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.

Laurel and Hardy Visit Vancouver, Canada

Beltane, Vancouver, British Columbia

After my dad arrived in Portland, he discovered a piece of his car (just by a back wheel) hanging off the car probably thanks ot someone kicking it, perhaps an aggressive bicyclist who hates cars. That’s my theory, anyway. Meanwhile, a strange message was popping up on my computer screen—something to do with “run-time error” and “C++,” MS Word refused to cooperate, freezing up and not letting me even scroll down, let alone revise or print a document. Also, I left my reading glasses (in a case) behind at a movie theater after we went to see The Raven.

My dad’s car is in a good shop, Details by Mark, not far from my apartment (he meant to drive it to Canada, and unlike my car it has GPS). My computer spent the night at Office Depot and was thoroughly cleaned up…but after I used it a couple times, the message reappeared. Office Depot didn’t solve the problem, so I decided to leave my computer behind and try to fix it after we return to Portland. I returned to the movie theater at about noon, and my glasses did indeed make it to the lost and found box. It was such a great relief to get them back.

We left for Vancouver at about 8:10 am, taking my car, of course. We were slowed down by some inclement weather; I drove slower through it. Misty mountains are beautiful, but I had to stop hydroplaning and slow down.

When we reached the border, there were several lanes of traffic, and on the far right lane was a lane for “Nexus.” We had no idea what that meant. I figured it was the one lane we should avoid, so I veered off to the lane to the left of it. Skinny poles eventually separated the right lane from the others, and the road went uphill so that we couldn’t see traffic far ahead. I became alarmed to see almost all the oncoming cars line up in the right lane, and my dad convinced me that it must be the correct lane, so I slowly backed up until I was far enough to get around the skinny poles and get into the right lane.

But within seconds I had a bad feeling about the right lane. It looked like that lane was for people who had special passes, and indeed we saw those ahead of us had white passes that they appeared to stick in a machine.

Meanwhile, my dad was nervously talking so constantly and wigging out through all of this. As we got over the hill, we soon noticed that the vast majority of cars were in the other lanes, after all—but I couldn’t get beyond the spiky little poles with lots of cars behind me. So I drove up to a little booth, like a ticket booth, and fortunately a guy was in the booth. I said, “I think we’re in the wrong lane.” He asked me some questions, such as whether we were carrying firearms or tobacco or alcohol, and he gave me a sheet of yellow paper and told me to pull over to the far left lane. I did so and spoke with another guy in a black uniform (whatever happened to dressing like Dudley Do-right in bright red jackets?), and I parked the car as instructed.

My dad and I went into a tall glass building with glass double doors and spoke with another agent who was behind a counter—she asked us questions, and after relinquishing our passports, we had to (like a few other people) sit in wooden seats at the far end of the room. We hadn’t waited long, before we were called back up, which surprised me because all the other waiting people were there before us. So we were only delayed about five minutes, according to my dad.

After that, I continued driving (my dad only did so for, say, two hours in Washington, but it’s my car and I seriously think I’m the better driver). Arriving in Vancouver, I was nervous about getting lost but also fascinated by some of the houses/mansions we passed; a lot of them were Craftsman-style, like in Portland. It must have been really popular in the Pacific Northwest, in both the U.S. and Canada.

Upasika Day

Tomorrow (Saturday) I'm going to a Theravada Buddhist monastery in White Salmon, Washington (https://sites.google.com/a/abhayagiri.org/hermitage/Blog/upasikadayteachings-december3rd) to participate in a meditation retreat. It's about an hour and a half away, but it'll be worth it. I haven't been in a sangha since before grad school, and now that I've got my degree I've sluggishly gotten back into sitting meditation and reading dharma books. I think the retreat will inspire me to "strive diligently," as the Buddha said on his deathbed.

I just made a pot of kheer (Indian rice pudding) to share; it's something I often take to potlucks, but for this occasion it's particularly appropriate because kheer is what the girl Sudatta gave the historic Buddha, Siddartha Gautama, when he took his ascetism so far that he nearly starved to death. The kheer revived him, and he came up with the Middle Way: a practice that involves neither extreme hedonistic luxury nor ascetism that's so extreme you die.

The theme of the retreat will be the Four Noble Truths. http://www.buddhanet.net/pdf_file/4nobltru.pdf