Gastown

Your feet feel it first. The smooth pavement gives way to round stones. Brick buildings rise on either side, dark red and old. Lamps hang on iron posts between them. A hiss sounds down the street, then a soft whistle. You have reached Gastown, the oldest corner of Vancouver.

The city began near this spot. In 1867 a talkative steamboat captain stepped ashore. His name was John Deighton. He talked so much, and so often, that people called him Gassy Jack. He opened a saloon for the mill workers nearby. They had nowhere else to drink. Tents and shacks soon went up along the shore. A small settlement grew up around it.

The people named their cluster of buildings Gastown, after him. It was rough and small, a row of wooden sheds by the water. Mud filled the streets. But it was the seed of a great port city. From these few blocks, Vancouver would spread out for miles in every direction.

The center of the old town is Maple Tree Square. Several streets meet here at an angle. Long ago a single maple tree stood at this junction. Under its branches the early townsfolk met to talk and trade. Today the square still gathers people. They sit on the steps, take photographs, and pass through on their way. It remains the true heart of the old town.

In 1886 the young city was nearly lost. A clearing fire ran out of control. It swept through the wooden town in a single afternoon. In minutes most of it burned to the ground. The people did not give up. They rebuilt at once, this time in brick and stone, stronger and safer than before. The city we see today rose from those ashes.

Those brick buildings still stand around you. Look up at their faces. You will see arched windows and carved stone. You will see dates set high in the walls, marking the year each one rose. Iron columns frame the shop fronts below. These are the works of the late nineteenth century, kept and cared for ever since.

Walk along Water Street, the main lane. The cobblestones run beneath your feet. Old lamps line the way, lit each evening. Many of the warehouses now hold shops and cafes and galleries. The goods inside have changed with the times. But the strong brick shells around them remain much the same. Run your hand along the cool brick as you pass.

Then you reach the reason for the crowd. On a corner stands a tall clock of brass and glass. Steam curls from its top into the air. This is the Gastown Steam Clock. It was built and set in place in 1977. It is a modern work, made on purpose to look far older than it is.

Wait for the quarter hour. The clock gathers its breath. Then it sounds a tune through small whistles, the same notes rung by a certain great clock in Britain. On the hour it lets go a tall plume of steam. Children point up at it. Cameras rise all along the street. Then the crowd moves on.

The clock runs in part on steam from pipes beneath the street. The city sends heat through these pipes to warm many nearby buildings. The clock quietly taps that same line for its show. It is part machine and part theatre. The crowd that waits for it does not mind which. They only want the whistle and the steam.

Stand back and take in the whole street at once. Brick above, stone below, iron lamps between. People drift from window to window. A musician plays for coins on a corner. The hiss of the clock returns every fifteen minutes. It marks the time over a place that has kept its old face through a century of change. Few corners of the city hold their past so plainly.

The neighborhood has known hard times as well as good ones. It fell quiet for many years before people returned to fix it up. That long, uneven story is part of what you walk through. Look past the shop windows and you can still read the age in the worn brick and the settled, uneven ground.

Gastown began with one man and one saloon by the water. Fire took it once and could not hold it. The wood became brick. The mill town became a city. And still these few streets remember where it all started. Pause here for a while, and you stand at the very root of Vancouver.