The somewhat strange aspect of Granville Street is that it is slap-bang in the centre of downtown Vancouver. Granville actually leads onto the main shopping street in Vancouver, Robson Street.
Granville Street is home to many of the lower priced, central city hotels, so a host of wide-eyed tourists traipse up and down Granville in wide-eyed wonder. Many in wide-eyed horror. I have stayed in such a low-priced hotel on Granville Street a couple of times now and wandered the street on many occasions. Although no expert on this city-centre part of Granville I am a keen observer of what goes on there.
If you were to walk down Granville around breakfast time you could probably get away with firing a shot down the middle of the road and not hit anyone as most of the denizen’s of Granville are late afternoon and night creatures. At this time of day the clean up from the night before goes on. A few drunken, hardy souls weave their unsteady way down the street searching for home or a darkened doorway to lie in.
There is a smattering of businesses along this part of Granville, fast-food outlets, sports stores and clothing shops but the most numerous tenants of the street are clubs and pubs, tattoo parlours and sex shops. Most lie dormant during the day and only spring into life in the hours of darkness as that is when Granville Street really comes to life.
As you walk along Granville at night your senses are pervaded by all manner of sight, sound and smells. There appears to be a beggar in every doorway, most with a chunk of cardboard with a message on it, my favourite being; “Homeless, Hungry and HIV positive.” A real winner that one it just makes me want to give.
Others are a little more industrious and they play a musical instrument, sing, well sort of, tell jokes or my favourite, play the spoons. The spoon man has a gammy leg, few teeth and wanders up and down Granville offering to play tunes with his spoons. He appears to pop up everywhere. One moment you see him outside your hotel and a few moments later he is on the other side of the road on the corner of Robson. How does he get there so quick? As he walks along he clicks the spoons on his leg in cadence with his limp. There is nothing much to it but it does have a certain mesmerizing tone to it. Spoon man is a hard worker as well, we saw him late one afternoon plying his clinking trade and from my hotel balcony 10 hours later I heard the spoons and then saw him accosting late night drunks as they left the clubs. No standard work day for spoon man it appears.
Fighting for doorway space with the beggars is a generally motley crew who appear to have no income or future. They are young people who are dressed in all manner of weird, colourful, torn and disheveled clothing. Tattoos are there badges of honour and tell their life story. Hair is optional or at the very least colourful. They often have a dog or two and sit in the doorway, chatting or trying to play and sing a musical instrument. They appear oblivious to the tourists who give them a wide berth and a distasteful look as they pass.
The sex shops that advertise peep shows for 25 cents do a roaring trade with constant traffic in and out of their doors. Many tourists appear to shield their eyes and fumble in their clothing for a crucifix as they scurry past.
Night also brings out all the beautiful young things to Granville. The night clubs throb to the beat of music; long lines appear at the doorway where up to 10 burly bouncers, usually heavily tattooed stand arms folded in their apparent superiority. By their demeanor you would think these goons are the masters of the universe instead of plain dumb, intimidating muscle.
Granville around midnight is a people watchers paradise your eyes dart this way and that as there is always something going on. Girls parade past is the shortest of skirts, usually in a pack and a closely followed by drunken groups of young men doing stupid things to impress said girls. Sometimes they are impressed but more usually they are not.
The smell of marijuana fills the air; people appear to smoke the weed without fear of arrest. Young people stagger down the street looking for somewhere to be sick or hoping to find an easy way back home.
The throb from the nightclubs goes on and on. Granville Street has a life of its own.
Not once on these nightly wanders have I seen a police officer, not a one. Does that mean that there is no crime on Granville or is the crime self-regulated?
What I do know is that I find Granville Street an interesting amalgam of all levels of society, I am never bored walking the street just glad I don’t have to live the life and that I am beyond the days of nightclubbing and spoon-playing.
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