It’s 9:15am, I step outside of the Pacific Beach building on Jervis St.
in the West End of Vancouver, Canada. A faint whiff of the sea drifts my
way, and a siren is blaring in the distance. The creamy white Calla
Lilly and princess pink Foxgloves are so big they are starting to droop
over into the sidewalk. I could head right and proceed to climb the 75
degree hill that has given me buns of steel over the winter, but the sun
is shinning and the water off English Bay is sparkling so I proceed to
the left instead and head downhill. There is a scent of asphalt heating
up in the morning sun as I patiently await for the beep boop sound that
signals it’s safe to cross. I am on Beach Ave. or is it Pacific? It is
just where the fork begins and one road becomes two. It is like a street
purgatory not quite Beach and yet not quite Pacific either. It always
leaves me baffled as to which street I should tell the taxi cab to drop
me off home at. But today I am on foot, and the salty sea smell is
getting stronger. The siren is fading and is replaced by the delicate
sound of a trickle of water as I pass by a 10 ft. Pyramid shaped
fountain that slowly flows water down each one of the steps. It is
surrounded by Palm trees, that are not only surviving but thriving, a
mystery to me as this is Canada after all. The fountain was donated by
Doris and Charles Davis to Vancouver on it’s centennial. The fountain is
so protected by the Palm trees I didn’t even notice it until after a
few months of living in the neighbourhood. The hill on the fork of
Beach/Pacific has a nice easy slope that draws you down towards the
water. As I pass over the crosswalk I hear the woosh of a group of
bikers as they whiz by in their second skin neon clothing. I pass under
the shade of a Cherry Blossom tree that was in full bloom throughout the
month of March but now looks slightly like a large bonsai tree. That
incredible fresh aroma of fresh cut grass wafts up as I pass by, I try
to fill my lungs with it, but the hill is pulling me down. The concrete
path takes you to a set of stairs that are about 3 feet wide and are too
big to walk down normally. I must resort to descending like a child
does placing both feet upon each step before I continue on to the next. I
hate this forced return to infancy so I usually take my chances on
running down the last part of the hill praying that I don’t slip and
fall on the freshly cut grass and make a fool of myself. I prefer the
feel of the grass under my feet anyway although the grass is never truly
dry in the Vancouver climate of near constant rain. The other risk I
take by going the grass route is accidentally walking in the local
residents poo. Today I can see the group of 25 Canadian Geese soaking in
some early sun on Sunset Beach. There are only 3 groups of people on
the beach at this hour. A lone girl with a big coral hat lies out in her
matching pink bikini reading a Vogue with Katy Perry on the front. A
family of three follows their toddler as he wanders by the water’s edge
picking up anything that catches his attention. His small blue shirt
seems to keep rising above his little pot belly. And a young gentlemen
has a tripod set up and what looks to be a Canon camera, he is getting
set up to catch some morning shots of the North Shore Mountains. His
khaki shorts are bulging at the pockets with what I would assume are
batteries and flashes and other camera paraphernalia. The salty smell of
the ocean is so strong now I can almost taste it, and inevitably a
craving for oysters grabs hold of me. I have one more obstacle to pass
before I reach my destination and can relax into a morning stroll; the
seawall bike path. Everything from unicycles to skateboards whiz by
without any real ability to stop should some careless pedestrian cross
without looking both ways. But after a break in traffic I scramble to
the far side and join the hundreds of people out for a walk on the
Vancouver seawall. By evening thousands will have walked over some part
of it’s 22km asphalt pathway that includes Stanley Park, Coal Harbour,
English Bay and Kitslano.
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