Snapshots
A number of my friends and acquaintances have made
trips overseas in recent years, and they usually bring back a sheaf
of photographs taken on their journey. Invariably, these photographs
are all of a type - the friend or a member of the family posed in
front of some famous or scenic place. I don't want to see pictures of
my friend; I want to see interesting pictures of the places he went!
I don't mean to be sarcastic, because my family photo album also
contains similar pictures, and I understand why this happens; it is
always difficult to take good photographs of scenery, especially with
a small multi-purpose camera. Without a person posed in front of the
lens, such pictures are almost always completely devoid of any point
of interest. What looked like a beautiful and magnificent mountain
range in 'real life' turns out in the developed print to be nothing
more than a blurry row of bumps in the distance. But at least our
friend standing there squinting in the sunshine is
recognizable!
So for our trip this time, although I did take a
camera, I didn't use it much, having long ago given up any
expectations of coming back from trips with any photographs that I
would feel proud of. But even though I thus have no actual
photographs to show you, I do have a collection of remembered
'images' - moments from the two weeks that somehow made an impression
on me, that stuck in my mind. Would you like to see some of my
vacation 'snapshots'?
A bus stop: at which
we stand waiting for the Number 3 'Robson' trolley to come and take
us back to our hotel. Many other buses also stop at this point, and
as one of them pulls in to the curb and stops, an elderly man with a
cane limps towards the bus. As he approaches, the entire front corner
of the bus suddenly collapses to the ground with a 'swoosh' of air -
just as though one of the tires had become punctured. The old man
steps easily onto the platform, which is now level with the sidewalk,
and as soon as he is safely aboard, the driver reverses the mechanism
and the vehicle smoothly lifts itself back into normal position and
drives away. We notice a sign on the side ... "Kneeling Bus."
The Granville Mall:
a main street in the centre of town, closed to cars to form a
pedestrian mall, and featured prominently in all the tourist guide
books. One morning I pass by here, and notice a group of four people
standing forlornly on a street corner - a family of Japanese
tourists, parents and two teenage children. Father inspects a
guidebook, while the others take in the sights: a couple of drunks
lying against a nearby building, the panhandlers standing with their
hands out, the decrepit buildings housing sex appliance shops and
adult video stores ...
Meanwhile, right outside our hotel just a few
hundred yards away, the streets are buzzing with activity. People
read their morning newspapers in sidewalk cafes, stroll along the
seashore on the seawall, stop and chat in the morning sunshine ... It
is an entirely different world, but as it's not a particularly
'famous' area, the Japanese tourists will probably never see it
during their stay in Vancouver.
Which image of this city will that family take
back to Japan, the panhandlers and sex shops, or the cheerful
community?
A bank lobby: where
as we wait in line to cash some traveler's cheques, we notice a small
table off to one side on which stands a coffee pot and some cups,
along with a sign: "Gourmet Coffee - Help Yourself." There are a
couple of chairs there, and as we stand and watch, an elderly couple
enter the building help themselves to coffee, and sit down to relax.
A minute later they are joined by a friend, but as there are no
chairs left he walks across the lobby and 'borrows' one from the loan
department. When he returns with the chair and pours his coffee, the
three of them settle down for a chat, just as though this was a
lounge in the local community centre. At the counter doing our
business I ask the clerk about this, and she tells me "Oh, we don't
mind. They are in here almost every morning."
An overgrown, bushy area in one of the many parks: as we stroll along I notice
clumps of large berries growing in the tangle of vines. They are
blackberries, and five minutes later my tongue is a deep purple
colour, there is a juice stain on my shirt, and I'm grimacing in pain
from more than a few deep scratches on my arms and hands. But I'm
very very happy. These delicious berries grow all over the city,
anywhere that a few square metres of space has been left alone by the
parks maintenance crews, and the end of August is the perfect time to
sample them. Colour is your guide; the small red ones are not ready
... those that have gone black but are still quite hard are not ready
... but the big, soft, juicy purply-black ones are perfect! If you
can reach them, that is. For no sooner does any particular berry
reach this prime condition, than it is plucked off by the first
passerby. Easily reached areas of the bush are thus kept 'picked
clean'. As you stand there looking for prime targets you can always
see many just waiting to be plucked ... but they are always just that
fraction too high, or too deep within the bush. And those thorns!
Long, hard, and very sharp! But we discovered a good way to quickly
accumulate a handful of delicious berries - work in a group. On
father's shoulders a light-weight daughter reaches up to 'unplucked'
territory, and passes the fruit down to another daughter standing
by.
These berries should be in the guidebooks!
In Lynn Valley,
tucked away in the mountains that form the northern boundary to the
urban area: we've come up on the bus for a short stroll among the
tall trees. As we walk along the forest path, we pass stumps marking
places where trees had been logged off many years ago. After ten
years of living in Japan, where trees in the hills near my home are
harvested at a girth of about 20cm, these massive stumps, about 2
meters in diameter, come as quite a shock. What must it have been
like to walk through this forest when these giants were still alive?
How could men ever have been so arrogant as to destroy them so
coldbloodedly?
We reach the stream that flows down the valley,
and stand in wonder on the bank overlooking a pool among the rocks.
The colour of the water is beyond description: I want to tell you
that it was an emerald green, yet that is not true, it was actually
completely transparent - every tiny pebble on the bottom was visible.
The desire to become submerged in this crystal liquid is intense, but
as we have not come prepared for swimming, I can only stand and
enviously watch the local children as they play in the magical
fluid.
I make a private plan to return here for a swim
before we have to leave Canada, but our list of 'places to go, things
to do, people to see' is truly endless, and we don't make it. But I
remember ... and I'll be back ...
The Stanley Park seawall: strolling along one evening after sunset. On our right, a
rocky section of the beach, with gentle waves lapping at the shore.
On the left, the dense undergrowth of the park. Out of the corner of
my eye I notice a movement on the rocks below us, and we freeze and
stand silently peeking through the gloom. What is it? A moment later,
a head pokes up into view and scans left and right. It's a raccoon,
and I speak softly to him, offering reassurance that we mean no harm;
he is free to cross the path. He takes my word for it, and we watch
as four of them (parents and two kids?) scramble up onto the seawall
about two metres in front of us, and dart across into the dark
greenery on the other side. For a few seconds we hear them scrambling
deeper into the forest, and then all is silent again.
We weren't so surprised to find raccoons living in
the heart of the city, but a few nights later, our eyes certainly
opened wide when we spotted a skunk strolling along through the
greenery just outside the door of our hotel! When we asked about
this, the locals just shrugged their shoulders "Skunks? Oh, there's
lots of those around. Why not? Who's going to bother them?" Who
indeed!
This 'snapshot' is a 'double'... The beach at English Bay, just a
few steps from our hotel, on a day near the end of our visit. The
sand is packed with sunbathers, the water full of swimmers, and the
large diving platform with a tall slide floats just off the shore,
the children lined up waiting for their turn to slide down into the
sea. The concession stands are doing booming business in hot dogs,
fries and colas. Lifeguards in their red shorts watch over the
summery scene from tall chairs and rowboats, and the beach front
pathway is crowded with strollers and onlookers.
The second snapshot is of the same location, but
taken on the next day, September 3rd - the first day of school. The
summer vacation is over, and although the sun still shines and the
water still beckons, the beach is absolutely deserted. The diving
platform is gone, towed away to winter storage somewhere, the
concessions are closed, and the lifeguards are busy cleaning out
their 'station' in the low building that stands behind the beach
path. Only a few strollers are on the path now, and all along the
shoreline, sticks of wood, strands of seaweed, and other debris
tossed ashore by the waves is starting to accumulate. But the sun
still shines ...