This recent trip was all journey and no destination.
The flight was exciting, in that Nels had to return home for his passport and take a later flight, so I travelled
alone, which I seldom do.
Vancouver has an excellent bus system, with no barrage of messages such as to “Please hold on,” which
deter me from using the buses in San Francisco, so we rode around, getting a nice rest between stops and
seeing the different neighborhoods without having to navigate in detail.
I’m sure all the walking did me good. I started out tired, and easily got footsore, and as the week wore on
my stamina and comfort increased.
Many of the places we made an effort to get to were disappointing. The expensive Chinese garden and the
tea shop across town both felt dingy, but the adjacent free Chinese garden was somewhat more pleasant,
and they both were in directions we otherwise would not have gone, which in Van means different views of
the mountains. The bird sanctuary, though full of lovely falling leaves and very friendly chickadees, had a
loud industrial noise that precluded repose. At the other place we went for tea the food and service were
dreadful, but since we were nearby we went to the gemlike, mossy Japanese garden at the BCC campus.
And while we were there, a coyote came to the tiny stream for a drink. We got within a few yards of her
before she slunk off under the fence.
Others were worthwhile but getting there made them better. The conservatory was in a park with an
unexpectedly good arboretum that I didn’t see enough of. On a walk to some totem poles that I never
reached I passed a lovely lake, so thoroughly ringed by trees and splendid mountains that one could
ignore being in a city. When we were early to the excellent restaurant we fortunately had a reservation for
on our first night we took a walk and found ourselves on a bench in a tiny streetcorner park, where a
friendly local man regaled us with bad jokes. From the Japanese garden we wandered off looking for a
washroom and a path to the beach, and instead found wonderful totem poles. There I struck up a
conversation with a woman who told us the anthropology museum was open late. I hadn't planned to go,
but we were right by it, so we went, and loved it.
We loved the art museum, too. I had found the advertisements for the main show off-putting. I thought I
would rush through it and spend my time in the permanent collection. But there was no permanent
collection, and the show, of Canadian women artists, was worth seeing.
Initially, in my fatigue, I found the downtown massively unpleasant; a seeming monolith of enormous
buildings. But since the buses radiate from downtown I saw the urban core a number of times, and it grew
on me. The details of quirky buildings began to emerge from the mass of towers. I still don’t like it, but I
began to appreciate the juxtapositions of odd shapes in the modern architecture of this very new city,
which aspires to become the next New York.
I spoke to our B&B hostess about a walk I intended to take in a nearby park. She warned me about
weirdos and naked men, and recommended a different park further away. OK, why not? I had all day.
There was a naked man anyway, right in front of the ferry terminal. The park she sent us to was worth a
visit, but I couldn’t hike there, it was too steep for me. So we went to a couple of other parks because
they were nearby. One was so peaceful we took a very refreshing nap on moss-covered boulders, and
felt that our journey had been worthwhile. Then on the delayed and crowded bus back to town I had a
perfect view of the sunset over the Georgia Strait.
I thought the whole trip was a series of mishaps, but as I write about it, I find the list of things I enjoyed
far exceeds the problems. And I didn’t think about my life at home at all for the whole week.
