An Expat in Vancouver: Train Travel, Foiled

I was up at dark to catch the Amtrak #500 from Portland to Seattle, where after a one hour layover, I would transfer to a bus for the rest of the long trip home to Vancouver. As in the Vancouver to Portland direction, there is only one train that takes you all the way with no need to change vehicles.

Without exception, when I tell Vancouverites that I am from Portland, I get fond looks and an exclamation that usually goes like this: “I love Portland!” And vice versa. Yes, there is mutual admiration between the two cities. I am lucky to be able to enjoy both.

From my friend’s house the taxi took me past those Portland signposts with which I have grown familiar. We pass the Rasmussen building with its neon sign over its pre-war entryway, the iconic Voodoo Donuts shop (no waiting line at this hour), a smattering of artisanal breweries, the Norse Hall solidly referencing the city’s early settlers. Over the Burnside Bridge and under the White Stag sign we pass the homeless gathering at soup kitchens, a few lost souls standing in the rain, and whizz past the gaudy Chinatown gate and continue along the comedy clubs, music halls and strip clubs of Old Town before arriving at Union Station. Which, at 7:10am, is closed for a few more minutes. It’s not cold this morning and I don’t mind the air.

Portland Train Station at 7:10am on a January morning

Peeking inside the closed Portland Train Station early in the a.m.

Rarely do I stand in the middle of the city and feel all alone. It’s a nice feeling from time to time, a reminder of the solitary nature of being, and the power of self-reliance, especially when you are about to embark on a more-than-metaphorical passage through space and time.

Under the eaves at the Portland Train Station early in the a.m.

The Union Station brown and pink brick clock tower reminds me of Tuscan hill town battle stations or churches, but once inside the dimly lit and empty waiting lounge I’m reminded of trains as a enduring symbol of American mobility and escape. The getaway sequence in Terence Malick’s “Days of Heaven” runs through my mind.

Portland Train Station Clock Tower

The idea of train travel conjures up so many facets of existence and it’s no wonder it features prominently as a backdrop to so many stories: “The Lady Vanishes,” “El Secreto en Sus Ojos,” “Anna Karenina,” “The Jewel in the Crown,” and, one of my iconic favorites, “Go West.”

The restoration of the station is tasteful, and devoid of passengers or not the lounge is spit-and-polish attractive, as in a living diorama, or a movie set. You could say the effect is a little “twee.” It is easy to imagine oneself in one of the archival photos displayed. I get a strange comfort from knowing a jazz club is housed at one end of the building. All this station needs is a B&B and this is as far as I’d get on my trips to Portland.

I settle into one of original rows of high-backed seats and I am taken to the train station scene in Peter Weir’s “Witness.”

Historic Americana at the Portland Train Station

It turns out due to mudslides the train track won’t be operative today, so a bus will stand in.

And we’re off.

Like Johnny Cash, I long for the train. I console myself with a mental medley of some my favorite train songs. There’s “500 Miles,” “There’s a train a’comin‘”, “Love Train,” “Peace Train,” “Midnight Train to Georgia” and of course “City of New Orleans” as a partial list.

In Seattle, some of us connect with other buses to complete our trips. My bus to Vancouver, B.C. leaves in 1.5 hours so I enter the King Street station to wait. What a let down. The station is of the same era as Portland’s, and is currently being restored. For now the the overall look is derelict.

Seattle Train Station

Dozens of short wires hang ominously from the coffered ceiling, like so many swords of Damocles, a hideous effect.

Weird wires hanging at Seattle Train Station during restoration

The rest room doors have chains and bars on them, and a homeland security video blares out in a continuous loop assuring travelers of Amtrak safety. “Amtrak bomb detectors train every day.” Imagine if we had these videos in every airport lounge. We wouldn’t have airports.

There’s a cheesy sequence reenacting a scenario where passengers spot and report suspicious activity in the station, like a skinny male in hoodie twitching nervously in a corner. “If you see something, say something!” Suddenly I wonder if someone will turn me in for taking photos around the station.

I like how this Cascadia traveler stuck to the vintage theme with her luggage.

I’m excited, however, to think that the next time I pass through this station the restoration will be nearly complete. The place will be transformed, with a cafe and patio, and a shop or two to while away the waiting time. There will probably be wifi like there is in Portland, and the gorgeous Beaux Arts decorative details will stand out as proudly as they should given their provenance.

Detail of Seattle King Street Station

Italianate original floor in Seattle King Street Station awaiting restoration

Is this interest in reviving historic train stations a sign of better train travel in the future? I hope so. I hope we get a few European or Japanese bullet trains on the Cascadia corridor. We can use a little slow time, and the train station beats getting the TSA grope.

An expat in Vancouver: Train travel

Amtrak Cascades in January

Now that airfares are beyond what’s reasonable to pay, I’ve been forced to resort to the Amtrak train for my Vancouver to Portland travel. There is really just one daily train: the #513 Cascades departing at 6:40am from the Main Street Terminal arriving in Portland, theoretically, at 2:50pm.

All the rest are in fact buses to Seattle, where after an hour layover you board the actual train to Portland. That rigamarole means what would be a seven hour drive becomes what in New York might be called an 11 hour schlep ride.

I’ve taken the #513 three times and will do so again.  Although it is a pathetically slow haul, it has its Old World appeal in its waterside views and leisurely pace. It leaves early enough to catch the sunrise over the delta in Richmond, B.C. or over the various broad bays that lay south of Vancouver all the way to Bellingham, Washington, where the waterways fragment and multiply until reaching Tacoma. Unlike the highway, the train track hugs the coast and steers clear of civilization, and I have each time caught sight of herons, hawk, eagles and seabirds, and even an occasional otter and seal.

Because of the early hour of departure, most of the few passengers on-board for the first couple of hours are content to doze, and you can gaze on this splendid view of water and wildlife with only your thoughts.

Early morning train

If that’s not enough entertainment for you, the wifi usually works and there are power outlets next to the seats. The bistro opens as soon as the train leaves the station. I hear the coffee is not bad.

After Seattle the tone changes brusquely, as groups board and some people invariably make for the train bistro to drink beer regardless how early in the day it is to begin imbibing. The landscape changes and becomes industrial, sparsely populated with the odd homestead of small house with peeling paint and rusted farm equipment, or lonely nondescript clusters of new houses, squalid strip malls and truck stations. You are half-way there.  Forests open occasionally to the water or a flat industrial or agricultural establishment.

What a chill from the train windows this Sunday morning! I imagine the people in their homes snug and snoring under warm blankets. Luckily, the train is toasty too.

After weeks of rain in Vancouver, I am surprised to see so much snow. The colors under the heavy clouds are white, gray and brown.

Here are some other views taken onboard.

South of Vancouver, in the delta

Over the border

Northern Washington state

A splash of sun in-between clouds, rain and snow

One of those newer developments you see in Washington state

Washington state farmland

When it stopped snowing for a while

Old industry

Approaching Oregon

Every rise was blanketed

An Expat in Vancouver Favorite Eats cont’d: Suika

Everyone knows you can get excellent Chinese food in Vancouver. And one of the best Indian restaurants in North America, it is widely perceived, is Vij’s. Chefs at the best of these establishments can be very creative in putting together their fabulous meals.

But before moving here, I didn’t realize that there are also loads of Japanese restaurants here.

Sushi joints are on every block, practically, but quantity does not mean quality. I’m doing my due diligence and seeking out the great ones. More on that when I have something to report.

It took me a while to find an izakaya I really liked but happily when I did, it ended up being in my neighborhood. Suika is about a year old, and it got a lot of attention when it first opened and for some reason (probably how busy I was trying Chinese and Indian food) I only made it there this week.

Clams on udon noodles at Suika

It was crammed, predominantly with Japanese. I’d say that speaks for authenticity. We had a smattering of their small plates (some weren’t so small, btw) and there wasn’t one that disappointed. Rich broths, vegetable fritters, pressed sushi, ramen, a clam and udon dish that was reminiscent of Italy’s clam and linguine dish, and matcha cheesecake were tasty enough to linger in our memories days later. So we have to return.

Pressed sushi

December Shadows

Well, we’ve passed the shortest day of the year, on which we were spared the double whammy of being rainy, in which case Dec. 22 would have been the darkest and gloomiest. Now things are looking up. By February we’ll have noticeably more light in the morning and evening.

There is no denying that the period from December-February can be very bad times anywhere in the coastal Pacific Northwest, otherwise known as Cascadia because of the mountain range that traps precipitation separating wet from dry regions. In Vancouver, compared to Portland, the higher latitude means significantly shorter winter days. By “significant” I mean anything more than one minute, because at this time of year you notice every nano of difference.

Every year I think we are having record amounts of rainfall, but the records usually prove me wrong. It’s always this bad.

People cope with ski weekends, restorative soaks at Harrison Hot Springs and Vitamin D refueling in the time shares in Baja or the Yucatan of Mexico. Travel out of the area is wise. We should all plan on it. Even a week in Arizona or Palm Springs will restore energy and hope for a long time to come. Until July when the sun can be coaxed out more often than not.

Otherwise, the rule is to not let the rain beat you down. Put on your breathable rain gear, from head to toe, and enjoy the sensation of walking in a downpour and staying dry. Catch up on movies, preferably really long ones. Try a lot of happy hours.

For us, our earlier travel to Europe emptied the travel fund, so its only the occasional jaunt when a sliver of sun breaks through the clouds, as it did on Dec. 30th on our walk with the dog.

December shadows

An expat in Vancouver first impressions: Driving

On a daily basis, I am surprised how difficult it is to drive here.

Buses have the right of way at almost any time. That extends to when the driver feels like merging into your lane with no warning. Just move over and watch out for the oncoming traffic. The first month or so here I just thought all bus drivers were rude and pushy, but it turns out I was in their way.

It is impressive that the city of Vancouver long ago went to considerable expense and trouble to put in bike lanes and bike-only corridors, as part of its goal to be a super-green city. Something had to give though, and it was convenience for drivers. Sometimes the inconvenience is huge, like when you are forced to drive a mile or more past a bike corridor where a legal turn used to be. A commitment to sustainability is one reason Vancouver appealed to me, but using extra gas and spewing more emissions from having to drive around a bike lane strikes me as counterproductive.

(Now, regarding the cyclists. Just this morning on my walk with the dog I remarked to myself what a beautiful thing it was to behold all the cyclists making their commute, in all modes of garb and gear. But can I also tell you that on many occasions these cyclists have come within an inch of running me over? They don’t beep, they don’t warn, they just zoom ahead as if they are entitled to mow down anything in their path. I agree there should be more of them than cars on the road, in an ideal world. They are indeed the more virtuous if you count Middle East oil dependency and pollution as vices. But give a pedestrian a break.)

There are a lot of risk-takers on the road. Usually these have noisy luxury cars and irritatingly seem to be able to behave with impunity, darting in and out of lanes, trying for that elusive head of the line, or to show they are different from the rest of us drivers in not putting up with the ordinary pace of life. They honk, yell out of windows and gesture profanely. Where did all those nice Canadians go?

At most busy intersections where left-hand turns are legal, there are no left-hand turn green lights. Picture this: you are in the far left lane of a five lane street at a major intersection, say Broadway and Cambie. You edge out as far as you can into traffic so that at the first window of opportunity you can speed across. That window never, ever arrives while the green light shines. What you quickly learn is that you have to speed across the intersection the instant the light turns red, in face of two lanes of rushing traffic, and complete the turn without hitting any of the pedestrians who are invariably making their way across the street. Vancouver pedestrians, by the way, are chill. They never hustle along, even when cars are bearing down on them. So usually when undertaking this maneuver you can expect to stop mid-intersection and be subjected to nerve-wracking honking or worse.

Parking places are also scarce. We’ve actually given up on a number of occasions and gone back home grumpy from an attempt to go out on the town in an area without parking garages. And parking is expensive, up to one dollar every quarter hour. The message from the city is: use public transportation. Well, that’s expensive too, $2.50-$3.50 a ride. So in fact there are lots of cars on the road and competition for parking is stiff.

I’ve mentioned the car honking a few times. Yes, Vancouverites use the horn. There’s the “New York Minute” which you might have heard of? Vancouver has one too.

For some reason, the predominant color of clothing is black. Black from head to toe. So what, right? Well, it rains a lot here. That means on those many winter nights when it is overcast or raining, there is no star or moon light. There is poor depth of field. Shadows are deep, and visibility is poor. And suddently, there’s a person standing in the road you are in the middle of crossing.

Just as your stomach settles down from the adrenaline rush brought on by slamming on the brakes, out of nowhere a silent cyclist stealthily enters your peripheral vision and a moment of sheer panic hits and you slam on the brakes and CURSE.

An expat in Vancouver first impressions: autumn

Here’s where it starts. The rain. It seems impossible when under the summer blanket of blue sky and brilliant sun to even imagine the day when it all turns grey and wet…and stays that way for a long, long time.

But first, the leaves turn. There are plenty of Canadian maples to turn once shady streets ablaze. The squashes and pumpkins appear at the green grocers and fallen chestnuts crush underfoot. Hockey is on everyone’s minds.

10th Street in Mount Pleasant

Because this is a walking city, one in which the inhabitants are undeterred by rain, hail or snow, umbrellas and rubber boots are everywhere. (In Portland, you see much less of those, because people generally drive longer distances than a few blocks.)

Today was a typical fall day: balmy morning, then rain, then heavier rain, followed by 90 km winds and hail, the sky drying and opening to let in patches of blue and sun, then suddenly it was dark.

An expat in Vancouver first impressions: health care revisited

Coming from a system of entirely private health care, I can’t help but notice where a public health system like Canada’s chooses to save money. The buildings are plain and institutional, not jolly environments like US hospitals, clinics and medical offices try painfully to be in the US. Our family doctor’s office had broad windows to let in natural light, rosy painted walls, a gas fireplace, a faux living room with plush seating and decorative baskets stuffed with popular magazines. Our orthodontist had a TV room with DVDs of cartoons and children’s games. It’s the practice, not the payer (at least not in increased prices compared to other docs), that funds the interior decor and it’s done because there is open competition for patients. It all seems a bit much and overtly commercial to me because after all, we are talking about health care, not shopping. But when you are sitting in such an office and waiting your turn to see the doctor, it sure beats the alternative.

Which is what you find in Vancouver. There is no money wasted on environments. As it should be when trade-offs are necessary to cover everyone’s health care. But there is one thing that astounded me when I visited St. Paul’s Hospital this week. The works of the local artists on display were stunning.

Local artist's watercolor at St. Paul's Hospital

There was even a certified Picasso print.

Picasso print

I found myself stopping in my tracks to gaze on the works lining the dim, dingy hallways. The people sitting glumly (it was 7:30am I must add) didn’t seem to be touched by them but perhaps indirectly they were.

An expat in Vancouver first impressions Summer cont’d.

On Lynn Creek

After that unusually rainy and cold early summer, it pains me to consider that we might only have a few weeks left of 23c degree weather and clear blue skies. However, we did make the best of August, and I now have a list of my favorite summer day outings to reprise next year, when I hope we can add more.

Lynn Creek. A fortune cookie once told me, “You will be splashed by the cool waters of contentment.” I waited a long time for that to come true, but it finally did right here. There is a lovely 2km r-t flat walk along the rushing, noisy creek under shade of the forest, and a hike up the steep, rocky path through the forest for an excellent workout, but if all you want is to lie lizardly in the sun with an occasional wade in the water, go no further than the picnic area or just beyond the bridge. There we were, just today, sitting on the dry, warm boulders dipping our legs in the bracing water, letting the dog think he could retrieve rocks.

On Lynn Creek

Sunshine Coast. A popular TV series was filmed in Gibson’s, the first stop after the ferry landing, and it is easy to see why. The setting is small-town, with a grand view from every vantage point. To top it off, the pub has very satisfying fish and chips for post-kayaking or boating refreshment. The rest of the coast is even more seductive but really not possible for a day trip from Vancouver.

Monk’s. Even if I have never eaten here, I always look forward to returning. The huge deck over False Creek, where small pleasure boats anchor, with the not so distant view of people enjoying the banks on the opposite shore, and the to-and-fro of the mini-ferries, kayakers and paddle boarders, is the perfect place for a summer evening pint.

False Creek, with the mini-ferry

Steveston Farmers Market. I’ve tried many of the markets and this one is the most colorful, while offering the most tidy and complete selection of goods. It is also situated in a farm delta, so on the drive there and back you can stop at produce stands the line the road. We get there early to avoid the large crowds that arrive around lunchtime in the historic, quaint town to shop, go whale watching and buy fish off the boat at the docks. After hauling our market goods back to the car, we walk the dike along the Fraser River.

10th Street

10th Street Heritage Houses. We walk the dog along this street where one man has left his personal stamp on one essential block off Manitoba. There is no financial incentive for restoring landmark buildings in the city, and in fact you could argue quite persuasively that it makes most financial sense to tear down free standing homes to make way for multi-tenant condos. And yet, what a terrible aesthetic cost that would be. This block makes that evident, as house after house delights in its period detail thanks to one man who presciently bought up a slew of the wooden houses many years ago and restored them all. As we make our way down the street under the summer tree canopy and in the cool shade, I imagine ladies in pinafores and broad hats swishing down the sidewalk or sitting on porches sipping fresh lemonade.

10th Street Heritage House

Vanier dog beach. If only because it makes the dog so happy, or because of the joy we experience watching him “doggedly” swim through waves to retrieve his orange floating ball, we frequent this popular spot several times a week.

Vanier dog beach

An expat in Vancouver first impressions Summer

Mt. Pleasant summer flowers

You have to experience full on summer in Vancouver to understand why its inhabitants are so faithful to the city through ten months of rain.

It is glorious.

Rumor has it that no one in Vancouver has a full-time job. Certainly I’ve heard many people complain that their M.D.s and naturopaths are only available a few days a week, because they are busy living “real life” on the other days. Freelancers, who like me presumably like having control over their work hours, are plentiful here. And on a sunny day, there’s an unmistakeable hustle and bustle in the streets starting in the early afternoon as people get home from work to pick up their outdoor gear: kayaks, paddleboards, rowboats, skis, snowshoes, walking sticks, roller blades, bikes and running outfits and split off in various directions toward shore or mountain.

In the summer however it really feels like the city is on holiday most of the time. The beaches are full, the pubs spill out into side patios, boats fill the creeks and inlets. It is one huge playground.

players on Jericho Beach in July

My favorite way to spend a weekday is: an early walk with the dog in the cool morning air and warm first rays of sun, followed by a lunch time stroll to the park, a canoe ride in Fraser Creek or a walk through Queen Elizabeth Park, capped by a stroll along the seawall at dusk.

And there have to be a few nights on Kits Beach to capture the sunset.

An expat in Vancouver First impressions: Farmers Markets

Portland Farmers Market

Ah,summer. Finally. We’ve had one whole month of sunny, warm weather, with nary a semblance of rain. And summer in Cascadia summons up a hunger for luscious greens, berries and stone fruits. And where do we find these? At the Vancouver Farmers Markets.

I must say, these markets are a letdown. Thank goodness that they exist, and I frequent them regularly. There is nothing to compare with the freshness and taste of the food on offer. However, there are farms all around Vancouver, so why aren’t there more than a couple of dozen vendors at these markets? The 100 mile diet originated here! The Portland Farmers Markets are bigger and have a much bigger variety of products for sale. Even New York City, which is not particularly close to farmland, has a huge, bustling farmers market at Union Square.

To be fair, Vancouver is far enough north that the growing season is shorter and later. I’m still chomping into cherries that went out of season a month ago in Oregon. And this winter seemed to never end, so the markets might have had more than the normal challenge.

A new friend explained that the markets are relatively new, and still developing. In fact, farmers markets take years to build and strengthen. It took more than 20 years, but now the success of the Portland markets have transformed the city and culinary standards. They have built community and serve as public meeting places on the days they occur. Farmers get much-needed income, and are treated a bit more like the heroes they are. You see them start to experiment, with new flavors of jam, additional uses of goat milk and with the revival of heirloom crops with are so important to food security and biodiversity.

So that’s what we hope Vancouver has to look forward to in the next few years. We’re here to support the markets as they expand their size and influence. Meanwhile I have discovered that my two favorite markets are outside the city, Sundays in quaint Steveston and Saturdays in the mountain town of Squamish. In the former, I purchased the best strawberry rhubarb pie EVER. (Forks up, Sweet Thea.)

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie from Sweet Thea at the Steveston Farmers Market