In the context of a trip to Europe, there are more “concrete” questions to be considered as well: Would a European city do nothing while its oldest and most historic theatre rots and becomes unsalvageable? Would a European city propose to put a condo tower next to a culturally significant garden or a National Historic Site? In Europe, wouldn’t this type of “planning” be considered scandalous? Wouldn’t it be laughed out of town?

Although I suspect you may be correct about the vinegar at Dundarave, Mr. Olsen, the fact remains they had neither balsamic or cider in Gastown, only the clear stuff. That is: the cheapest, least healthy kind that ensures the highest profit margin.

I was contemplating a similar thing yesterday as I sat in the Vera’s Burger Shack that just opened on Maple Tree Square in Gastown. The cowhide patterns on the vinyl booth seats are really cute, as were the group of Japanese tourists snapping pictures and giggling away as they compared the contents of huge Fluevog bags. At the next table, a couple of lonely TO transplants were working all the angles on their new manifesto, which I’m pretty sure was called, “Why We Hate Vancouver And All Its Gold-Digging Bitches.” An American guy standing at the counter said to his buddy with a distinct New York twang, “This place reminds me of that awesome new burger joint in the Village, ya know, where that little jazz joint used to be…?” The other dude drew a blank.

Exposed heritage brick, post and beam, floor to double-high ceiling windows, lots of natural light, organic burgers, successful local company branching out, tourists and immigrants and locals mingling, cute vinyl cowhide seats, it was all so… ubiquitous. Like the vinegar my son likes on his French Fries, or the $7 paninni you can eat at the new Waves on Cordova while you people-watch the dinner lineup that spills along the sidewalk of the Sally-Ann.

I asked my son if he remembered Vera’s original shack on Dundarave Beach that grandma used to take us to? “Oooo-oh, yeee-aaaah….” he said slowly, and I could see memories of summer dinners on the beach start rushing back.

At one point, he reached for the vinegar, stopped, and said, “They had balsamic vinegar there, I love that stuff!” He went and asked at the counter. Drew a blank: “What kind of vinegar?” Then more questions, a small crowd of probationary employees gathers, an eager search in the back coolers ensues. Shrugs and concerned apologies (the manager now front and center). He returns empty-handed.

And outside there’s old Gassy perched on his barrel, hat and shoulders covered in bird shit, waiting to see how his new saloon shack is going to look when the construction dust finally settles.

If he looked up, way, way up above the tallest treetops of the Brobdingnagian forest behind him, he’d see a hot tub in the sky.

I had four bikes waiting when we landed in southern Germany, flew over to the north of Scotland, down throug the country to England, then over to France, Belgium , the Netherlands and finally back to southern Germany It took over six months, and just over 5,000 miles. Mostly staying in Youth Hostels and our kids had a ball trying to understand all those languages. They soon found that no matter how loud you speak in English, it proved little in a number of countries. They are all adults now and still talk about what they saw and learned. Yes we got permission to take them out of school early and the Principal tried to convince us to take him along with us. It’s great to get four ltrs. of wine with lunch and know the kids can’t drink it so we did. Ever see a live chicken on the bar in a really small French eating spot? Or have a server write down the menu so us uneducated Canadians could read what they were cooking for that meal? TO get caught up in the tail end of the Tour de France was really eciting as those guys flahsed by yelling Vitesse. T hey laughed with us, not at us as we always tried the local dialect. My wifes german got pretty good over time. It’s sad so many folks simply never get the chance to take off and see a bit of the world with the locals. And bring along a couple of preteens. Then come back to reality. A trip none of us will ever forget and I’m sure you feel the same way as you unwound in another country Francis. Travel may broaden the hips but does wonders for the mind as well

http://www.letour.fr/2009/TDF/LIVE/us/2000/etape_par_etape.html

and about as close as Mlle Bula’s tres petite village gets to Le Tour, 300 km northwest from Ventoux

A series of mirrors from junk shops (a la Mont Louis) would bring in more light from outside to dispel the Rain City gloom.

http://www.aubergedechassignolles.com/web/reservation.html

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=auberge+des+Chassignolles,+AMBERT,+FRANCE&sll=45.522706,3.490906&sspn=0.101989,0.264702&ie=UTF8&ll=45.396205,3.491142&spn=0.012777,0.033088&t=h&z=15&lci=com.panoramio.all,com.google.ugc.c752d13e87c4fbd7

Unlike the west side all those ugly ECUAD sheds and chunks of concrete do not reflect their purpose to sensitize young minds into creative contemplation.

The design fraternity is clearly incapable of wrapping their minds around INCREMENTAL.

No matter how large or complex the programme it may still be incremenatlized into component parts that then may, god know should, be articulated around contiguous public place and circulation.

Unfortunately the design fraternity lacks that level of sophistication: it has gone corporate and can thinq of little else than the next meetings, expensive suits and E&O . . . pity!