The title really sums up the whole post. I went out for a brief walk this evening (it’s cool, but clear out) and was greeted by the non-stop crack and bang of firecrackers, fireworks and possibly surplus munitions being set off all around not just the local neighborhood, but even across the Fraser, where I could see fireworks bursting into the sky above Surrey.
It’s all kind of weird. How did fireworks become associated with Halloween, anyway? I realize that in 2021 I can trivially look up the answer, but I prefer to make up my own. So I’m just going to say it was Satan. Or maybe the Robot Devil (I’ve been watching a lot of Futurama).
This is pretty much the only thing that makes me look forward to November. It’s not that I hate fun, it’s just that, well…I hate fun. Specifically, noisy fun that makes my ears ring (even as I am typing this sentence, fireworks are still going off. It’s 11:22 p.m., go to bed, people!)
With summer making a half-hearted appearance this year the opening night of the Celebration of Light fireworks was looking like it might be a little damp, with a few errant drops of rain falling shortly before the show was to begin at 10 p.m. Fortunately the deluge never arrived and we were able to watch China’s entry without getting soggy.
We assembled just south of the Innukshuk while it was still light, setting up on one section of the recently restored seawall. Apart from a smoker who occasionally lit up with one of his Designed-To-Find-And-Taunt-Non-Smokers cigarettes the crowd was well-behaved, even enthusiastic. As the intermittent rain fell I opted to leave Nic and his friends briefly to meet up with Jeff who was en-route, as he was bringing my kangaroo jacket (no, it’s not a hoodie, dammit). I walked along English Bay beach and the foot traffic grew more congested until it became something akin to that molasses in January thing. At the same time a stunt pilot was conducting silly and daring tricks over the bay and I, having the kind of mind I do, thought about how one of his tricks would tragically backfire and he’d come straight into the crowd I was trapped in the middle of.
That did not happen.
Instead, we watched a spectacular and dazzling Chinese show. Knock them for that whole communism/lead-in-everything stuff but darned if they don’t know how to put on an impressive fireworks display. The crowd left thoroughly sated.
Perhaps even more impressively, Jeff and I walked to the Waterfront SkyTrain station and still managed to get home before midnight, earlier than I had managed last year — and I was traveling within Vancouver that time, not out to the ‘burbs. Our SkyTrain trip was made further delightful by a foursome of Surrey youth who fit the stereotype to the letter. I mean, we are talking straight out of Casting 101 here. I say no more.
My camera is a trusty little Canon point and shoot digital and it takes fine photos for a goof like me who doesn’t pretend to know anything about photography besides “don’t put your thumb in front of the lens” but it’s rather mediocre in low light situations, leading to very noisy images. At night it’s good at capturing the dark and not much else. This preamble is to explain why I didn’t take pictures of the actual fireworks the two nights I went. However, Nic’s camera could beat up my camera and he did take some nice photos, which you can see on his Flickr page. Links below. Click on any image to go the individual galleries.
Wednesday night I returned downtown to watch the fireworks put on by the team from Mexico. Unlike Saturday, we arrived after it was already dark and observed from a higher vantage point above Sunset Beach. Crowds that had been pegged at 300,000 for Saturday were notably smaller but still big for the crowdaphobic.
The Mexican display started in fine fashion but then went into a long interlude with minimal fireworks that were keyed very specifically to the music. Someone to the right of us had a radio broadcasting the music and it was very evident the designers of the show had chosen to have large sections of the display timed to the music they had selected. While a neat effect, it meant the display — especially to those without access to the music — was a bit limp compared to Spain’s balls-out approach. Overall I have to give the nod to Spain’s more crowd-pleasing display. The approach Mexico took would work better for a fireworks show that wasn’t situated in the middle of a large bay.
Remarkably I was able to catch a bus mere moments after arriving at the bus stop post-fireworks and was home a full half hour earlier than on Saturday. Although crowded, the ride was uneventful. If I just got lucky this year with transit, it’s the kind of luck I like.
Last night I went to the Celebration of Light fireworks at English Bay, the second of four evenings of fireworks this summer. Nic, who conveniently lives only a few blocks away, suggested we head out early. I, not living conveniently a few blocks away, caught the #22 and came downtown, noting the conspicuous steady stream of people heading beachward. As I stood at the intersection of Davie and Thurlow a couple of young guys approached me. One of them asked if I knew where they could get beer. I advised them that there was a cold beer and wine store just a block or so down the street. The guys nodded and thanked me, walking away. The one guy then came back and asked, “What about bud?” I decided not to play cute by acting as if he was looking for someone named Bud and simply shrugged, saying “Around”, which is fairly accurate as far as that thing goes.
Shortly after 7 we headed down to set up near the Inukshuk, which, like all other public art/statuary in the area, had been surrounded by temporary fencing. There was also a row of nearby port-a-potties and what seemed to be a miniature strip mall hastily assembled along the walk on English Bay beach, selling ice cream and glow-in-the-dark lightsabers, among other things. Initially we sat on some of the rocks just off the path, watching the outgoing tide lap up just out of reach but after experiencing profound numb butt I suggested we move slightly back and sit on the edge of the pavement. Much better.
This was the view looking straight ahead from our position, where False Creek meets English Bay. Everything from dinghies to cabin cruisers were bobbing in the choppy water. A few people were even seen briefly swimming, which isn’t the first thing I’d do when surrounded by a million boats.
(click to enlarge)
We witnessed at least three groups of people getting picked up by small boats. The people in the shot below were actually sitting and standing near us for a good while, their conversation bearing witness that the price for a beautiful body is made up for in the brain department. I am of the belief that the guys are genetically designed to always have their underwear sticking out. They simply can’t help themselves.
Speaking of young men with their underwear sticking out, another group had planted itself on the rocks ahead of us. As the day turned to dusk, a couple of police officers came along behind us and asked one of the young men to step forward. As we watched the rock-top interrogation, a small plastic pouch was removed from the p0cket of the young man and he was escorted away for his own private fireworks show. I shall call him Bud.
Looking to our right you can see the rather sizable crowd gathered two hours in advance on English Bay Beach.
Everyone was remarkably well-behaved. A guy sitting in front of us and whose cigarette smoke consistently blew directly into my face left after a few minutes when it became apparent that his friends were not prepared to sit on rocks. A girl to my left watched the fireworks and kept muttering a simple, quiet “Wow” throughout. At one point she expanded on this to her friends: “I really love fireworks.” It was cute — really! The crowd was there to kick back and enjoy the show.
And it was a good show. The Spanish entrant chose to use iconic (and bombastic) classical music — Ride of the Valkyries and Thus Spoke Zarathustra (better known as the music from 2001: A Space Odyssey) but their pyrotechnics were up to the task of matching the grandeur of the music. Last year I saw China’s show and it fizzled out to a limp finale. Maybe rockets don’t fly as high when they’re lined with lead. Spain, however, delivered a rousing series of overlapping explosions that let you know this was the big finish. Most people went home satisfied, I suspect.
Getting out of downtown was surprisingly painless. I walked with the orderly masses down to Burrard and Pender and only waited a few minutes for a #19 to show up. I was home within the hour. Kudos to transit (who imagined such a thing being said by me?) for keeping on top of the giant crowds for these events.
I decided it would be fun to go watch the fireworks tonight. I haven’t seen them for many years as I no longer live conveniently close to any good spots to watch from (Burnaby Street was especially good. Walk two blocks, park your butt and you’re set). I arranged to meet a friend who conveniently does still live downtown. I knew it would be crowded and all but hey, that’s part of the magic. Or something.
A few hours before I leave I notice clouds rolling in. It has been rather warm lately and to me it looks like we may be in for a thundershower. Sure enough I hear ominous rumblings pass through the clouds and lightning flashes across them. These types of summer storms usually pass through quickly, so I don’t think it will be a problem. By the time I am waiting for the bus it has tapered off to a slight drizzle. The sunset is freaking spectacular.
Ah, the bus. It is already crowded so the weather has not dampened the enthusiasm of the general public, it seems. Shortly after I get on a fellow who has perhaps had an alcoholic beverage or three parks himself in front of me (I am in a sideways seat) so as to allow me to take in his musky aroma. When the bus arrives at Pender and Hamilton a curious thing happens. The driver kills the engine and the lights. Sitting in a dark crowded bus is not the sort of intimate evening I prefer. A passenger loudly wonders what is going on and relays after a few minutes the message that the bus has broken down and is awaiting a mechanic. Hooray. I start hoofing it to my rendezvous point which is, as they say, over yonder. As I step out of the bus I note that the drizzle has changed to a downpour. That “quick” storm is still putting on its own impressive fireworks show.
As I walk up Pender I spy the guy who smelled a bit ripe. He is nonchalantly tagging a seniors facility with a large black marker. I always wondered who did this sort of thing. Now I know: drunk guys who need to shave and lose 40 pounds. I continue walking through downtown in an increasingly large sea of people. I observe no small amount of drunken behavior but little that could be deemed licentious. When I finally arrive at my destination I am completely drenched. I go to the wrong floor of the apartment building. I then discover that I haven’t been hearing my (new) cell phone ring and have missed every message, including one canceling going to the fireworks. That’s okay with me, really. I head back to the bus. It is still pouring.
As I walk the block up to my place I hear booms across the sky and this time it’s not Mother Nature but uh, Father Fireworks. I don’t care. I just want to be dry again. We try again Wednesday.
UPDATE: The Weather Network has a few shots of the sunset taken by locals. They are not very high quality but do give some sense of how vivid the color was. The shot below is of Coal Harbour, with Stanley Park in the background.
