Another early start and down for our first muffin fest. Why do the British stick to choc chip when you can have blueberry muesli, cranberry ‘n’ bran or my personal favourite to date, zucchini, carrot & walnut? Today was public transport day. The names attest to what can only be the Germanic origins of an erstwhile transport chief: you don’t get the metro or step on the ferry, but board the Skytrain (even though all the bits we’ve been on are firmly underground) and cross Burrard Inlet on a Seabus. Sadly he was swept off to the local asylum before taking things to the ultimate conclusion of Roadbike and Sidewalkfoot but I’m sure those were in his mind.
After Skytrain, Seabus and , well just bus, we arrived at Capilano suspension bridge, a huge swaying , vertigo-inducing footbridge spanning the Capilano canyon. A series of boardwalk trails high in the immense Douglas firs bring in some spectacular views making trees in Europe look like saplings and those in their mid 40s look like gaping mouthed cretins with permanently cricked necks (14 year olds you’ll be relieved to hear are immune to the hazards of such uncool behaviour so long as safely plugged into their iPods).
After this we decided to dodge the crowds for a bit and took a walk through a nearby forest. Ah the joys of foreign travel: instead of a polite board indicating “Chinook trail”, reminding you to “Take your litter home” or even giving the proximity to the nearest Pay & Display carpark, here your walk is given a cheering start by a large yellow sign stating “Bears in this area”. We’ve read our “Bear drill”(back submissively away, no eye contact, don’t try to outrun them or climb trees –something of a relief to one who passed years in gym class unable to shin up a pole or whizz down a rope – but if attacked at night, fight back with all your might because they’ve sense you out as a food source) but believe me every twig crack has you jumping out of your puny pink skin when you’re a walking (not running or climbing) snack. We ended up at a salmon hatchery and saw a few, though sadly none jumping up the ladder, but the views up the twisting river gorge were breath-taking: nothing can quite prepare you for a bald eagle swooping along the canyon as you bite into your ham roll.
In the evening we took a short walk from the hotel to the city’s Chinatown. Vancouver is a very culturally diverse city but by far the largest non-European ethnic group are the Chinese with many third, fourth & fifth generation migrants. Nonetheless, the city’s Chinatown is a splendid contrast: everything in 2 languages, low-rise buildings with a predominance of red on the facades and market stalls in which I could name less than 50% of the produce. Our nearest supermarket is Chinese and boasts aisles incongruously mixing 94 types of soy sauce with Spam and peanut butter. Our visit coincided with the weekend night market and we spent a happy hour wandering the streets, sampling dim sum and dumplings.
