I'm a sucker for things historical. Slap an historical-sounding word front of it and I will be there. Historic Fort York? That's me with a musket. Lady Whosits Antique Spittoon and Nail Clipper exhibit? I'm first in line. Ye Olde Deepe Fried Mars Barre? Don't mind if I do!
I am locked in an eternal romance with the past; the romance part means that I can choose not to think about how people had a disturbing and constant level of b.o. and crapped in pots they kept under their beds. Actual history interests me too but sometimes I prefer to make shit up rather than rely on "facts". Facts are for the weak.
So when Katr and I were on our jaunt to the yarn store last weekend and zipped past Vancouver's historic Gastown on the bus, I knew I would have to visit. So yesterday I borrowed Katr's camera and walked down there to suss things out.
The first thing I noticed as I wandered towards the edge of Gastown is that historic Gastown is nuzzled right up against historic Cracktown. As Katr and I happened to spend some quality time at the epicentre of Cracktown waiting for a bus last Sunday, I wasn't worried. In fact, I was contemplating how extremely stoned people are probably the only people I can outrun when an older lady walking in front of me clutched her map, stopped cold in the middle of the sidewalk, loudly exclaimed "Judy - this is the BAD AREA!" to her quilted jacket companion and then looked around fearfully. I heard Judy's sharp intake of breath as her friend pointed out a single drug addict quietly loping along on the other side of the street. "Get over it," I thought, "it's not like he's licking you."
And still savouring that smug feeling of touristic superiority, I took this picture:
I know, I know - even with a great camera, I'm still kind of a crappy photographer. This is one of those cool wedge-shaped buildings that invite you to poke your head into the alley behind them and discover magic shops and musty bookstores. I poked my head around and found a guy whizzing against a dumpster. I did not photograph the event.
But I did take a picture of the shop front on the first floor of the wedge-shaped building:
That's right - an ANTIQUE store. I hung out in there like a bad smell. Just trying to evoke the period.
My second stop was at the historic Gastown Steam Clock. The clock is supposed to run off steam from the city's underground pipes, which is cool and it was designed in 1875, which is also cool but it was actually built in 1977 and now runs on an electric motor, emitting steam just for show. 1977?? ELECTRIC MOTOR?? We're lining up to take pictures of something that's the same age as my BROTHER and doesn't even run on STEAM?? Naturally, I took a photo:
You can see the steam coming out of the clock. Jealous? While I was there, I took a photo of the historic Starbucks across the street:
My Olde Tyme Pumpkin Spice Latte was just like Great-great Grandma used to make. Also, it perked me up before the inevitable trip to:
That's what Canada is all about, people - hockey, maple syrup and salmon. I think the Starbucks may also have had a gift shop but my batteries were low. But not too low to get a shot of this:
Turns out Gastown is not an ideal place to take photos of the ocean or mountains, so this fish fountain is as close as I got. I'm hoping Katr and I can get one for our foyer!
I thoroughly enjoyed my stroll through Gastown's touristy cobblestone streets, reading historical plaques and even saw some non-tourist looking places. No yarn stores though. FOILED. Next time I promise ocean and mountains. In the meantime, I'd better get started on this Ye Olde Deepe Fried Mars Barre. 'Cause gang, it's not gonna eat itself.
