In 1962, with Mum and Dad, I went to the Seattle World’s Fair. Modest by comparison with New York in 1964, and certainly Montreal’s Expo ‘67, the fair had its attractions, most notably the Space Needle. The Needle was straight out of the Jetsons.
More than half a century later, the morning after a late night arrival in Seattle, I look out from the hotel and there’s the Needle.
It looks a little dated and is only a third the height of Toronto’s CN Tower, but makes me think of my parents.
I’m here for the first time since that trip, not for sentiment (altho’ that’s okay) but to join a ship. A few hours to have a greasy spoon breakfast at the 5 Point Cafe...
... inspect some of Seattle’s marvellous signage ...
... if you remember Cinerama - and I do fondly - you’re really old ...
... and find some mouthwash. Next stop the ship - of which more later - and last look at the Space Needle.
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On a drizzly Victoria morning, I watch from our stern as the frigate HMCS Vancouver enters harbour.
The weather defeats me (I have a low tolerance) and, anyway, it’s Sunday morning and the bookstores aren’t open. I explore the ship.
By afternoon, it’s relatively dry. I look over to where Vancouver’s docked and realize it’s having an ‘open day’.
This Vancouver is the third Canadian warship with the name, retains the World War Two battle honours of a predecessor and has served several times in the Persian Gulf.
I quite like the ship’s bell surmounted by a beaver atop a globe.
Always good for taxpayers to see how money’s being spent or, in the case of Canada’s military, not being spent.
The kids seem to be having fun with the vessel’s fire hoses.
Reassured the Harpoon missiles - range 70 plus nautical miles, speed Mach 0.9 - are not about to be launched at my ship …
… I return to the Eurodam along with a complimentary Royal Canadian Navy flashlight ... so that’s where my taxes go ...
By the way, other passengers, who went further into Victoria, returned to the ship having seen some “Royal Mounted Mounties”.
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Vancouverites, it’s said, are born with webbed feet. I am a child of Vancouver, though, so far as I can tell, don’t have webbed feet. They would be useful today.
Beyond this ship are wonderful mountains.
I content myself watching float planes landing and taking off. In the far distance, you can just see Lions Gate Bridge under which we earlier sailed in the murk.
At the cruise terminal, someone’s had the ingenious idea of renting umbrellas, $3 + tax for twenty-four hours.
Fortunately, I have my own ... first stop, MacLeod’s Books, a superb and delightfully cluttered, secondhand emporium.
In one of the piles, I find a collection of British ‘street photography’ from the 1960s ... then, while searching for coffee, neon signage in the distance attracts me along West Hastings Street, which, I’d forgotten, could well be this country's most notorious urban strip. I have never, in Canada at least, seen so concentrated such despair, deprivation and degradation. Street photography is a hobby, but here it would simply be exploitative. However, above the sidewalk misery is some superb stuff.
I realize many of these shots would have been better at night, but this isn’t an area I would choose to walk in the dark.
A few hours later, the cloud’s lifted enough for a reasonable view of the bridge ....
... and my picture, well, the ship’s picture, is taken as we depart for Hawaii.
