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July 29, 2005

Hastings Street

I had to get off somewhere around here, I knew I must be in Chinatown. I tried to fool myself it was the road sequences I had remembered from my excursions around town, a newly acquired sense of direction or a sense of feeling at home. It wasn’t. There was Chinese writing everywhere. Even someone with my limited linguistic skills could tell, I was in a place full of Chinese people.

Hours before, my Big Mac and Dairy Queen laced stomach had been tested to the full at Play land, just outside of Vancouver. It appears the thrill factor at play land is derived from the instability, coming off the wooden seats whilst navigating dips and curves. What started as an misguided and make believe sickness problem, actually, and worryingly, started to come true. Maybe the Big Mac didn’t get along well with Dairy Queen, but visions of pieces of toffee and ice cream flying in the air and hitting innocent children in the face were making even me even more queasy. Try explaining that to their mother as I got off. I managed to refocus. Seeing children who were big enough to fit in my right pocket made me realise it would be a crime to throw up. After all, they kept on staying on the seats waiting for the next go.

As I stepped off the bus at the end of the evening, I walked onto a film set, not uncommon in Vancouver, but rather strange for the early hours on a Friday. As I continued to walk in one direction along the street, I noticed it was a rather lager film set, with, surprisingly, a lack of cameras or film type people. It was then I realized that this was no film set, they were not filming a zombie movie. This, was in fact, Hastings Street.

As I wondered past the blank expressional faces, I started to feel slightly lost, and more concerned that I felt in a long time. Of course I haven’t been to neighborhoods in New York, but I had walked through the poverty stricken, drug influenced areas of East London, Kings Cross in Sydney, Eastern Bangkok, central Amsterdam, the red light district of Frankfurt and the village green Seniors lawn Bowling final in Dorset, and quite frankly, it was bizarre. Very bizarre.

I resisted the temptation of some ‘great’ crack cocaine, lied several times that I had no cigarettes, gave three ‘I’m sorry, but fifty cents wont get you back across the river even if I gave it to you’ looks, turned down two offers of a ‘great night’ with some wonky looking, middle aged women and saw three police cars all on one night. I guess it’s nice to have options.

My perception, apparently, was not unfounded. With a postcode being deemed to be the poorest in the Country, this once vibrant part of the city is now more the focus for national debate. It’s decent has been steady. Over the last fifty years the loss of key transportation, head offices, shopping centers to more central areas such as Robson Street have added to the decline. Another key factor? Well the seventies witnessed a decrease in public spending that led to thousands of psychiatric patients being put on the streets. Streets such as Hastings just happened to be the most welcoming. Crazy, literally.

“Do you know where East Pender Street is please?’” I asked, not to a member of the wonky brigade, but two friendly police women patrolling the area. “You are staying around here?!” came the response. Clearly, thinking I was become as crazy as those that frequented Hastings Street. As I made my way up the road, it started to become clear just why my good, yet surprisingly inexpensive lodgings were so reasonable. Ignorance is bliss.

1 Comments:

  • At 9:58 pm, Blogger coops said…

    Fantastic idea, it would fit in well with the filming film in Vancouver, plus, it would regenerate the local area. Amazinginly enough, I did throw one of them a dollar and he did shuffle.

    I'll be in touch.

     

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