Bridge to Nowhere: Monument to Incompetence

“You're on a bridge to nowhere and you're gettin' there fast. 
Put it in the past, put it in the past.” — Sam Roberts

This past year, a mere five since expensive repairs were conducted to the historic Traffic Bridge that were guaranteed to make it last a generation longer, the bridge has again been condemned—this time, for good. Not only the bridge this time, but also the pricey Meewasin trail below it, Saskatchewan Crescent, and half the river. Why?

 Because the bridge is about to collapse under its own weight.

 This morning, Saskatonians woke up to the news I’d seen coming fifteen years ago: the Traffic Bridge is to be torn down. Yes, this is the old one, the first bridge built in Saskatoon just shy of 100 years ago, the one with the sign that read “Walk your horses” when it opened. Its demise is bad enough—but some interesting facts came out during the accompanying uproar that ought to make the blood of any sentient tax-payer boil:

> The bridge is made of iron. Iron bridges need to be painted at least once every fifteen years.

> The last time the Traffic Bridge was painted was in 1977. It’s been rusting away, unchecked by any effort of civic administration, for 34 years.

> City council did vote a few years back to put nearly half a million dollars into the bridge. They paid it to a foreign firm to attach strings of decorative LED lights. These broke down frequently for the first year, were not very visible against the bridge’s black (or rust brown) colour, and continue to be lit twenty-four hours a day for no apparent reason whatever (see my entry for 23 September, and Councillor Charlie Clark’s response to my question).

> At least one city councillor chastised the public to stop the blame game, saying no one was to blame for this. After all, how could the city engineers have possibly seen this coming?

 Huh?

 If ever there was a time for the blame game, it is now. As plans are made for the bridge’s hyper-expensive, taxpayer-funded replacement, shouldn’t we be asking just who’s butt is being canned, and how soon? Might the concept of criminal incompetence even come into play here? Should someone be going to jail? I’m no engineer, yet even I knew the bridge was failing. It occurred to me one day back in 1996 as I simply walked across it. No, I don’t have ESP, but I do possess the uncanny skill of BCS (Basic Common Sense). If the city engineers needed some (as apparently they did), they could have borrowed some of mine—or just about anyone else’s.

 (One Star-Phoenix columnist suggested that the condemned bridge be used to hold council meetings. That way, he observed, if the bridge collapsed, “at least we’d get a new city council”.)

 In the end, one is left with the following thoughts:

> The bridge as it stands being such a glaring symbol of administrative incompetence, you can bet that its demolition will be soon, and fast.

> It’s unlikely that such incompetence was entirely focussed on one small part of the city’s infrastructure. How many other bridges are about to fail due to unseen problems caused by lack of basic maintenance? What about overpasses and access ramps? What hidden faults lay in waiting at our power substations, civic buildings, etc? Maybe skyrocketing crime rates are the least of our problems after all.

> When the new bridge is built, will the taxpayers of Saskatoon pay it all off before it too fails? After all, the city didn’t bother maintaining the old one. Only an idiot would expect different results from the same set of actions—or the same administrators.

 “Walk your horses”, indeed.

Weirdness at the Midtown Plaza

Well, that was weird.

I'm not the most attentive person in the world, but it seems to me, on entering the men's room by the Midtown Plaza food court recently, that I noticed nothing in the way of a sign saying the washroom was closed for cleaning. There may or may not have been a cleaning cart off to the side of the entrance when I entered (there was when I left)--I really didn't notice. One does often see such a thing in many public washrooms, anyway, as there is often a washroom attendant making his rounds during the day. I did notice the place was moderately busy, with several men or boys washing their hands, and two or three stalls occupied. No one was at the urinals.

I used one of those myself, my mind on the various chores I had to get done during the noon hour. First, a stop for lunch in the food court. I finished up, and turned around to see...

... a female mopping the floor, directly behind me.

As I said, I was not aware of anything different when I walked in. It is true that I did not specifically check the faces of each visible person to confirm their gender, but then again, I'm not in the habit of doing that when I'm in the men's room. Is anyone?

Maybe I'm just old-fashioned or something, but...yeesh.

Traffic Bridge “Decorative Lighting” On 24/7…Why?

[This post, actually pecked out on my netbook way back in July while I was on vacation, has a certain historical irony to it now. I'll post it here anyway, with an appropriate update in brackets.]

Everyone knows LED lighting saves power. That’s why traditional incandescent Christmas lights have all but gone the way of cassette tapes. As lights go, they’re pretty, though not exactly known to give off much light.

So it was with mixed emotions that the citizens of Saskatoon woke up one day to find their municipal government had spent close to half a million dollars attempting to light up a black bridge with LEDs. Well, sort of black. The iron Traffic Bridge, Saskatoon’s oldest, has been allowed to deteriorate over the years. It no longer receives new paint, so much of the black is now rust brown. That’s the main reason an inspector once condemned it on the spot, forcing the city to close it immediately. It would take maybe millions, they said, to make the bridge safe again.

It quietly re-opened a few weeks later, after repairs costing a fraction as much. “Good to go for another 20 years”, we were told. Um…thanks, I’ll take the Broadway Bridge. [Update: Here, of course, is the historical irony part: the bridge has been condemned again after only four more years. This time, it's probably for good. I'll blog again soon about that, but first, back to my original entry.]

But the bridge remained more than a bit shabby, so city council decided if you can’t hide it, decorate it. $400,000 dollars later, we were treated to a dim light show that broke down constantly, leaving much of it unlit for days at a time. The break-downs seem to have been solved for now, but here’s an interesting observation:

LEDs, while saving money, do use electricity. There’s a lot of lights on that bridge, effectively using a LOT of electricity. So why have these lights been allowed to burn for years, day and night, 24 hours a day?

That’s right—the Traffic Bridge “Christmas Lights”, invisible in anything but near-total darkness, are actually lit up all day, every day, from cold winter mornings to the blazing heat of an August noon hour sun. And no one notices, because LEDs aren’t bright enough to be noticed during daylight hours. The colour-changing light show goes on when no one can see. (How do I know? Because you actually can see them when you're standing on the bridge--see photo.)

Why has this been going on? And just how many taxpayer dollars are used to subsidize this mess? The environmental aspects alone…good grief!

But there's more to it than that. LED's rated life expectancy is not the time it takes to burn them out. LEDs do not "burn out"...they just slowly fade away. From what I've read, the life expectancy ratings for LEDs are actually the amount of time it takes from the time they are new to the time the light they give off has dropped to 50%. That's why, if you have one of the original strings of LED Christmas lights, many of them have all but faded to "off". Likewise, when the Traffic Bridge lights fade away--which they must do exactly four times faster if they are left on for 24 hours a day instead of six--they will need to be replaced. At considerable cost.

So why keep them on 24/7? Only one logical reason comes to me, and I'd better be wrong.

I’m going to attempt to find out more. I will share what I find in this blog.

[Update, 27 September, 2010.]  I thought I'd best check to see if these things were still being lit 24/7... I haven't actually been on the bridge since it was condemned, after all. They are, and I'm still looking into it.]

[Update #2, 7 December, 2010.]  A pair of e-mails was sent to Councillor Charlie Clark on 4 October, 2010, one of which asked for an explanation of the above.  (The other dealt with a transit issue, which had been entirely ignored by transit officials for years.) An auto-reply indicated he would respond to these when he returned after 12 October. Unfortunately, that response never came...

Traffic Rant #2: Saskatoon Gets Bicycle Lanes (Kinda, sorta, in a way…)

The city of Saskatoon (motto: “Let’s send it to another committee for more study first”) has finally joined the 1990s and adopted the idea of bicycle lanes downtown. Kinda, sorta, in a way.

Not wanting to rock the boat by simply imitating what them big-city folk do (in places like Kelowna, BC), Saskatoon went its own way and added bike “lanes” by painting bicycle symbols on existing lanes of traffic. They then ran around putting up “share the lane” signs.

Umm…in other words, they enforced the status quo.

Only one street, 4th Avenue, has a “real” bicycle lane, but unless you actually work on 4th, you’re going to have to turn off onto one of those “shared” lanes, as on 22nd Street. Really? I’d prefer to get to work alive.

Nor is sneaking onto the sidewalk an option, since “Walk your bike” signs have been stencilled there—and this is rigorously enforced by police. (They have plenty of time for this; it’s not like we’ve got the highest crime rate in the country or anything. Oh, wait…)

Still, it’s something at least, though I don’t necessarily feel any safer on my bike downtown. Perhaps if actual lanes existed, people like 64-year-old Barry Grosse (mowed down by 20-year-old Mitchell Rebryna, promptly let loose on bail and only just now given a gentle slap on the wrist) would still be alive.

Review: Golden Pagoda Burmese/Asian Restaurant

On a damp late-winter evening recently, Maya and I went forth looking for a quiet place to have a late supper, one we didn’t feel like cooking ourselves. We meandered, sans reservations, into the city core, and found ourselves dropping in on the Golden Pagoda just an hour before closing. The location is one I know well, having spent many an hour there after the clubs closed back in the ‘80s—it was a Robin’s Donuts then!

Interestingly, not all that much has changed in the general shape or size of the place. Not to worry, though—the odours of donuts and cigarettes (smokers could light up anywhere then) is long gone. The aromas that have taken their place held great promise as a friendly hostess led us to our table. The décor, while simple, was adequate, and the restaurant appeared clean and taken care of.

I ordered, then watched as Maya put our server through the usual grilling and ingredient-substitution requests. (It’s one of those things I put up with in my beloved, as if she doesn’t have a world to put up with from me!) Our server fetched another person to help answer some of her questions, but no one seemed the least put off. The service, in fact, was cheerful and competent throughout our meal, something I wish could be said for more places we have dined.

The Pagoda’s appetizers include Burmese samosas or spring rolls, and tempura onion or squash sticks. Maya had the Ingredient soup, in a size big enough to swim in. I had a salad—I forget which one—which contained chic peas among many other things. Maya’s soup was filling and delicious, practically a meal in itself. My salad also was good, but far too oily I thought—might be fairly high in calories.

For our main courses we had one noodle dish and one curry. Both were excellent, and in generous portions; Maya required carry-out (the rest of her meal, that is, not Maya). On some curry dishes, Golden Pagoda gives you a choice of heat level from 2 (mild) to 8 (very hot). I went with the middle-of-the-road 5, and it wasn’t bad at all.

One very small criticism: We sat furthest from the windows for warmth, next to the “pagoda”, and there was a bit of banging coming through the wall from the kitchen. Not loud enough to be really disturbing, but present nonetheless. They could do with a bit of soundproofing there.

I should mention the parking, which is a darkish lot but right at the side of the building, mere steps from the door, so you won’t have to walk. They are licensed, and also have a take-out menu. All in all, we were impressed with Golden Pagoda. It was a great place to have a good hot meal on a chilly night. I believe the restaurant is owned and operated by new Canadians—welcome! We are looking forward to our next visit.

Golden Pagoda Burmese/Asian Restaurant
#3, 411 Second Avenue North
306-668-9114
http://www.goldenpagoda.ca/

Second Avenue Merchants Fed Up

In December, I blogged about a corner on Second Avenue in Saskatoon that seemed to gather more than its share of questionable characters. I’ve since seen two more arrests just while passing by. Now, it seems, the problem is getting worse.

At the beginning of this month, a group of six merchants in the immediate area spoke up: they’d finally had enough. According to them, the alleyways on this block have become a cesspool of human depravity: urination, defecation, drug use, loitering, etc, etc. These businesses are being held up, on one occasion by a 13-year-old. (Saskatoon Police never responded to that one, probably because they are overwhelmed by everything else happening in this town.) On one occasion, a street person attempted to go to sleep on the furniture in one store.

I find I have a personal connection to this group of businesses, since I once worked at a gift shop that occupied one of these buildings. That was back in the early 1990s, and it was no picnic even then. It wasn’t unusual to be tossing out drunks, even ones that found their way into the children’s area.

Now, however, these businesses are in danger of losing their customers. It’s not always safe on this street by day—see my entry for 14 December—and can be downright dangerous by night. I used to cut through an alley in this block on my bike in summer on my way home from work, but stopped when I routinely spotted people lying on the ground next to the dumpsters. Just lying there, chatting with one another—like it was a normal thing to do. As you can see from the photo, these lanes are barely clean enough for the rats.

That might be part of the problem. Maybe the city should sweep these areas clean daily, lose the garbage and the tossed-out furniture, etc. And pipe the appropriate music through the entire area. (Never mind the baroque, I’d recommend the new age mysticism of Robert Haig Coxon’s Cristal Silence series. Call me elitist, but I have seen it clear an area of everyone below a certain level of…well, let’s say ambition.)

I’ve been watching the area daily for a couple of years now, because I’m genuinely concerned about the way things are going. When the article came out in the newspaper (1 March), I was optimistic that things would get better. Surely this would strengthen efforts to clean the area up. What I’ve seen happening in the past two weeks, though, has not been encouraging.

Groups of unsavoury characters are larger, meaner looking, and more common.  Second Avenue’s 100 block north seems increasingly to be home to these, to the point where the problem is spilling over. While snapping shots for this blog (from the safety of our vehicle), Maya and I noticed a young couple walking through the alley between 1st and 2nd Avenues—just out for a Sunday stroll, only doing it for some reason of their own in a questionable back alley. Five minutes after that, we encountered them in the alleys between 2nd and 3rd. It appears that the downtown alleyways have become the streets of the Shadow People. It’s as if they are actively rebelling against efforts to keep the streets safe.

If the problem continues to worsen, some innocent person is going to get killed. Short of vigilantism, however, the average citizen has limited resources for dealing with it. One place to start might be the desk of the one person around who says he “most definitely” feels safe in the area: city councillor Darren Hill, who’s ward contains the neighbourhood in question. “Safety,” he told the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix, “is an individual person’s perception of an area or certain persons around them.”

Um, no...no, it isn't. I can walk down any street with the perception that it's the safest in the world, but if the reality is far different, sooner or later I'm gonna get hurt. And it appears that six individual retailers lined up in a row all share a very different perception from Councillor Hill’s. Man, I am getting tired of seeing that kind of difference in this little town.

The public is not interested in perceptions, we are concerned about is the reality of what is going on. Mr. Hill needs to promote whatever action he can, quickly, to deal with this situation. (That is, after all, what we are paying him for.) He did also mention in the news that panhandling needs to be brought under control. That’s well and good, but there's bigger issues here.

Anyone else concerned about the situation? Let’s let Councillor Hill know about it:

Email:  darren.hill@saskatoon.ca
Home Phone:  (306) 384-9273
Cell Phone:  (306) 227-4322
Home Fax:  (306) 249-4469

What's Wrong With This Corner?

I’d really like to know what’s going on at this corner.

While great strides have been made downtown, we’ve also seen some ugly developments. Downtown lately seems to have striated. There are safe streets, and there are not quite so safe streets, and in Saskatoon they’re meters apart. Islands of “ick” have sprung up here and there, attracting a certain demographic class. In between are “normal” people, the downtown workers and tourists.

One such island can be found on the north-east corner of the intersection of 2^nd Avenue and 22^nd Street. For some reason, all kinds of street people seem to have declared this their turf. The benches in front of the McDonald’s are ones you want to avoid. Every day you see lowlifes congregating here, crowding nervous citizens off the sidewalk. A half-dozen times or more, I’ve seen the police in attendance.

It's not just the corner itself, exactly. On sunny days, I take a stroll during afternoon tea, and I’ve noticed quite a few things. There’s a great deal of foot traffic in the alleys between Second and Third Avenues, just north of 22^nd. Scruffy-looking people go in, and hand things to one another. It’s not unusual to see people lying amongst the dumpsters, feeling the effects of whatever they’ve taken. Disagreements and fights are common. I used to cut through there after work on my bike, but now I’ve had to stop.

One fine weekday afternoon this summer, all hell finally broke loose in the form of an all-out turf war. I was taking coffee in an empty lot, my face turned toward the sun. I ignored the yelling across the street behind me…nothing new, after all. Suddenly, there was a lot of yelling. I turned, and saw tourists and citizens up and down the street stopping to do the same. Everywhere, street people were running to and fro, or standing and shouting at others. Was it my imagination, or were some wearing a certain colour? And those ones over there…were they wearing a different colour? I reached for my cell to call the police.

“Thank you for your call. We are currently experiencing a higher-than-normal volume of calls. Please continue to hold…” Good grief—it reminded me of an American sitcom I’d seen, back in the 70s.

“Come on!” Across the street, a skinhead with a Mohawk haircut screamed for his friends to follow. He charged up the sidewalk, tourists diving for cover, a long metal bar in his hand. He and his posse raced into an alley even as others raced the hell out.

“Thank you for your call. We are currently experiencing a higher-than-normal volume of calls….”

 Finally, I got through, and the dispatcher already knew. “Can you see the police yet?” she asked.

“Just the one so far,” I answered. “He’s looking lonely, though. He’s standing by some unconscious guy laying in the middle of Second Avenue, completely surrounded by…concerned citizens.” By now, though, you could hear the sirens. The bike cops were first to arrive, zipping into the alley.

Not much else to report, really...except that whatever’s going on at this corner seems to be getting worse. Not sure why, unless it’s related to the transit mall at the north end of the block - or maybe the Welfare department half a block south?

My humble suggestion for improvement is Baroque or New Age music, piped through speakers from the McDonald’s. Done properly, this actually works. Done improperly, it does not. (Witness the transit mall experiment. Note to city workers: No, Shania Twain doth not Baroque music make.)

Still, that’s really only a bandage. Fixing whatever’s going on here will need a whole lot more than Mozart.

[Update, 4 October: It appears that the city has removed the benches from the northeast corner of this intersection, the corner in question. There are still questionable characters hanging about, but perhaps fewer than before. The ones who are left are content to sit on the landscaping dividers, or even directly on the sidewalk, while some have crossed the street to get to the other side. It remains to be seen what the long-term result will be.]

Changes: River Landing Promenade

I’m back, after an extended summer made far too busy with looking after other things. ‘Tis blogging season once more!

It seems Saskatoon’s oft-delayed River Landing project has finally taken root, right on the wind-swept banks of the South Saskatchewan. Here’s the first of a few aspects I’ll highlight, featuring some photos from the summer.

The downtown portion of the riverbank, west of the Traffic Bridge, has never been soft on the eye. Three short years ago, this was a gravelled road trailing down to the water’s edge, a non-descript, weedy surface on which downtown workers parked their cars. Given our crime rate in Saskatoon, that would seem to be a gamble.

Now it is a place to take your kids, a promenade where lovers can take in the prairie sun. For the first time ever, this stretch of land—between the Traffic and Senator Buckwold bridges—actually looks like it belongs to a city, rather than a little town. For the first time ever, it’s a place to be enjoyed. Most notable of all is the water park for the kids, which shows the path of the river as it tracks across the prairies. Above, there’s art of sorts—those “sticks” in front of the new Persephone Theatre. There’s also a snack bar restaurant.

Lastly, the founders of our community are featured at the bottom of the traffic bridge, in the centre of a new traffic circle: Chief Whitecap and John Lake. (This occupies space near the present Meewasin Centre, the intersection of Spadina and Third Avenue.)

"Emerald", My Butt: Emerald vs. Brandon Cedars

I’d like to offer a public service to anyone in Saskatoon considering the purchase of an Emerald cedar for their yard, in the form of a bit of shocking news. You’ve seen them offered by the hundreds this year, from the Real Canadian Superstore to Canadian Tire. They’re beautiful, lush, green, and reasonably priced. And…

…they are NOT recommended for our climate!!!!!

Emerald cedars (Thuja occidentalis 'Smaragd') are rated for Zone 4. Saskatoon, like it or not, really is not Zone 4—it is Zone 3, at least when it comes to the planting and caring of pyramidal cedars. The Brandon cedar (Thuja occidentalis) is the one you want—if you can find it. For some reason or other, most of the major chains are carrying only Emerald cedars this year. Don’t buy them. Don’t, don’t, don’t. Some of those Emeralds, in fact, are already dying in the store’s lots.

I do own four of the things, lovingly nurtured for over a decade (note, however, that the ones in the photograph are the much more successful Brandons). If you do as I have done with my Emeralds—fertilize, water well, prune carefully—you too can have a nice crop of wilted brown lopsided monstrosities. Or you can pick up some Brandon Cedars, plunk ‘em in the ground, and watch a lush hedge sprout up in your yard. On my own property, I’ve got over two dozen Brandons, mostly purchased at end-of-season sales for three or four dollars. The older ones are taller than me now, and even thicker.

Why are so many places offering only Emerald cedars? One website I came across mentions the possibility of a breeding mix-up, coupled with a limited number of growers. There may be hope yet, though: http://cru.cahe.wsu.edu/CEPublications/pnw0152/pnw0152.html says we may be able to start new Brandons from cuttings.

I did find Brandons at Wilson’s this year, so you might still be in luck. If all you can find are the Emeralds, do yourself a favour: keep your money in your wallet.

Also, Alberta Dwarf Spruce: despite the name, really only good for a warmer clime.

[Update, 4 October, 2010:  This past year has devastated even mature cedars across Saskatoon, either Emerald or Brandon.  I lost much of a row of my Brandons, some of which were 3 metres tall. It appears the better taken-care of ones went first, probably because of the bizarre heat wave last fall (lilacs blooming in September?) followed by a sudden death deepfreeze. Instead of taking their autumn soaking into their roots for winter, they put it into fast autumn growth. The resulting shock to the tender shoots destroyed many mature trees.

Sadly, with the shortage of real Brandons about, I've had to break my own rule and replace them with Emeralds. Lots of Emeralds. Lots and lots of them, in the hopes that some will survive to maturity.]

Parkade

Only I would write a blog entry about a parkade, but this one seems worthy of mention.

I’ve shown the newly converted Hudson Bay Company building, as well as the newly converted King George across the street. Across the alley from the King George was what could possibly have been the grossest parkade I’ve ever had the misfortune of using. The place looked like it was about to cave in. There were no lights over the ticket machine, the crumbled floors dripped consistently, the railings were sketchy at best, and the whole place had an unsafe feel about it. Even the few businesses in the retail strip beneath it looked run down—or closed shop entirely.

A development company—I’m afraid I don’t know which—got hold of this pile of misery, and attempted to renovate it. Good luck, many of us who work downtown said. Better just to knock it down.

Again, we should have believed. The parkade has been transformed from end to end. They literally spent months on this (and who knows how many dollars). I’m not saying it’s an improvement to the downtown core, it’s an immense improvement. The car exit even features a keystone above the door—that’s elegant.

There’s new businesses in there too, much cleaner and more respectable ones. The railings have been replaced, the walls dismantled and rebuilt, new lighting, wiring…what a work of art.

Kudos to whoever did this. Another blight in downtown Saskatoon has been transformed into something good.

Saskatoogle

I couldn’t resist snapping this picture of a car that snaps pictures of us.

It seems the long arm of Google has come to town, or more accurately, the all-seeing eye. What you’re looking at is a Google car with a special camera on top, covered up for the day, apparently. I found it parked outside Superstore on 8th Street—even Google needs groceries, I guess.

For those unfamiliar with Google Street View, see the screenshots attached (click for larger view). Basically, it allows you to “walk” virtually down any street they’ve visited. You can turn around 180º, look up at high-rises, into gardens, etc. All you have to do is look up a city in Google, click on Maps, and drag the little yellow guy onto the map.

If the street has been covered, you’ll get a recent (say last year or so) image, one you can move around in. It will show you the address as you do so, so you’ll always know whose house you’re looking at.

Privacy watchdogs have been in a frenzy, but it seems a little late. The map shows parts of the world (in blue) where Google has already been.

This doesn’t include areas being scanned now, like Saskatoon. Google does make concessions to privacy: faces and licence plates are digitally blurred. They’re done so by computer, of course—imagine blurring every face down every road on the planet. As a result, sometimes a face gets missed.

There’s good to be had from Street View. Let us assume, for example, that you are being transferred to a new city. Now, not only can you hunt for houses virtually, you can check out the neighbourhood. Are those car parts on the neighbours’ lawns? Does anyone here mend a fence? Best to try a different neighbourhood—which you can do with a single click. And Google only sees what you would see driving down the street. They stay off private roads.

Still, this seems an extreme project just for the sake of…what? It’s interesting, to be sure. I’ve checked out Manhattan, strolled through Beverly Hills, walked down endless highways in the Australian outback. But it still doesn’t seem worth the enormous effort this must take. An individual more paranoid than I would wonder what they were really doing this for.

That’s likely why there’s been some pushback. A community in Britain, for example, formed a human chain to prevent Google from entering. And now, in Japan, Google is being forced to reshoot it all. The camera was too high, Japan ruled. You can see into people’s private yards.

Is Google Street View good? Or evil? Maybe the words of Sun MicroSystems CEO Scott McNealey ring true: “Privacy is dead, deal with it.”

Changes: The King George Mark III

Another “bright spot” is taking shape in downtown Saskatoon, at the corner of 2nd Avenue and 23rd Street.

When I was a kid, back in the mid-70s before they’d discovered electricity, the King George was still being touted in television ads as Saskatoon’s “family hotel”. It had, sometime in the 1960s I think, been “modernized”: the fine old brickwork pictured here in the vintage postcard (click for closeups) was covered up with green and white art-deco tile, similar to what covered the Hudson Bay building across the street. The arched windows facing 23rd on the ground floor’s north side were ripped out and replaced with standard aluminum-and-glass fare, allowing retail space which would eventually give way to a beer store.

There were many great things about the 1960s, and architecture wasn't one of them. The new look wasn't great at first, and it slowly transformed itself into butt-ugly. See for yourself in the second photo. You’ll note the weird, elongated pyramid sort of shape down the front corner. In the late 1970s, this held a giant revolving sign that glared light into the windows of the corner rooms. (I always wondered how thick the drapes had to be.) In the 1980s that disappeared, and the “Times Square” news ticker appeared beneath it. By the 1990s, that was a broken dream of randomly-lit pixels, apparently never to be repaired.

The KG had fallen on hard times. I’m not saying the clientele took a dip, but by the mid-1990s the challenge at the gift store I worked in nearby was throwing out all the over-served drunks that wandered out of that place looking for trouble. We developed a pet name for it: “The Barry on Second”. Finally, mercifully, the place shut down for good. A fire took place, under mysterious circumstances (see my posting from 17 February, 2009).

Buyers came. They promised great things. Property taxes fell into arrears. This happened, I think, more than once.

By the time Meridian Development took the place over, I’m sure no one had any great expectations left. When they announced their grandiose plans, even I admit to thinking, “Yeah, yeah…we’ve heard it all before.” 

Oh we of little faith.

Today, the new King George is nearing completion—on a scale far exceeding even the developer’s. They’d had, it seemed, plans to restore the old brickwork. They were going to remove the horrible green and white tiles (which were breaking loose and raining down on the sidewalk below anyway). Unfortunately, they soon discovered the brickwork had been destroyed in the earlier “modernization”. Down it came. Down came the walls behind it. Down came nearly everything, in fact, until the KG looked like a really tall parkade. Nothing but floors and pillars, open to the world. They were keeping the place weren’t they? It didn’t look like much was left.

But look at it now. The top three floors are condos, the second is office space, and the main floor will accommodate retail. A new addition has gone up on the south side, and the building features underground parking. Little regal touches at the top restore the “King” to the “George”. Sweet.

Not so long ago, the KG was just one more reason to want to leave this town. Strike that off the list.

Well done, gentlemen!

Link:  http://www.meridiandevelopment.ca/KG/page_1863744.html

Another Visit From the Shadow People

In my last account of the Shadow People, I mentioned the fact that Saskatoon seems to have perhaps a bit more than its share of wackadoodles. I also mentioned the fact that I appear, of late, to have become a wackadoodle magnet. In this second account, I document a slice of human behaviour that was not only surreal in its overall weirdness, but which played, ironically, off my own midlife-crisis-generated paranoia. The following might best be read while listening to the theme from “The Twilight Zone”…

Wackadoodle 2
We’d returned from an enjoyable vacation in Vancouver, and the second I set foot at the Saskatoon airport, the feeling of weirdness returned. Two weeks away from this place, and one can see the difference. I’ll admit, I was feeling paranoid as hell, and for the purposes of this story, it’s important to keep that in mind. I stayed indoors for a day and a half.

The next night, I needed to make a very short trip downtown to pick up Maya from work. I got into my car, and got onto the street. Slowly, 40 to 45 klics, keeping an eye open for traffic. There was none. It was another Sunday night, and very little going on. I moved slowly into the downtown core. Take it slow, I told myself, Saskatoon has weirdness in it. Yes, again I’m being melodramatic, but it’s how I was feeling that night.

I picked up Maya from where she works, and started home again. Very little traffic as we crossed the Broadway Bridge. We stopped for the light at Main.

A horn sounded, four or five cars away. Someone yelled at someone else. Someone else yelled back. “Sounds like another road-rage,” my wife commented. “Yes,” I said, my stomach tightening. I hunkered down and stared straight ahead, hoping whatever violence might erupt stayed with the participants. Only a few blocks to go.

The light turned, and we moved on. We got onto 8th Street, where not much was happening at all. We turned right, alone, onto Clarence Avenue. No one else on the street, the entire way down Clarence. We passed a temporary illuminated sign placed there by the police. “YOUR SPEED:” it read, “44 km/h”.
We turned off Clarence onto our street. Just a few more blocks to go.

Suddenly, a car was right behind us—and I do mean right behind, tailgating dangerously. Here we go, I thought. And we’d almost made it, too. I felt the urge to speed up, to get him off our tail, and decided not to anyway. Let him pass if he wanted to. If he bumped us, it wouldn’t be me paying. We turned at last into our driveway, and the car behind us sped on.

As we got out of the car I saw the other vehicle make a u-turn at the end of the block. Great—someone from our very own street. We used to have such nice neighbours. A bizarre image entered my mind: what if he came back, and stopped to accuse us of something we didn’t do? I nearly laughed out loud. Preston, old boy, I thought, you really ARE getting paranoid.

The car came back. The driver lowered his window.

“Hey,” he called to us, “are you staying in for the rest of the night?”

I shaded my eyes against the streetlight. In the dim light, I thought I recognized my new next-door neighbour. “Yes,” I told him. “What’s up?”

“You’d better do just that,” the man ordered, obviously trying to sound like a cop. I instantly realized this wasn’t my neighbour, nor anyone I’d seen in my life. “I just clocked you doing 89. You’d better stay in tonight.”

The world lurched beneath my feet.

It’s rather hard to describe the whirlwind of thoughts and notions that swirled into and out of my mind in the next two seconds. Suffice to say, it was almost like the gods had read my very thoughts, and decided to play a twisted practical joke. It was, in fact, so bizarre a coincidence that I thought at first I thought I’d heard him wrong. And still might, were it not for Maya at my side to hear him too.

“Boy,” I might have responded, “are you barking up the wrong tree.” But I was still too steeped in the surrealism of the moment. There’s coincidence, and then there’s this.

“... uh …,” I responded instead. “…Er…”

“You’d better take care how you drive.” The man rolled up his window, glared at us, and moved his car slowly past our house. He took care for us to see him checking out the house and yard, soaking all of it in. Ominous. As slowly as he pulled away, however, it was still too fast for me to recover. By the time I thought of grabbing his plate number, to pass on to the real police, he was already too far away.

Back into his Shadow World.

We all have shadows in our own lives, and sometimes even the actions of the most obviously lost and confused Shadow People can cut through to our own insecurities. No doubt this poor soul was dealing with his own frustrations with the behaviour of his fellows, frustrations I can identify with. I’ve often felt like doing exactly as he did that night, just nailing someone verbally (and I’m grateful it was only that) for their anti-social behaviour—and doing 89 on a city street at night would certainly qualify as that. The difference, I suppose, is that I don’t—I try, through my own feelings of righteous anger, to contain myself.

And if ever I do begin to act like a guardian of the world, if I ever do start berating my fellow drivers for their actions…I hope I maintain the presence of mind to at least pick out the right vehicle.

Just Because You’re Paranoid: A Visit From the Shadow People

Saskatoon has Shadow People. And (gulp) I think they’re after me!

They walk among us, shoulder-to-shoulder, awash in the glow of a silver moon only they can see. They look like us, talk like us, and act like us—until the moment that they don’t. No, I’m not going off the deep end, and of course I’m being melodramatic. But Saskatoon has its Shadow People nonetheless. 

Though things are turning around now, let’s face it—during the past few years Saskatchewan bled an enormous amount of talent. Not everyone could make it in Alberta, though; some who tried turned back before the tide reversed. Others, devoid of anything like a polished résumé, or the life skills needed to fill one, never even tried. One could therefore be forgiven for concluding that the remaining population contains a larger than usual subset of wackadoodles—the Shadow People, itching to be discovered.

Lately, though, the Shadow People have discovered me.

For some males, part of the whole “second adolescence” thing (aka, middle age) includes a tendency to feel under attack, or paranoid. This, for me, is a whole new experience, though one that only seems to affect me here. I’ve crowded onto the Hong Kong subway at rush hour in Kowloon, enjoying every moment. I’m still at ease strolling down a crowded street in Vancouver, or exploring the busy markets of Ottawa. I’ve an experienced public speaker, having talked to hundreds without breaking a sweat. But every time I venture out in Saskatoon, something bizarre or unsettling happens. It’s making me reluctant to leave the house.

Lately, though, I don’t even have to do that. The Shadow People have found me.

I won’t get into the entire string of events that led to this conclusion, but I’ll describe the most recent. If anyone cares to offer a suggestion as to what could be happening, please feel free to comment or drop me a note.

First of all, it’s important to note that we live in a so-called “smart house”. Our home, whether we’re there or away, tends to think for itself. As a life-long techie, both amateur and pro, I’ve accumulated a bigger raftload of campy digital apparatus than an episode of “Doctor Who”. Lights and appliances and utilities operate themselves, or run by remote control, even across the ‘net. Every room has a motion sensor or two, and everything is run by a server. Any track from our 800 albums can be accessed for play in seconds. There are cameras, a fairly recent addition. And no, they were not put there in response to the wackadoodles, or because I’m paranoid. They were put there because, well…I’m a geek, they are gizmos, there was a sale, and therefore I needed one. Okay, eight. Most are invisible, even when you stand in the yard. And if you do stand in the yard, an alert sounds within. (Did I mention the sale on motion sensors?)

Wackadoodle 1

Last Sunday, at 10:30 pm, a dark sedan pulled up in front. Two youths got out, and walked in different directions. One went left, into my neighbour’s front yard, behind a tall cedar hedge. The other went right—right past our front gate and into and up our driveway. A pair of motion sensor lights illuminated the scene, going from half brilliance to full as the boy strode past our car. He didn’t blink, or look at the lights. He didn’t look at the house. He didn’t look at any camera, and in fact was likely unaware of their presence.

The temperature was -8ºC, with a wind chill of -14ºC. He wore a T-shirt and shorts. Right away, I knew I was looking at one of the Shadow People.

He reached the end of a partial fence separating our driveway from the front yard. He then turned and walked around the end, moving back now toward the street on the sidewalk at the side of our house. He reached the walk between the front door and the gate, and stopped in front of the steps. It’s important to note that he could have shortened the trip considerably by simply walking in through the front gate.

Two more bright motion-sensing lights came on, right beside him. He didn’t move, or look at the house. He just stood, a weird smile on his face, looking about the front yard, and staring toward the tall hedge toward my neighbour’s yard, where his buddy was hidden.

One of our dogs began to bark.

Apparently, for the Shadow People, terriers hold terror that security lights do not. He turned to run—back down the side of the house, around the fence, and the long way back out the driveway! He ignored the front walk and gate to the street, which would have got him out of there in half the time. Apparently, for the Shadow People, gates also hold terror. The whole time they were here—less than a minute—they touched nothing, looked at nothing, did nothing but act quite strange.

They got into their car and left. Back to their Shadow World.

In my next entry, I’ll describe another recent visit from the Shadow People. That one makes this look downright normal.

Saskatoon: #1 in Canada, #9 on the Planet

We’re Number One!

In something, at least. In its annual crime rankings survey, Maclean’s magazine has again placed Saskatoon near the top—in fact, at the very top—of the list of most dangerous cities in Canada. Big surprise to some, no doubt, but no surprise whatever to those like myself who work downtown, and who must dodge the dodgy on our way home after dark. 

I’ve had quiet evenings devoid of incident, long after sunset, strolling toward the Broadway Bridge. But I’ve also had harrowing nights of chance, winding my way between flashing blue lights and dangerous laughter filtering from unlit alleys, wondering if, at last, my turn had finally come round.

I’ve stepped over fresh ponds of blood.

Saskatoon, it turns out, is 163% above the national average crime rate. “Pish-posh,” cried my fellows, “numbers can be made to spell anything. Those ratings are per capita. We’re only high on the list because of the number of crimes versus our small population.” One could then find oneself explaining the basic concept of the words “per capita”. The brighter denizens at this point would begin to clue in, and would inevitably express surprise. Others have already experienced the violence first hand, and have concluded that they have less need of a pie graph than security cameras. In any case, the cry of disapproval was one made thinner still by the announcement a little bit later:

RealClearWorld.com, a blog of international news, came out with its list of the world’s most dangerous cities. Only one Canadian city made the grade—#1 in Canada, #9 in the world. You guessed it—Saskatoon.

On the other hand…
No doubt this can be contested, especially given the distance of the authors of this list. They even made a sarcastic reference to the tourism industry of Saskatchewan “(if there is such a thing)”. Maclean’s, one would expect, being closer, would have a much better grip on the handle. It claimed that the top three in Canada—Saskatoon, Winnipeg, and Regina—have much in common: a large gang presence feeding off the drug trade, a young transient population, a low level of education, substandard housing, high levels of unemployment, broken homes, addictions, and psychiatric issues”.

Good grief, Charlie Brown!

Where exactly did Maclean’s get those numbers? Not Statistics Canada, surely. For example, StatsCan found the unemployment rate in January to be 4.1% in Saskatchewan (a “have” province), just over half of the 8% in Maclean’s home province of Ontario (a “have-not” province). Presumably the rest of Maclean’s data can be found to be just as reliable. They might have found more solid ground with the observation of Calgary alderman and police board member Diane Colley-Urquhart, who claimed that many Eastern criminals have followed the wealth to the West.

One wonders…could those criminals have left behind a smattering of old Eastern establishment bitterness? It’s interesting to note, that of Maclean's top ten, only one (Halifax) can be found east of Manitoba.

A final observation: the RealClearWorld site offers up videos of each of the “dangerous” cities. Saskatoon’s was usurped from YouTube, and what a dangerous, scary place it looks like. Check it out. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

Links: 
Maclean’s:  http://www2.macleans.ca/2009/03/05/the-most-dangerous-cities-in-canada/
RealClearWorld: http://www.realclearworld.com/lists/most_dangerous_cities/saskatoon.html
 
The lists:
Maclean’s 10 Most Dangerous Cities in Canada:
1. Saskatoon, SK
2. Winnipeg, MB
3. Regina, SK
4. Prince George, BC
5. Edmonton, AB
6. Chilliwack, BC
7. Halifax, NS
8. Vancouver, BC
9. Surrey, BC
10. Victoria, BC

RealClearWorld’s 10 Most Dangerous Cities in the World:
1. Mogadishu, Somalia (Civil War)
2. Ciudad Juarez, Mexico (Anarchy)
3. Linfen, China (Polution)
4. Caracas, Venezuela (Crime)
5. Detroit, USA (Crime)
6. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (Crime)
7. Johannesburg, South Africa (Crime)
8. Norilsk, Russia (Pollution, Cold)
9. Saskatoon, Canada (Crime)
10. London, UK (Crime)

Long Road Out of Saskatoon

The other night, I decided I’d treat myself and the woman of my world to a golden flake of our past, by taking $300 out of my wallet and lighting it on fire.

Not literally, of course—or at least not intentionally. No legal tender becomes tinder in the Copeland household; that’s far too similar to touching a flame to entire days of your life.

No, the money involved was spent on concert tickets. Not just any concert tickets, mind you, but tickets for none other but The Eagles, creators of the soundtrack of my youth. I’d purchased them online from Ticketmaster (motto: “We’ll make youse a deal youse can’t afford”). I hooked them three minutes after they went on sale, paying the afore-mentioned premium for medium-priced seats high in the bleachers. I’m not sure where the lowest-cost seats were, but I’m thinking drive-in speakers in the parking lot.

It would be a magical night, nonetheless. The music of the Eagles had spoke to both Maya and myself, years before our lives ever touched. I was that “Desperado” when she found me. She was a “Victim of Love”.

So off we drove to Market Mall, the nearest Park and Ride. The wind chill was -30°C as we waited for the bus, but I had no intention of dealing with the 90+ minutes of car stampede that would ensue after the concert.

We arrived in good order. We took our seats. The lights dimmed, and the crowd went suitably wild as the purple silhouettes of Glenn Frey, Don Henley, Joe Walsh, and Timothy B. Schmit morphed onto the darkened stage. I have to admit, I was somewhat jazzed myself. Soon I’d be singing along to “Lyin’ Eyes”, having carefully prepared myself by memorizing every single word 31 years ago. I only hoped the animated conversation going on behind us would abate.

Then the owners of the two seats next to us arrived. 

Is there, anywhere in the known universe, any one human person as charming, as sophisticated, as witty, as knowledgeable in the ways of the world, as talented, wise and utterly steeped in confidence, as masterful, warm, generous, and forgiving, as selfless, as educated, as cool, hip and chic, as possessive of the kind of quiet, noble leadership we all look for in our heroes...in short, as wondrously, undeniably sophisticated, as a 20-year-old Saskatonian with six beers in his belly?

No, I didn’t think so either.

I’ve been exploring of late a new philosophy, a sort of eight-fold path to kindness and contentment with the world. Anyone who’s explored the same system of belief already knows what I’m talking about. I won't get into it here, because I’m still no good at it, and I’m far from a good example. But I’m working on it.

So I tried to block out the antics of the pair beside me. The music, after all was good and loud, nearly loud enough to drown out the drunken partying going on right up against my shoulder. I focussed desperately hard on the deep pool of talent gracing the stage. I lost my concentration, and found it, and lost it again. Maya, all too aware of my inner battle, glanced at me anxiously.

But I wasn’t the first to snap.

Apparently the same inner battle was going on in the minds of the 30-something couple in front of us. Exactly as the first notes of “Lyin’ Eyes” hit the air, the male half of this couple turned around and grabbed the 20-year-old beside me by the neck.

The battle was on...and stayed on, non-stop, for the remainder of the show.

I know, I know... by their very nature, rock concerts are supposed to be a bit wild. Rock, after all, was born of rebellion, and letting loose at concerts is an age-old rite of passage. Everyone has the right to celebrate differently. I know all this, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s hard to focus on the music when there’s beer and fists flying beside you.

I won’t get into the number of classic rock anthems that slid by, barely noticed, as I gritted my teeth and tried to focus. Suffice to say, by the end of the show, the row in front of us was empty. And the twenty-year-olds at my side—they’d taken the time to tell me their ages—cursed and roared and partied on. They did this, I might add, in clothing adorned with logos of a provincial Crown corporation. They hadn’t even bought their tickets, they proudly informed us. They’d been given them by their parents.

Ah. Suddenly it all made sense.

We were fortunately not far from the main entrance, and as the last notes died, we shot out of there like cub scouts out of Neverland Ranch. The wind chill was now into the -40s C, but at least the buses awaited...or did they? Transportation at previous concerts had been a calamity; the Saskatoon Transit System promised things would be better.

They weren’t.

A terrifying hour later—during which Maya tried to help enlarge the one-foot hole in the frost the driver was valiantly trying to peer through—we arrived at Market Mall. The last thing we heard was the radio crackling: “We’ve got hundreds of people freezing out here and all kinds of empty buses. Should we put the people on the buses?”

Doh! Or maybe, Duh?

In the days that followed, a trio of Saskatoon Star-Phoenix columnists offered theories and opinions. In regard to people talking during the concert, Les Macpherson said, “This I blame more on the sound setup than on inconsiderate concert patrons. If you can hear someone talking in the audience during a rock concert, the music isn’t loud enough.” He may have a point. He went on to say, “A completely positive concert-going experience is perhaps too much to expect. If we can’t improve the experience, we could cut back on the attendant bellyaching.” Fair enough. Next time, Les can sit next to the drunken SaskTel yuppie larvae.

Another SP staffer, Cam Fuller, put forward the theory of decreasing attention span. This could also be part of the problem, the fruit of a generation raised to think watching epic movies on cell phones is a good idea. There’s a surreal aura about arena concerts after all; the band performing often seems the size of a postage stamp, not all that different from what you’d see on an iPod. Is it real, or is it on a flashdrive? In the digital frontier, the line between reality and otherwise is blurring like the Joker’s makeup in a bad mpeg.

Finally, columnist Sarath Peiris weighed in. In his opinion, what’s important for some concert goers is “their presence at the event, not the event itself.” Others at the concert “simply become the supporting cast whose needs can be dismissed without a second thought.”

A friend of mine, who tends to view our fair city with a somewhat darker cast, offers the following: “Saskatoon may not be ready for these kinds of events. As a populace, we’re more familiar with swilling beer while watching local bands at the local pub then seeing world-class-anything live. The bus thing is just another symptom...how many times now have they tried, and utterly failed? We haven’t the infrastructure to put on shows like this. We haven’t the experience to know how to appreciate these events when they happen.”

I’m not certain I agree, at least not entirely. If nothing else, we’ve proven we have the demand. The Rolling Stones put on a second show when they rolled into Regina — tens of thousands at each. The Eagles put on a third, something they didn’t even do for many major centres in the States. And we’ve had other names hit Saskatoon, often to return: Cher, Elton John, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young...

Could the problem just be society? Our increasingly selfish attitudes toward one another? The thought chills, but demands attention.

One final thought from me: The concert, what I experienced of it, was magnificent. The Eagles brought along a great deal of talent and polish...I did not hear a complaint about the performance from anyone. They well deserved our attention and respect. If they're coming to your town—and you are prone to better luck with concerts than us—do yourself a nice, and go see them.

That said...I recently enjoyed another concert where people cheered and grooved to the music, where my view was unobstructed, and where the sound was utterly perfect. It was an Eric Clapton charity concert, and he came with friends: Johnny Winter, Willie Nelson, Jeff Beck, Robbie Robertson, Sheryl Crow and others. It was amazing, beautiful...and I can watch it again and again.

It was a DVD.

Changes: 2nd Avenue Lofts

I promised to update the blog from time to time with some of the good things happening around town. I’ll begin with the obvious ones, before moving on to areas that even current residents might not have noticed. On the way, I’ve already discovered tidbits of history I never knew. Apparently there was a city here before there was a city.

You’ll be forgiven if you don’t recognize the older building pictured on the left. It is, or was, the five-storey J.F. Cairns Ltd. Department store, opened in 1913 and purchased by the Hudson Bay Company in 1922. Its five storeys contained just over 8300 square metres of space (90,000 square feet). It stood on the northwest corner of 2nd Avenue and 23rd Street.

The building, which included a grocery store, served Saskatoon until 1958, when the Bay announced its replacement. The store was torn down that year, and reopened its new digs on the same location in 1960. Though only three storeys tall at first, the new store boasted 14,500 square metres (157,000 square feet) of retail space. The building was constructed with expansion in mind, as an additional two floors could be added in the future.

The fourth floor was added soon enough, in 1966, and a skywalk built to the Bay’s six-level parkade across 2nd Avenue. A vast area below this parkade served as the Bay’s shipping and receiving area. Eventually, the Safeway store abutting its northern edge was demolished, and the Bayside Centre shopping mall built. The Hudson Bay Company continued in this location until the turn of the century, when they moved to the old Eaton’s location in Midtown Plaza.

For more than half a decade, the building—apparently built like a brick—stood empty and forlorn. Ideas were passed, of course: the library could move there, for example. Somehow, none of it fleshed out. The skywalk was torn down and the parkade bit the dust, to be replaced with a parking lot. Talk began circulating of doing the same to the store. The Bayside mall, once a home to higher-end retail outlets, soon floundered and sunk. For a time, that became home to Heinze Career Institute, then to two separate furniture stores.

Then along came a developer with the pie-in-the-sky idea of turning the Bay building into condos. No doubt many a citizen secretly rolled their eyes at the thought; there’s been a lot of pie-in-the-sky ideas in this town. (Remember the old A.L. Cole power plant condos?) This time, though, the timing must have been right. 

The revamped Bay building is not only near completion, but it finally has that elusive fifth floor…bringing it to the height of the original store (though it is also longer). The adjoining mall soldiers on, now as a home to several government offices. The condos feature underground parking, a central atrium, open floor plans, etc. (See http://www.2ndavenuelofts.com/).

This appears to be just one small part of Saskatoon’s downtown revitalization. More to come in this blog.

Review: Las Palapas Resort Grill

We’ve been three times so far, attracted by this small restaurant’s reputation, location and décor. We’ve experienced two hits, and one unfortunate miss. 

Not much to look at from the outside (especially in winter), but the décor within is colourful, funky and unique. There’s enough in the way of Latin-American-style knick-knacks and ambient eye-candy to keep you from tuning out. This is not a place to go for quiet, one-on-one dining; in fact, it can be rather noisy for a small restaurant. Groups of friends, however, may like this, though you may sometimes have to raise your voice to be heard. Tables are grouped in the common rather than separated by dividers. It’s meant to be an invigorating atmosphere, and it works.

As to the food, it’s a somewhat Canadianized notion of Mexican food, but really quite tasty. The actual menus – a bit garish to read, but fun – are available for viewing at their website (something I wish more restaurants would do). In all, the offerings are fairly priced, and the portions reasonable. For the most part, we’ve been pretty happy with anything we’ve ordered.

The first time we went, the restaurant was full, but the service remained quite good. Our orders were correct, and did not take long to arrive. Our second visit was just for drinks, and again the service was fine. Unfortunately, the third time, we ran out of luck. Though our meal was fine for the most part, it was difficult to get attention paid to our table, the last one down at the end. We were not asked about drinks, nor did our server drop by to ask how everything was. We had to wave our arms about to snag any attention at all. In the end, while contemplating dessert and a second drink, we were left completely alone.

Receiving the bill - and then paying - proved especially challenging. By this time, our server had vanished, apparently for a chat in the kitchen. An item that had been replaced had been added onto the total. With no staff at all in the dining room, I finally left to start the car, while my wife went off to track down Houdini. Disappointing, especially since we’d enjoyed the restaurant so much in so many other ways.

Every restaurant has its off-nights, though, so we’ll likely try again—maybe in summer, when the deck (under a thatched-style roof!) finally re-opens again. The food is good after all, and this looks like a fun place for friends.

910 Victoria Avenue, Saskatoon (Two blocks off Broadway at Main Street)
http://www.laspalapas.ca/contact.php

Traffic Rant # 1

Beep.

So I’m strolling down 22nd, in downtown Saskatoon, and something strange is going on. I’m one of the few who notice.

Beep. Beep.

It’s like specks in your vision, those little transparent “floaters” that drift across your field of view unnoticed, all day every day. Only when you focus on them do you ever see them at all. At this particular moment, the speck for me most demanding attention was a sound instead of a sight.

Beep, beeeep!

All right, already, what is it? I look up, wondering if I’ve been spotted by one of my many adoring fans (yeah, right). No such luck. Instead, I see a young woman in a small car with a big horn, waiting to turn left onto 2nd. She can’t, due to the even younger man in the car in front of her.

He’s waiting for a break in the traffic, but when one comes, he doesn’t turn. Beep. What up? What’s the matter with this kid? Another gap in the stream, and again he doesn’t move. Beep! Soon the lights will turn, and the offending youth still won’t have. What’s the lady to do? Oh, the humanity!

The reason he did not turn was partly because of me.

I was, at the time, crossing the street, along with many others. Had he started his turn—as I’m certain the driver behind him would have—he would have had to stop halfway through. There ‘d be in mid-turn, blocking any fresh traffic coming the other way. And for what, exactly?

What this young man knew not to do is one of the most basic premises of driving:  you don’t turn left into traffic. That’s all traffic, including the pedestrian kind. In most cities I’ve lived in or travelled to, that’s considered obvious, common sense.

Sadly, the lady driver in question is much more representative of the typical Saskatoon driver. Many motorists in Saskatoon will make that turn, stopping only when they get close—maybe dangerously so—to the line of pedestrians before them. Then they will sit, angled before oncoming traffic, looking genuinely surprised. “What the— Where did those come from?” No kidding at all, some actually manage to look annoyed.

Good grief, Saskatoon.

I’ll not suggest that we have a monopoly on bad driving habits. In fact, I recall reading the results of a study a couple of years back, which showed the worst drivers in the nation to be in metro Toronto. By comparison, Saskatchewan drivers came in middle-of-the-road (and not necessarily because we drive there). But people, please...can we do some growing up?

Saskatoon is getting bigger, and with the provincial economy doing so well, that will likely continue. It’s time to stop behaving as if we all just tumbled in from the fields. Increasingly, every space we move through will already have people in it. That’s just the way it is;  let’s all learn to deal with it.

By holding his ground, the young man who waited to turn demonstrated just a degree of that mystical something-or-other that we seem to need more of in this town. Something the woebegone driver behind him sorely lacked.

I think they call it sophistication.