Walking the Drive

For one summer while I was in university I lived on First Ave a couple blocks off Commercial Drive.  Note that back then it was called “Commercial Drive” not “The Drive”.  I was a white-bread small town girl who up till then had lived on campus at UBC, during a time when the majority of people were like me: Caucasian, middle class, English-as-a-first language speaking and somewhat… I don’t know … wholesome?   There was a cocoon like feeling of safety and homogeneity that was both comforting and restrictive.  Most of my fellow students had migrated from small towns too and were equally unworldly.  Most of us hadn’t traveled, unless you call Disneyland travel (which actually, I kinda do). Our idea of ethnic dining was eating at the little Chinese restaurant on campus and ordering something other than chicken chow mien. I know … Caaarazy!!

So during my 21^st summer I was hired to work in a psychiatric group home located in a part of Vancouver that at that time was as gritty and raw as it gets.  The majority of the residents were of Italian descent and strolling down the street was an education in learning how to flip off the cat calls and suggestive remarks, side step the inevitable brawls that seemed to erupt on a frighteningly regular basis, and appreciate the stew of olfactory wonders; yeasty white bread,  bitter-dark coffee,  too ripe meats  hanging in windows. The numerous coffee shops were the men’s domain – women were rarely seen in them and I can imagine that they were probably at home, hair tied back in a kerchief, face dusted with flour, steamy pots of gnocchi boiling on the stove, and lots of rambunctious kids underfoot.  Meanwhile the men sat by the hour, hunched over, nursing tiny cups of espresso, gossiping, smoking like chimneys, playing endless card games. 

I loved it. I drank it in, I relished every brusque encounter with shopkeepers, I adored picking out unpronounceable pastries in the bakery. I savoured the mixture of the authentic traditional vibe co-mingling with the alternative bookstores, art galleries and women’s health collectives.  

Jennie now lives on “The Drive”.   It is a little more sanitized, a little less tough, definitely more “happening” (especially since that term didn’t exist) than it was, attracting people from all segments of life.  There is a zany carnival like atmosphere while at the same time feeling rooted in a strong sense of community.  It is a place where all elements of society seem to coexist with a “live and let live” attitude.  Jennie says that people look at each other, they talk to each other.  It’s a place I could call home.