Three days in Vacouver

Vancouver is such an easy city to settle into. Admittedly this my fifth or sixth visit, yet I've always found this city to have an agreeable pace both physically on the sidewalks and metaphysically in its setting and people. It was the 2010 Winter Olympics when Carole and I were last here to together. Even then, despite the Olympic hurly-burly, Vancouver was excited in a hesitant kind of way. It's as if the people know they've got it lucky but fear celebrating their good fortune will break the spell.

An advantage of having visited a city before is that on each return you can be both more selective and more indulgent in what you choose to do. In the absence of any pressure to "do the sights" there is the possibility of going further afield or spending big on a select diversion or two.

South of the City of Vancouver lies the Fraser Valley. Elgin Heritage Park preserves the achievements of the mid-19th century farmers who cleared the land to exploit the vast fertile lowland delta of the Fraser River. The fine Victorian farm house and solid pole barn speak of the success and wealth to be found in this region. Heading further along the coast road the temptation of fish and chips on the Crescent Beach sea front is just too much to resist, and very good they are too!

The 49th Parallel is as far south as you can go, give or take a second or two. Neither the Canadian nor the United States border post is actually on the border, which fortuitously allows us to stand with one foot either side of the border at the disappointingly small "Peace Arch", which commemorates the 1814 Treaty of Ghent that end war between Great Britain and the USA. Presumably it wasn't such a big deal given that it took 107 years until 1921 to build a small arch. The Treaty essentially returned all borders to their pre-war position, so a lot of fighting for nothing probably doesn't deserve a big monument.

The best views of Vancouver, the vast Fraser delta to the south and the Garibaldi mountains to the north is from the air. And so, our indulgence becomes a thirty minute flight in a seaplane. Carole joins the pilot in the cockpit, leaving me in the back to nervously contemplate on the smallness of our plane with its single engine and the closeness of the mountain passes we fly through.

Back on the ground frayed nerves need steadying at the always interesting Granville Island - a marvel of urban transformation from industrial wasteland to artisan homeland. (Why is it that Seattle and Vancouver can produce enticing market delights whilst Sydney is saddled with a smelly fish market and tack at Paddy's Market?). Then onto another little piece of refinement and peace at the Terminus Club for dinner.