a dISPATCH fROM vANCOUVER
bY pAUL cHADERJIAN
It is the hour of the night when not many cars are on the freeway, and one can almost hear the silence. A metropolis sleeps, its citizens rest for their next day of drama, trauma, laughter, and tears; I sit, high above, in a pink glass and granite highrise, watching the bright lights of the big city, Vancouver, British Columbia.
The terrain where this city is placed is the most geographically perfect location for it. Downtown is surrounded by water and nestled under mountains like Grouse. The "West End" is considered second only to Manhattan as the north American continent's most densely populated area.
From the shores of English Bay east to the other cities that make up the greater Vancouver regional area are endless rows of highrises and skyscrapers, with dozens more under construction. These bright and decadent structures of steel and glass stand as testament of modern man's wealth and power and our mastery of engineering and architecture. (I imagine a day when a future civilization will make great North American cities like this one a destination spot for tourism.
They'll travel here by airplane and ship to marvel at our illogic and mysterious motivations for building these skyscrapers, much in the same way that modern man marvels and tries to understand the great pyramids of Egypt and the Americas.) But for now, these highrises are full of life and commerce, of business and art. Underneath are thousands, hustling and bustling in and out of offices, sitting at outdoor cafes, shopping, and tasting the cuisine from worlds away.
As if the shops on street levels were not enough to let one find anything he or she would be looking for, there are malls below the streets which stretch for entire city blocks and offer even more: a hundred and one shops which sell everything from Nike to candy, department stores like Eaton’s and the Hudson Bay Company, shops which specialize in things like condoms from all around the world, and dime stores where you can find the most unlikely things at unlikely prices.
With nearly two million people living in the Greater Vancouver area, there is a cleanliness unlike any other city's. After all, Greenpeace was born in this city, so why expect anything less of a city which has given birth to an organization which is at the forefront of the conservation and preservation of mother nature.
The crown jewel of this metropolis is its one thousand-acre Stanley park, North America’s largest urban park with a six-mile seawall, which stretches around it. Maybe it is this park alone which endears me to this magical place which the world seems to be having a love affair with over the past decade. Thousands come from all corners of the world by ships, airplanes, cars, trains, and recreational vehicles to enjoy this piece of heaven on earth.
The city was incorporated in 1886. It was then a trading post, now touristic haven and a place I have used as my haven from home over the past eight years. Life seems different here to me than anywhere else I’ve been. The dynamics of downtown, the art, culture, architecture, the entertainment, the film and writers' festivals, the cuisine, the shopping, and the views, all within walking or biking distance attract me here time and time again.
There is so much energy on the streets at all hours of the day that one can't help but feel alive and want to experience all that can be experienced in the very short amount of time a tourist finds himself or herself here. There are jazz clubs, pubs with live folk music, outdoor concerts, and even street entertainers who'll psychically tell you what is ahead in your life, for a price of course.
This is the city where I feel the most alive and most free, and why wouldn't anyone. After all, this is Sarah McLachlan territory, the city of my muse, the young songbird whose songs set the tone of my life. This place is also called "Hollywood North," where studios makes dozens of films and television programs like the "X-Files." Hollywood North is the this busiest area for film production next to Los Angeles and New York. This is also the place where the likes of Michael J. Fox, Jason Priestly, K.D. Lang, and Emily Carr either came from or call home. It is also a place where thousands of the rich and affluent citizens from Hong Kong have settled after the mainland China took control.
Vancouver has become a boomtown of construction and real estate over the past decade and at the same time slowly falling to the ills which plague big cities. I saw spray-painted gang tags here for the first time last summer. Now, there are more panhandlers, more homeless, more druggies, and more drunks on the streets, and today I noticed that the city had erected a fence at the northern-most part of Stanley park.
Still, Vancouver, British Columbia, has won my heart over the other metropolises I have had the pleasure of experiencing. My memory may be failing me, but not in Beirut, Paris, New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Memphis, Salt Lake City, Yerevan or other places I have been has a city made me feel so alive and free. I feel a sense of freedom here, which I haven't felt elsewhere. maybe it is because in the back of my mind I know I will not be victimized from random acts of crime. Maybe it is because I realize from strangers who talk to you at the grocery store, that I will not be judged, or maybe I sense that values and expectations about life are different here than in California. People don't live to work here, they work to be able to afford to live. The tourism center says Vancouverites read more, shop more, eat out more, drink wine more, smoke less and take longer coffee breaks than any other urban population in North America.
The city's skyline, its stylized harsh and soft lines of hundred-year-old and modern architecture, the old and the new, the lush greenery which cover the mountains to the North, the hundred-year-old weeping willows in its parks, and the open waters of inlets, sounds, bays, and the pacific make you feel so alive that you can't help but smile the "Macauley Smile," the smile which says "yes" to life (from Saroyan's "The Human Comedy").
The smiling faces are many in this great metropolis of the Northwest. Stand on a street corner and nine out of ten who walk by will look you right in the eye and smile. Some will even say hello, and one may even ask you if you are lost. For the sake of experimentation, walk down Fresno’s Fashion Fair mall or down an isle at your supermarket tomorrow and look straight into the eyes of shoppers. When there's eye contact, smile, and see if they smile back. Most won't. I know. I’ve tried it. Subtract my threat factor, if I have one, which would be the same here as it is in Fresno, and I should warrant the same type of reaction from people here or anywhere.
But not so. People are different here. There's a humanity about them, which I do not find in a majority of the mechanized citizens back at home. The humanity I speak of is an attitude of living rather than existing. There's a sparkle on people's faces, which you cannot find in California. There's an electrifying energy on the streets past two in the morning as tourists and residents alike walk down Robson heading out for a late night snack or heading home after a great night out. This city sleeps only when it's ready to awaken again; and it's nine-to-fivers never run out of places to go and things to do, so they're out in large numbers, rollerblading, walking, biking, talking to strangers at corner coffee houses, or soaking in a sunset over Howe Bay. Faces, hundreds of faces, sparkling, glowing. Maybe it is the beauty of the place or all the stimuli that give men, women, and children that special radiance.
My first full day in the city began with my ceremonial walk to the West End through Stanley park. The ducks and Canadian geese greeted me with their unreserved vocals. I watched huge cargo ships and cruiseliners head out to sea, crossing underneath the Lion's Gate bridge and past the peninsula, which is home to the University of British Columbia. I sat at a corner cafe and read the paper observing the masses move through space and time.
Later in the afternoon, I jumped on a mountain bike and took myself for a tour of the city and to all the corners I have learned well over the years. I rode by my favorite spots including the great new library across the streets from the Ford Center of performing arts where Clovis's own Tiffany Stoker performed, and past the cinemas which have offered my a glimpse into the realm of art films which I don't get to see in Fresno and into the realm of foreign films which I don't get to see at art houses in California.
It was also here where I learned about Andy Warhol, G.J. Ballard (Crash), William Burroughs (Junky), Anais Nin, and Russell Banks (Sweet hereafter). It is here where I discovered Sarah McLachlan and met Atom Egoyan in person (Canada’s premier art film maker, now working in Hollywood. His credits include "Exotica," "The Sweet Hereafter," and the soon-to-be-released "Ararat").
Maybe European cities were like this in the past, offering a chance for men and women to expand their minds through the arts and through meeting with strangers at corner cafes. Maybe this type of energy is what inspired the great artists whose work I enjoy now. Maybe there are places like this elsewhere in the world, but this is the only place I know so far which feel this way about, and by allowing myself the pleasure of traveling here a few times a year, I know there is hope for life on earth and for mankind.
It's four in the morning, Jewel sings on Zet 95 point three, and there's a cool breeze blowing into my highrise room, a cool and fresh breeze from the Pacific, up through English Bay and to my face. A human could not ask for a better place to be.
# # #
It is the hour of the night when not many cars are on the freeway, and one can almost hear the silence. A metropolis sleeps, its citizens rest for their next day of drama, trauma, laughter, and tears; I sit, high above, in a pink glass and granite highrise, watching the bright lights of the big city, Vancouver, British Columbia.
The terrain where this city is placed is the most geographically perfect location for it. Downtown is surrounded by water and nestled under mountains like Grouse. The "West End" is considered second only to Manhattan as the north American continent's most densely populated area.
From the shores of English Bay east to the other cities that make up the greater Vancouver regional area are endless rows of highrises and skyscrapers, with dozens more under construction. These bright and decadent structures of steel and glass stand as testament of modern man's wealth and power and our mastery of engineering and architecture. (I imagine a day when a future civilization will make great North American cities like this one a destination spot for tourism.
They'll travel here by airplane and ship to marvel at our illogic and mysterious motivations for building these skyscrapers, much in the same way that modern man marvels and tries to understand the great pyramids of Egypt and the Americas.) But for now, these highrises are full of life and commerce, of business and art. Underneath are thousands, hustling and bustling in and out of offices, sitting at outdoor cafes, shopping, and tasting the cuisine from worlds away.
As if the shops on street levels were not enough to let one find anything he or she would be looking for, there are malls below the streets which stretch for entire city blocks and offer even more: a hundred and one shops which sell everything from Nike to candy, department stores like Eaton’s and the Hudson Bay Company, shops which specialize in things like condoms from all around the world, and dime stores where you can find the most unlikely things at unlikely prices.
With nearly two million people living in the Greater Vancouver area, there is a cleanliness unlike any other city's. After all, Greenpeace was born in this city, so why expect anything less of a city which has given birth to an organization which is at the forefront of the conservation and preservation of mother nature.
The crown jewel of this metropolis is its one thousand-acre Stanley park, North America’s largest urban park with a six-mile seawall, which stretches around it. Maybe it is this park alone which endears me to this magical place which the world seems to be having a love affair with over the past decade. Thousands come from all corners of the world by ships, airplanes, cars, trains, and recreational vehicles to enjoy this piece of heaven on earth.
The city was incorporated in 1886. It was then a trading post, now touristic haven and a place I have used as my haven from home over the past eight years. Life seems different here to me than anywhere else I’ve been. The dynamics of downtown, the art, culture, architecture, the entertainment, the film and writers' festivals, the cuisine, the shopping, and the views, all within walking or biking distance attract me here time and time again.
There is so much energy on the streets at all hours of the day that one can't help but feel alive and want to experience all that can be experienced in the very short amount of time a tourist finds himself or herself here. There are jazz clubs, pubs with live folk music, outdoor concerts, and even street entertainers who'll psychically tell you what is ahead in your life, for a price of course.
This is the city where I feel the most alive and most free, and why wouldn't anyone. After all, this is Sarah McLachlan territory, the city of my muse, the young songbird whose songs set the tone of my life. This place is also called "Hollywood North," where studios makes dozens of films and television programs like the "X-Files." Hollywood North is the this busiest area for film production next to Los Angeles and New York. This is also the place where the likes of Michael J. Fox, Jason Priestly, K.D. Lang, and Emily Carr either came from or call home. It is also a place where thousands of the rich and affluent citizens from Hong Kong have settled after the mainland China took control.
Vancouver has become a boomtown of construction and real estate over the past decade and at the same time slowly falling to the ills which plague big cities. I saw spray-painted gang tags here for the first time last summer. Now, there are more panhandlers, more homeless, more druggies, and more drunks on the streets, and today I noticed that the city had erected a fence at the northern-most part of Stanley park.
Still, Vancouver, British Columbia, has won my heart over the other metropolises I have had the pleasure of experiencing. My memory may be failing me, but not in Beirut, Paris, New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Memphis, Salt Lake City, Yerevan or other places I have been has a city made me feel so alive and free. I feel a sense of freedom here, which I haven't felt elsewhere. maybe it is because in the back of my mind I know I will not be victimized from random acts of crime. Maybe it is because I realize from strangers who talk to you at the grocery store, that I will not be judged, or maybe I sense that values and expectations about life are different here than in California. People don't live to work here, they work to be able to afford to live. The tourism center says Vancouverites read more, shop more, eat out more, drink wine more, smoke less and take longer coffee breaks than any other urban population in North America.
The city's skyline, its stylized harsh and soft lines of hundred-year-old and modern architecture, the old and the new, the lush greenery which cover the mountains to the North, the hundred-year-old weeping willows in its parks, and the open waters of inlets, sounds, bays, and the pacific make you feel so alive that you can't help but smile the "Macauley Smile," the smile which says "yes" to life (from Saroyan's "The Human Comedy").
The smiling faces are many in this great metropolis of the Northwest. Stand on a street corner and nine out of ten who walk by will look you right in the eye and smile. Some will even say hello, and one may even ask you if you are lost. For the sake of experimentation, walk down Fresno’s Fashion Fair mall or down an isle at your supermarket tomorrow and look straight into the eyes of shoppers. When there's eye contact, smile, and see if they smile back. Most won't. I know. I’ve tried it. Subtract my threat factor, if I have one, which would be the same here as it is in Fresno, and I should warrant the same type of reaction from people here or anywhere.
But not so. People are different here. There's a humanity about them, which I do not find in a majority of the mechanized citizens back at home. The humanity I speak of is an attitude of living rather than existing. There's a sparkle on people's faces, which you cannot find in California. There's an electrifying energy on the streets past two in the morning as tourists and residents alike walk down Robson heading out for a late night snack or heading home after a great night out. This city sleeps only when it's ready to awaken again; and it's nine-to-fivers never run out of places to go and things to do, so they're out in large numbers, rollerblading, walking, biking, talking to strangers at corner coffee houses, or soaking in a sunset over Howe Bay. Faces, hundreds of faces, sparkling, glowing. Maybe it is the beauty of the place or all the stimuli that give men, women, and children that special radiance.
My first full day in the city began with my ceremonial walk to the West End through Stanley park. The ducks and Canadian geese greeted me with their unreserved vocals. I watched huge cargo ships and cruiseliners head out to sea, crossing underneath the Lion's Gate bridge and past the peninsula, which is home to the University of British Columbia. I sat at a corner cafe and read the paper observing the masses move through space and time.
Later in the afternoon, I jumped on a mountain bike and took myself for a tour of the city and to all the corners I have learned well over the years. I rode by my favorite spots including the great new library across the streets from the Ford Center of performing arts where Clovis's own Tiffany Stoker performed, and past the cinemas which have offered my a glimpse into the realm of art films which I don't get to see in Fresno and into the realm of foreign films which I don't get to see at art houses in California.
It was also here where I learned about Andy Warhol, G.J. Ballard (Crash), William Burroughs (Junky), Anais Nin, and Russell Banks (Sweet hereafter). It is here where I discovered Sarah McLachlan and met Atom Egoyan in person (Canada’s premier art film maker, now working in Hollywood. His credits include "Exotica," "The Sweet Hereafter," and the soon-to-be-released "Ararat").
Maybe European cities were like this in the past, offering a chance for men and women to expand their minds through the arts and through meeting with strangers at corner cafes. Maybe this type of energy is what inspired the great artists whose work I enjoy now. Maybe there are places like this elsewhere in the world, but this is the only place I know so far which feel this way about, and by allowing myself the pleasure of traveling here a few times a year, I know there is hope for life on earth and for mankind.
It's four in the morning, Jewel sings on Zet 95 point three, and there's a cool breeze blowing into my highrise room, a cool and fresh breeze from the Pacific, up through English Bay and to my face. A human could not ask for a better place to be.
# # #
