I strolled to the voyeuristic bathroom and hoisted up the shades, pleased to see the shirtless (naked?) gentleman at his computer again. Making the Starbucks House Blend pod of coffee, I turned on our CD player, selecting the Opus house mix of "Turn it Up"—a jazzy blend of mildly techno-sounding tunes (other selections included the Opus "Turn it Down", Michael Buble or Weezer.) We then began to prepare for the day. I failed to mention the shower I took the evening before, but the shower is definitely worth mentioning. It’s one of those rain-style showerheads where it literally feels like you’re showering in a typhoon. It was very refreshing and decadent, to say the least.
Once we had all our affairs in order (bags mostly packed and all procured loot in the same vicinity), we requested a late departure and were granted a 1:30pm check-out time. On our elevator ride to the lobby, we shared the space with a woman performing her 10:30am walk of shame. She was obviously on the heels of a debaucherous night: her hair was greasy and tousled; her makeup was smeared and about a quarter inch from its original placement; her billowy bohemian top (which she decided was long enough to wear as a dress. It was not) was askew to the point that one of her breasts was poking through the keyhole neckline; and her fringe Louboutins looked as though they had seen former glories.
We set forth for a light breakfast from my new favorite grocery store: Urban Fare. Canada’s answer to Whole Foods, Urban Fare features unique and sophisticated gourmet food from around the world. It offers a completely local vibe—where one can go to escape the buzz of the city and find respite amongst revelers reading the paper or yogis popping in for a post-class smoothie. I was totally enamoured with the layout and design. I was a bit overzealous in my picture taking and garnered more than a few befuddled looks. We grabbed coffee and croissants, and then walked past the Roundhouse to the False Creek harbor.
Vancouver’s Roundhouse was formerly the old Canadian Pacific Railway’s service facility for trains and has since been transformed into a Community Arts & Recreation Centre. The glass pavilion houses the engine from the first transcontinental train that pulled into Vancouver in 1886.
We plopped down on a bench and enjoyed the cool breeze whilst partaking of our European style breakfast. Our comfort level varied pretty rapidly though since the breeze alternated with the sun beating down upon us once it finally poked its head through the clouds. I was supremely jealous of all the residents going for their morning jog or taking their dog for a jaunt. Vancouver is truly an active city, or at least that’s how it seems. I can’t determine whether or not all the girls wear black athletic pants because they are coming to or from the gym or because Canada is historically ten years behind in fashion and these girls think this is the haute look. In any case, the populace appears very fit and I can imagine our country would be similar if our cities were as beautiful and pedestrian friendly as here.
After enjoying the buttery and chewy croissants, we hoofed it to Gastown to see where Vancouver originated. We traversed through town on one of the main thoroughfares (Howie Street) and passed by the awe-inspiring Vancouver Public Library which looked like a Greek coliseum.
The street descends downhill into Gastown, which is 100% reminiscent of Pioneer Square in Seattle. I suppose this makes sense since both locations are the original "downtown" areas of their respective city. The area is at once dilapidated and quaint. Broken cobblestone streets snake through old, obviously historic, brick buildings. It’s apparent to me that this is the part of town most favorable to down on their luck vagrants. Being a little before noon, none of the shops have opened yet so Brett and I proceeded to the famous steam-powered clock. When I read about this clock online I was expecting some grandiose edifice to tower over me. Instead, I found a rinky-dink clock, barely seven feet tall, surrounded by tourists as it toot-tooted its quarter to noon tune.
Naturally, I had to be part of the action so I commissioned Brett to snap my picture. Unfortunately, he cut off the actual clock bit, but I suppose I should be the focus of the picture anyway.
Following the four inch map I had printed out from the Aquabus website, I directed us toward Blood Alley. As we rounded the corner of Carrall Street, I felt as though I was suddenly in New Orleans during a funeral, such was the pomp. En route to the famed Blood Alley, known as such because of the history surrounding it, we collided with the weekend Farmer’s Market which was sparse in comparison to our visit to Granville the day prior.
Working our way through the throngs, I couldn’t help but notice the oppressive nature of this area. The history surrounding Blood Alley is diluted and vague—but the current lore is 100% true! This alley is the homeless Vancouverite’s resting place of choice. As far as the history is concerned, there are three stories of Blood Alley’s origin. It may have been where butcher’s storefronts were located back in the olden timey days. If this was the case then the butchers would have dumped the remaining animal blood in the street after they closed up their shops. A bit more interesting and gruesome is the possibility that railway workers, after collecting their pay, would make their way home by walking through the alley, where hooligans and thugs would lurk—waiting to rob and murder the unsuspecting victims. Lastly, the most likely explanation (and also the most boring) is through government documents, which point to the area as being devised in the 70’s simply to generate tourism.
More so than the alley itself, I was interested in seeing a restaurant I had read about on the internet: Salt. It was too early for cured meats, cheeses and wine, so I settled for ogling the cool facade and taking copious amounts of pictures.
From there we happened upon a cast-iron statue of "Gassy Jack," the town’s founder (with quite the unfortunate appellation in my opinion).
I needed my cheesy Canadian souvenir, so we proceeded to poke through the tacky shops lining Water Street. I’d seen it all before…there were Chinese made magnets and pins, Canadian sweaters, and maple syrup.
I did, however, find quite the gem in one Armenian gentleman’s shop: a furry hat that was a yeti’s head with googly eyes and a menacing felt overbite. With my new winter tuke thrillingly procured, we set back toward Yaletown for one final farewell before we set off for lunch in Kitsilano.
Naturally, I stopped here and there to take pictures, and made a last minute shopping trip to Urban Fare where I acquired my favorite Canadian candies (including, but not limited to, Smarties and Eat Mores.) We returned to the Opus with minutes to spare before our checkout, and went back to the room one final time to collect our things. I’d grown so fond of the atmosphere that I was sad (as I always am to end a trip) to leave.
Under the guidance of a fellow foodie friend, Brett and I headed over the bridge to Kitsilano (a very hip and funky neighborhood) to Nando’s Chickenland, a fast food restaurant of South African origin featuring mouth-wateringly delicious Peri Peri style chicken. So tasty was the chicken that I insisted upon purchasing a bottle of Peri Peri sauce to take home and savor.
We hit the road around 2pm and began our journey back to Ballard. Heading toward the border I made the last minute executive decision to stop at the Duty Free store and had to swerve across 5 lanes of traffic in order to do so. Fortunately for me, traffic was nominal so no one was injured by my maniacal driving. We stocked up on Tanquerey, Absolut, and I added a tiny ceramic Canada mug littered with maple leaves to the pile. I can't help it, I like the kitcsch.
No more than a mere 20 minute wait at the border, we were up to bat to get back into the states. After the requisite what were you doing here, what did you buy questioning, the guard, a stoic and stocky man, demanded I tell him where in Wisconsin I was from. I gave him my cutesy smile and mentioned Appleton. "Great mall. I'm from Wausau, but I managed to escape," and with that he cracked a smile and wished us a safe journey home.
Three hours later, there we were.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Say something nice!