as the totem poles.

Yesterday I finally realized that what I think of as a Canadian accent is derived from Scottish accents, because so many people immigrated from Scotland to Canada.” A woman working at a tourist shop has  a very pronounced accent that sounded almost Scottish. That explains the “aboot” and such. And this is my third trip to Canada; not to mention I traveled with Canadians in India, too, and didn’t figure it out then.

Tomorrow morning our plan is to get out before 9:30 in order to not miss the 10:30 am ferry. First come, first served. Just a bit of a rush. I’d rather be sitting around in the car than be too late and not get to Seattle tomorrow…or have to spend the night somewhere in Washington state, between Victoria and Seattle.

Craigdarroch Castle and the Parliament Building

I’ve noticed that the more my dad stands around talking to people, the more I take photos.

We took the bus to Craigdarroch Castle, a breathtaking stone Romanesque mansion built for a railroad baron (Dunsmuir) and his family in the eighteen-eighties. We wandered all over—all the way up to the lookout tower with its views of the city and harbor. The mansion put me in the mood for embroidery, costuming, and a doll house based on the castle. On average, visitors get through the mansion in forty-five minutes. It took my dad and me at least three hours. Some visitors miss parts of the house, but we wandered down the back staircase and saw more and more rooms after visiting the lookout tower.

We had lunch at a little Greek/Italian place—spaghetti—downtown after getting off the bus—followed by a hurried walk to the Emily Carr House because at lunch (a late lunch)  I double checked the Emily Carr House hours and discovered that it closes at 4 pm. It was already a quarter till three when I noticed this.

The Emily Carr House is a few doors down from our inn and on the other side of the street—the two-story yellow 1864 house that Emily Carr grew up in.  Only the first floor is open for tours; the caretakers live upstairs. Flowers in the yard, complimentary coffee and tea on the porch, wonderful homey antique furnishings, a small gift shop (the kitchen), and a sign saying you might come across one or two cats (but we didn’t). Emily Carr loved cats. There was also a biographical documentary showing in one bedroom.

Inside the Emily Carr House

Surprisingly, a couple of tourists were from Portland, and I saw them walk to the inn’s restaurant, so we’re convinced they’re also staying at the James Bay Inn. My dad talked with them on the lawn of Emily Carr’s house after we left, and I wandered around the yard taking pictures of flowers.

Emily Carr House

We briefly stopped by at the room, and I discovered that when my dad meant to hang up the “Please make up room” sign facing out, he had actually hung up “Do not disturb,” so we didn’t have fresh towels and the beds weren’t made. After a bathroom break, we headed back out.

We wandered around downtown—mainly along Government Street, for hours—looking around, taking pictures, shopping, etc. We wandered to Chinatown and down the narrowest alley in Canada, which is located in the oldest Chinatown in Canada.

Dinner around 8 pm at Green Cuisine, a wonderful (though not cheap—they charge by the gram, and I bought heavy samosas) vegan restaurant.

More wandering, back toward the hotel and stopping at shops. A cop was confronting some drunk young guys on the street—the cop car was pulled over and the cop stood with the guys on the sidewalk, talking to them. Meanwhile, three noisy drunk young women in dresses and high heels and tattoos came out of the Irish pub, talking and laughing, and approached the guys and the cop. They thought the situation was hilarious, and after the cop got back into his car and started to drive off, one of the women ran up to his car and said something jokingly. Nobody got arrested. Toto, we’re not in the United States anymore. A block further down, we met a guy who said it’s a full moon tonight, in addition to a Saturday night in Victoria, so the street could get even rowdier.

Parliament Building

We walked to the lit-up Parliament Building and the glowing lit-up fountain in front of it. We passed two Clydesdales pulling open carriages for tourists; we saw a lot of that in Victoria.

Our First Afternoon/Evening in Victoria, Canada

 Empress Hotel

Hungry and looking for a place to eat, we wandered downtown and visited the Fairfield Empress Hotel, where the Queen of England has tea when she’s in town. We were in awe of the posh décor. When we first showed up, I thought the hall was reminiscent of a sixteenth-century manor house. We strolled by a bunch of shops—one full of porcelain figurines (cats and dogs in particular); another lots of tea things including tempting tea, tea sets, and tea towels; a Bengal Lounge with extremely expensive Indian food, including a buffet for $32.00. The WOW! tea room, with columns and a dainty display of pastries on three-level circular tiered dishes. We wandered into a green room that looked like it could have been a part of the Crystal Palace—well, if it had been a lot taller.

We walked by the Parliament Building (an impressive structure with a big copper dome and many small copper domes); we also passed the Royal BC Museum and the IMAX.

We wandered downtown and went to the Cactus Club Café for an expensive and fancy dinner (I had a vegan fajita—guacamole instead of sour cream and cheese). The place also has yellow glass chandeliers, and we sat next to a wall made of bricks with spaces between them (it was an interior wall). You know you’re in a fancy restaurant when you see a TV (the Food Channel) in the restroom, which also had phone booth-like stalls, armchairs, and a strange image of a bright blue sky with a buffalo.

Munro's Books

After dinner, we wandered to Munro’s Books. It’s a beautiful bookstore, but it’s all new rather than new and used books. I’m so accustomed to used books mixed in with the new. It’s housed in yet another old building, and many windows are covered with handmade cloth wall hangings (perhaps wall quilts). We discovered that the new and used bookstore, Russell’s Books just beyond the Cactus Club Café, is only open from 9 am to 5:30 pm, so we didn’t go there. I peeked in through a front window and saw narrow aisles with ceiling-high bookcases. As I discovered on the walk back to the hotel, the other bookstore we spotted, a beautiful Victorian three-story house with lots of gingerbread trim and only a few doors down from the inn—is permanently closed with a note about it in the front window. Through a front bay window, I saw empty bookcases. Very sad.

We wandered along the harbor (after visiting Munro’s Books) and my dad kept us at a souvenir shop for a little too long. I got bored quickly. After all, it wasn’t a bookstore.

Arrival in Victoria, BC, Canada

We arrived in Victoria at about 2 pm.

We took the ferry from Vancouver to Vancouver Island (well, technically we were outside the city of Vancouver by the time we got to the ferry). It was, of course, raining most of the time I drove from Vancouver to the ferry.

On the ferry ride, I experienced slight dizziness but enjoyed the gorgeous views. It was really cold and windy outside, so even I spent more time inside than out. On one of my ventures outdoors, a seagull coasted in the sky alongside the ferry, keeping up with it without flapping its wings. Maybe it thought the ferry was a really big fellow creature. Later, while I was in the shop with my dad, I looked in the direction of a window and noticed we were passing islands, so I dashed back outside; I also watched a ferry coming from the opposite direction. My dad was enthusiastically shopping in the gift shop (and so was I was long as I was looking at books). My dad could have shopped forever, but I got impatient and went out to take pictures and make three little videos.

After that, we drove from the ferry to Victoria for about half an hour. I got lost in town and asked for directions twice—the second time because the first person I asked hadn’t remembered that Government Street is one way for several blocks. We were only two blocks from Government Street, but the one way blocks were a major hindrance.

The weather has been bright and sunny ever since we arrived on Vancouver Island. Thanks to growing up with the fiction of L. M. Montgomery, I keep thinking of Prince Edward Island, which is on the other side of Canada.

The James Bay Inn is full of antiques and was built in 1906. Old-fashioned radiators are in our rooms, and the lobby in particular has a lot of antique furniture (and two antique radios) and a fireplace. We wandered around town after checking in. The inn is surrounded by lots of beautiful Victorian houses.

Art Galleries in Vancouver, BC

Tea at Murchie's

Today I dragged my dad into a total of five art galleries. Fortunately, he only paid admission to the first one, the Vancouver Art Gallery, where we spent the most time (although half of it was closed, between exhibits).

Vancouver Art Gallery

Pendulum Gallery

We also visited the Bill Reid Gallery, which specializes in what we’re accustomed to calling Native American art but what Canadians call Aborigine or First Nations art; with less than half an hour before closing, we were allowed to browse part of the gallery with a small donation. Baskets and magnificent wood carvings.

We visited the Pendulum Gallery, which is in a bank building and so-named because of a metal pendulum swinging back and forth overhead—a bit disconcerting after seeing the Edgar Allen Poe-inspired film The Raven. The current display was of black and white framed photos taken in several countries, including Nepal. One of the images was of a pile of trash at the edge of town in Kathmandu—there were a lot of dismal, haunting photos taken in Kathmandu. It made me want to return.

From the Pendulum Gallery: www.larrylouis.com is the photographer’s website. One of the images was a haunting, misty photo of pigeons at what I at first thought was Durbar Square in Bhaktapur, but according to the plaque it was the abandoned Tripureshwar Mahadin Mandir Temple. It contains a sculpture very similar to one in Bhaktapur, of a king sitting under a parasol and on a lotus throne high up on a pole. But it wasn’t as high as the sculpture in Bhaktapur, and it was shielded by a snake like the Buddha. Most of the pictures were taken in Kathmandu, including one of a very old woman sitting on the edge of a cot at a home—sort of an old-folks home for Nepalese people who would otherwise be homeless. Another image was of someone working at a loom at a pashmina shawl factory—I thought of my pashmina shawl. It seems the places where they’re woven are  getting scarce; it could become a lost art. Another image was of people—a family or two—living under a bridge in Kathmandu, and another was of some trees and a mound of rags. Kathmandu has more and more people living in poverty and in slums.

Shortly before getting to the hotel, we impulsively stopped by at the Howe Street Gallery of Fine Art, where the curator is a white-haired white man with a British accent but originally from Zimbabwe. When my dad mentioned that the new prime minister is a conservative, the gallery owner actually said he’s not an extremist and he’s OK; interestingly (because my dad talks about politics frequently, a topic that tends to raise my ire), younger people don’t like him. The only thing conservatives conserve is patriarchy. On that note, I did enjoy much of the art in this gallery—stone carvings of African heads from Zimbabwe, paintings by a Chinese American and his brilliant thirteen-year-old daughter, and paintings of sailboats and such using a lot of orange.

We stopped by at the hotel room at about 6 pm (that’s when I wrote the previous entry) and after relaxing for a bit , we headed back out to wander the streets some more. I thought the shop my dad wanted to visit “by the waterfront” was a touristy shop in Gastown near the steam clock, but he was referring to a touristy shop in the basement of the Waterfront Building, which is attached to the  sails building called Canada Place. The shop was closed again, so we stopped at a couple others before wandering the streets—we did end up in Gastown (after I led us into a dodgy neighborhood) on Hastings because I was fascinated by a beautiful red 1910 building with a mansard roof—it turned out to be next door to a cannabis shop and across the street from a WWI memorial).

So after that we turned left and headed down to Gastown, a street much further down than we had previously visited, and we came to the Gassy Jack statue (which is a bit rusty and seems to slant forward) and lots of beautiful old buildings I hadn’t seen before.

Gassy Jack statue

We continued walking and eventually turned around and had carrot cake and beverages at a place called Coffeebar that was open till 9 pm (unlike all the other coffee and tea establishments we came across, which closed significantly earlier) and next to a camera shop occupied not only by humans but also by a cute bulldog anxious to take a walk.

The name of an alley--it reminds me of London

While we headed back toward the hotel, I spotted a store full of carved wooden Native American (First Nations) art—masks and totem poles—so I persuaded my dad to cross the street and visit the shop. It had an art gallery upstairs and a loft between that and the ground floor—totem poles, masks, wooden carvings on every floor, stone carvings and jewelry in glass cases on the first floor—all First Nations art. Some books were available on the loft and downstairs, and my dad let me get a couple of books on First Nations mythology.

Chinatown, Vancouver

We took the Skytrain (a subway) to Chinatown; visited the Chinese Garden; wandered around Chinatown and into shops for a gratuitously long time; had lunch at Jade Dragon, a traditional and dim sum Chinese restaurant (and hot green tea is very pleasant after you’ve been walking around on a cold, rainy day).

After lunch we walked some more around Chinatown, I looked at a map at the Chinese restaurant and told Dad about the Vancouver Police Museum and figured out that it’s on the outskirts of Chinatown, and he got excited about it and said let’s go there. So we walked over to that museum, which is in a charming old building. Best of all, a TARDIS figurine was in a display case full of police-related toys.

We did some more wandering (including past the gorgeous domed Carnegie Library, near the Police Museum) and wandered back in the general direction of the Chinatown Skytrain. (It’s a subway despite its name—it goes up and down depending on which train you’re riding.)

Carnegie Library

On the way to the train station—we were within sight of it—I persuaded my dad to go to an Asian supermarket I’d read about in my Vancouver travel book. We wandered around the shop and got four black bean-filled sesame balls; they’re the same size and shape as the sesame balls at Jade Tea House, but with bean filling instead of coconut filling. We also bought a tray of six little rice balls for an evening snack. Two of the little rice balls are pink, two are beige with sesame seeds and black seeds, and two are white rice balls. My dad figured after having such a huge lunch in Chinatown we wouldn’t want to have a full meal in the evening.

Arrival in Vancouver, BC, Canada

Entrance into Gastown

I found the Days Inn that I had picked out—it was downtown and close to many of the sites—but I had no idea where to park, so I pulled over in front of the hotel even though it was a no-parking zone. I had the motor running and my right turn signal was on, while my dad got out, running in and asking where to park. After waiting a while, getting honked at and feeling really awkward, finally I turned the ignition off and figured Dad was getting a room. I was correct.

He returned with two hotel keys (room 706) and a little map clearly showing where to go in order to park in a parking garage. I followed the map and parked—what a relief to get out of the car and have a parking place, to no longer be driving! The parking garage was about six blocks from the hotel.

The hotel is somewhat posh, and the room costs twice as much as I expected from the travel book: $200 a night. It’s posh, but not that posh.

Street scene a few feet from the parking garage

Tonight:

We wandered around the neighborhood and had dinner at a fancy Mediterranean restaurant (I had a veggie deep dish with no cheese—it was a lot like pizza, in a porcelain boat containing a thin layer of crust topped with a mixture of sizzling hot artichokes, spinach, mushrooms, eggplant, and tomato). Meanwhile, the restaurant was straight across the street from an antique store called Dorian Rae Collections (not to be confused with Dorian Gray)—breathtaking standing Buddhas and other Buddhist art in one big window and African art in the other.

While we were eating, we suddenly heard drums, and I said, “It sounds like a parade.” My dad was at a better angle and saw people standing on the sidewalk and watching something…and next thing you know, there a parade of protestors marching down the middle of the street—banners and signs—and followed by two police prison vans. My dad was convinced that they took the protestors to jail. According to our server and the hotel’s front desk clerk, these protests happen all the time in Vancouver. I later remembered that it is Beltane, also known as May Day, which has a tradition of working class and socialist protest.

After dinner, we took a walk, particularly around Gastown. We crossed the intersection where we could see the building topped with sails and the ocean and the misty mountains in the distance. In the distance we saw a huge red W high up on a building, so we kept walking in that direction. It had seemed closer. We eventually came to a square with a lower gigantic red W. It stood before a building that contained businesses down below and apartments (or was it a hotel?) up above. Nearby was a brick building with paintings lining the wall, and a short distance away was a brick wall covered with murals and graffiti. We continued to wander around the old brick streets of Gastown, which is predominantly Edwardian, with beautiful old architecture and many closed antique stores (we peered in the windows) and open tourist shops.

Best of all in Gastown is the amazing steam clock. Very steampunk. When we got there, steam rose out of the top, and through the glass sides we could see little metal parts moving. A bearded guy in a raincoat was talking to tourists, and he explained to us how the steamclock works—it’s not powered by steam but by the weight of metal balls that periodically, gradually, move. Every quarter of the hour, the clock chimes. I mentioned the brick streets—they’re also narrow as you’d expect given their age, and often separating the sidewalk from the street are iron railings, or rather black metal spindles attached with black metal chains.  

A few beggars accosted us near the entrance to Gastown and in the gorgeous red brick train station. My dad was kind of freaked out about them. He should go to India. I believe I pointed out to him that in India you’re surrounded by beggars, many of whom are children, and that they’re often lined up.