Departure Day

Departure day started with a gallop and last run around Lake Union before I said goodbye to my old kicks and tossed them in the garbage.  At 8, we headed to St. Ben's for mass with Fr. Bryan who happened to be back in town for the day.  

As mass was letting out, Adam pulled up in our giant Suburban SUV rental that was our ride to Vancouver.  It was enormous, and the back was stuffed with our 7 carry-ons plus 250 pounds packed in 5 suitcases.  Of course we had a bit of reshuffling to do in the parking lot - nothing like letting it all hang out while everyone is coming in for mass. Finally, at 10, we were on our way.

We were eager to enjoy Canada and check out Vancouver.  This was a new country for the kids and a new city for me.  We joked with the boarder patrol agent who was admiring our beast of a vehicle, and we admit that we weren’t usually this pimped out in our 10-year-old Toyota Matrix, then we pulled into the tourist information center to get some tips for the day.  Our flight wasn’t until 11:30PM, so we thought we would see a bit of the city.  We had some suggestions from friends to hit Steward Park and Decanter St., and the docents at the tourist center agreed that these were good choices.  We wanted to try some of the infamous Vancouver Chinese food, so they suggested we first hit Chinatown and Gastown.  We checked the map and decided to park in Gastown, then walk through Chinatown to Decanter St. and the park – about 1.5 miles. 

Parking the mammoth SUV was a chore, but we managed to find an empty lot and pulled in.  The neighborhood didn’t seem great, but it was passable, and we figured we would walk out of it quickly.  Little did we know that the docents’ directions took us straight into the heart of junkie town.  The down and out community imbued the streets, sitting, standing, walking, sleeping, and overtly dealing and doing drugs.  We held onto the kids and walked and walked, trying to keep a low, yet friendly profile.  We fit in about as well as a penguin in the Sahara.  

After several blocks, we made it to Chinatown and found a crowded dim sum bakery.  We got our line number and paused to take a deep breath and glance at our surroundings.  The first thing I saw was the sign on the cash register – BEWARE PICKPOCKETS.  

Adam and I were carrying a small stash of cash, and we just started cracking up, not knowing what to think.  Seriously.  Welcome to the life abroad we had been planning for the last two years, and look out for pickpockets!  A good reminder none the less.  Fortunately we, and our cash, made it out safely, and we enjoyed some delicious steamed pork buns and extra greasy spring rolls.

As we headed west, the demographics changed simultaneously with our full bellies.  We dragged ourselves into Steward Park and just wanted to nap.  Everyone was done.  The festivities of the night before, emotional exhaustion, and stress of our beginnings took a toll, and we just wanted to crawl in a dark hole and sleep.  The idea of a jaunt around the park had SoJo in tears and quite frankly, even I, with my usual love for the outdoors and walking, wasn’t interested. 

We hailed a cab, and got turned down immediately – a problem we encounter often as a family of five.  Cabs only take four people.  You have to find an illicit cabbie that needs fast cash.  As usual, it took 2 or 3 tries, and we found our covert ride to the public library.  We unearthed a quiet corner with pillows in the basement of the 9 story tower, and Adam, Caleb and I curled up with decoy books and fell asleep as our sentinels, SoJo and Carmela, read magazines and Big Nate books.  

An hour and a half later we planned our 1.4 mile walk back to the car, circumventing the streets we initially walked down to find a safer and more scenic route.

We failed.  Our plan to walk closer to Gastown led us into a dense mass of abjection.  People clustered together sleeping or slouching against buildings, others hawked their dregs off meager blankets.  Empty eyes followed our every step. 

Not my photo - thanks internet.

As we gripped each child’s hand and contemplated the despondent mass of humanity, a coherent woman with flaming-red track-marks scaring her arms, legs and neck stopped us.  She kindly suggested, “You may want to walk on the next block over.  This is where all the junkies are.  You will be safer one block over.” Her good will was genuine and tremendous.  I thanked her for the directions, and she gladly pointed us in the safer direction.  

The parallel block wasn’t much better, but there were fewer people.  As we glanced down the allies, we saw bodies laying on the asphalt and others congregating around dumpsters.  Amidst the hordes, there were two proper bicycles laying sideways next to a curled up body where medics assisted a downtrodden man.  It felt like a drop in the bucket in the opulence of penury. 

Eventually we made it to the corner parking lot which was still empty except for several bald trans folk with ostentatious make-up, and a small pod huddled together around their paucity of possessions.

As we drove out of town, we were put in check.  Our gift of a year is a delicate treasure that we have to protect and savor.  How blessed we are, but how easily it can slip away just as it did for so many on Hasting Street...

FINALLY – WHAT IN THE WORLD WERE THE TOURIST CENTER DOCENTS THINKING???