After a few days of working in Toronto with my nephew on railroad design and conducting stress tests on the Thomas the Train family (and subsequently on our immediate family) I found myself sitting in the Boston Public Garden on a sunny October afternoon. I love the Boston Garden and how it’s placed in the middle of the city coupled with the more pastoral Boston Common. The old city borders the perimeter of these two quiet pieces of calm green space and pedestrians use their paths as quiet commuter routes through the downtown core of the city.
Vancouver has Stanley Park and honestly I rarely go there. It’s a destination for me. I need to make a decision and have the time in order to travel across town. Then usually once there I’m a little overwhelmed by its size.
What beach do I go to? Where is that hollow tree people talk about? Am I in the pedestrian path or the bike lane? Where did all these fitness enthusiasts come from? Should I get some LuLu Lemon yoga pants? If I was to try roller blading where is the nearest hospital?
I can’t just walk quietly through it on my daily travels with the other city dwellers sharing a common moment of tranquility. Stanley Park is representative of Vancouver. It’s a chunk of beautiful wilderness that defines the city’s west coast active pioneering attitude. It’s something that needs to be conquered rather than incorporated. It seems to represent a lifestyle. I have never even walked around the seawall much less had the desire to run around it.
Years ago when I was living in Boston I was walking over the bridge in the Boston Garden and saw what appeared to be a large fish swimming in the water. It looked like a fat Japanese Koi. As I stood there, leaning over the side trying to get a better look, I suddenly saw the tail and realized it wasn’t a fish at all. It was a giant wharf rat.
That’s a city park.
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