Tag: history

Exploring Point Grey Road: Vancouver’s Luxurious Real Estate

June 2, 2025

Montreal has Westmount, Toronto has Rosedale, Ottawa has Rockcliffe Village, and Vancouver has Point Grey Road. The north side of Point Grey Road features elegant, architecturally designed residences. This location is attractive due to its expansive ocean views, framed by mountains in the background and Stanley Park across English Bay, highlighting the Vancouver skyline to the east.

Talk about privacy from the road!

We walked from my brother’s place in Kitsilano to Point Grey Road to explore the area, where the sidewalks were wide, complemented by attractive street furniture, including benches, light posts, and trash cans. The roadway was also spacious, reserved for walkers, joggers, and commuting cyclists traveling from downtown to the University of British Columbia.

   Point Grey Road sidewalk

I understand that Mike Harcourt, a former mayor of Vancouver, envisioned creating a continuous park on the north side of the street. To achieve this, he purchased available residences. He transformed them into parks that front Point Grey Road, extending to the shoreline to provide stunning views of the ocean and the Vancouver skyline. However, homeowners living along Point Grey Road opposed this initiative, and with rising real estate prices, the project ultimately came to a halt.

View from mini-park, the Vancouver skyline

A stroll along the upscale residences made me wonder who owns these homes. I found some online. One notable resident is Chip Wilson, the founder of Lululemon, a popular athleisure clothing brand. His property was valued at over $82 million in 2024, making it one of the most expensive real estate holdings in Canada. While Wilson has gained significant wealth from his clothing line, he has also stirred controversy with some of his comments.

      Chip Wilson’s place, totally private from the road

He faced accusations of racism for the name “Lululemon,” which features three “l’s.” He said he chose this name because he found it amusing to consider how Japanese people would pronounce it, given that there is no “l” in the Japanese alphabet.

Additionally, he was criticized for being “fatphobic” after suggesting that not all women are suited for his designs. He pointed out that women who do not have a gap between their thighs could cause the fabric to become sheer or translucent, leading to backlash for implying that those women were overweight.

People have also slammed him for stating that he has no issue with children working. He mentioned that his children have worked for his company and argued that there is nothing wrong with this. He was specifically referring to Asia, where much of his clothing line is produced by child labor.

His comment reminded me of children we saw in Myanmar, rolling cigarettes, sitting on the floor with inadequate lighting. When I inquired about why children work, I learned that many would starve without their jobs and that, for some, working is preferable to having nothing to do, especially when they are not attending school.

      An architectural home

Dr. David Suzuki is another fascinating figure who lives on Point Grey Road. He had a long-running, popular show on CBC called “The Nature of Things.” As an environmentalist, he advocates for living in harmony with nature. However, I find it hard to reconcile the idea of living in harmony with nature while owning a multimillion-dollar house on Point Grey Road, especially considering that he also possesses two other properties. Nonetheless, his educational broadcasts have been excellent and have been aired in forty countries.

Still, another homeowner on Point Grey Road was Nelson Skalbania, who took a chance on signing the seventeen-year-old Wayne Gretzky to the Indianapolis Racers hockey team and later on starring withe the Edmonton Oilers. As we know today, Gretzky has become arguably the greatest hockey player in history. The team’s owner, Skalbania, was interested in sports franchises; he bought and sold teams and even purchased the Atlanta Flames before relocating them to Calgary.

Continuing with the hockey theme, Trevor Linden owns a house on Point Grey Road. He played for the Vancouver Canucks and served as team captain and General Manager after his playing career ended.

Strolling along, I took a picture of what I thought was a very attractive house. After searching online, I discovered that it was designed by one of my classmates from the School of Architecture at the University of British Columbia in the 1960s. Paul Merrick was an exceptionally talented designer during our time in architecture school, and he established his firm in Vancouver after graduation. The article I read on this residence did not mention the owner’s name.

Designed by Paul Merrick

Another renovated old house on the south side of Point Grey Road, at number 3148, is known as the “Peace House.” The name originates from its use during the 1960s by peace activists who lived there and protested against the storage of nuclear weapons at the Comox RCAF base. This house also attracted the wandering hippie crowd of the era, known as the Love-In Generation, including notable figures such as Timothy Leary, the Grateful Dead, who even performed a concert there, Baba Ram Dass, and Allen Ginsberg. Recognizing these names indeed reveals my age!

The “Peace House”

These beautiful, high-value homes are designed by architects and surrounded by meticulously maintained landscaped yards. I thought it would be a great experience to visit these homes inside. Would the homeowners be willing to open their houses for viewing?

Eating and Walking: Discovering Wheeler’s Maple Sugar Shack

April 18, 2025

We went to a sugar shack in April this year. April weather is ideal for maple syrup flow, which happens when nighttime temperatures are -5 °C and daytime highs are 5°C (24°F to 40°F). Such weather is a pleasure to walk about, especially in contrast with the much colder weather in February and March.

I enjoy visiting maple sugar farms for their restaurants, which serve delectable pancakes with freshly made maple syrup, sausages, and beans. And post-lunch, I enjoy strolling through the woods and checking out the maple trees’ syrup containers.

We went to Wheeler’s this year for our annual sugar shack trip and pancake feast. The hour-long journey was worthwhile; a sunny day with blue skies followed the snowstorm, leaving the fields white.

Maple sugar shacks now typically require reservations. Despite this, the restaurant had few patrons when we got there. I think the idea is to ensure enough seats if a busload of tourists arrives.

The coffee flowed endlessly at Wheeler’s, and the enormous pancakes were eight inches in diameter. Thinking I was hungry for lunch, I ordered a two-pancake meal with three sausages and a side of beans. It was too much food, so I knew I would need a long walk afterward to burn off the meal. I recalled visiting a different sugar bush where we sampled local beer with friends last year.

We found many trails outside and took the longest, five kilometers long. The snow covered the ground, with some icy patches in places. Only a few people were walking, and the silence in the woods was peaceful, perfect for yoga classes.

The history of this farm is fascinating. Vernon and Judy Wheeler purchased the farm and planted sugar maples, and they, along with their four children, still operate the farm today. It takes thirty years for the trees to be ready for tapping, and they tapped their first trees in 1978. They installed six hundred kilometers of plastic pipes to collect sap from forty thousand trees. Vernon’s local builder helped construct the restaurant using local wood, which opened in 1996. Vernon also wrote a book about the farm’s history, available in the restaurant’s lobby.

The Wheelers keep the farm open year-round for visitors, with the only exception being Christmas Day. Families enjoy exploring the farm during the summer by hiking the grounds, while cross-country skiing and snowshoeing are popular winter activities.

Syrup production involves boiling sap down to a 40:1 ratio. Boiling the sap further makes a sweeter, darker, and thicker syrup. Customers can choose from three grades of syrup, ranging from light to dark, when making their purchases

Previously, people boiled sap outside in large kettles to evaporate the water. Today, however, they use reverse osmosis to produce the syrup. The factory at Wheeler’s is open for inspection and features a large room with advanced equipment. A kitchen and a small shop offering maple syrup items are situated between the appealing post-and-beam restaurant and the factory.

Panels within the plant’s viewing area show information about the maple syrup industry. Canada provides over 80 percent of the global maple syrup supply, 90 percent of which originates from Quebec, and 4 percent from Ontario.

It was an Indigenous child who discovered maple syrup hundreds of years ago by sucking on the icicle of a branch from a maple tree. The sugary taste was delightful, a treat Indigenous people quickly learned to harvest. It took about a hundred years for them to develop the method of boiling the sap to create today’s sweet syrup.

The two museums on Wheeler’s farm are possibly the most interesting part. One museum displays hundreds of maple syrup artifacts, the other shows Mr. Wheeler’s extensive chainsaw collection. The chainsaw collection amazed me; there are over four hundred old models, some of which I recognized, while others were unfamiliar.

      
A couple of soulful llamas stared at us as we approached the museums. The presence of llamas on this farm, among other options, puzzled me.

Maple syrup is a quintessential Canadian product. I recall trips to Europe where we searched for gifts for family and friends to take with us. We often bought small jars of maple syrup. Thankfully, travel for fresh maple syrup is no longer necessary; our neighbours’ parents run a maple farm, and we can purchase fresh maple syrup from them at wholesale prices.

Memories of Chapel Hill: Love, Weddings, and History

April 1, 2025

Chapel Hill. The University of North Carolina. Ah! All the memories came rushing back as we drove around, parked the car, and walked along Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

I recalled meeting the Dean of City Planning, who welcomed me upon my arrival. He greeted me warmly and instilled confidence in me that I could not fail here. After I met my future wife, we listened to Johnny Cash on the quad, frequented local pubs, and eventually got married!

We initially had a civil ceremony in South Carolina without informing our families; it was one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions. The experience of the civil process, alongside that of four other couples, felt rather mundane. Returning to Chapel Hill, my Peugeot 403 broke down on the road, and we had to hitchhike back.

Returning to our dorms after the ceremony was exhilarating. We had a piece of paper that officially declared us married, and we were embarking on a new life together, forever. I wondered if this was the same experience that pioneers felt when loading their wagons on the journey west.

At that moment, no one knew we were married—not even our school friends.

This exhilarating feeling lasted for a few weeks until we had our church wedding in the Episcopal Chapel of the Cross, which was attended by family and my classmates, with whom I had just graduated. In the lead-up to the wedding, the pastor asked us if our differing religious beliefs would ever cause friction between us. It seemed unlikely: I was a non-practicing Roman Catholic, while Kathy was Episcopalian. Having a church wedding was the traditional way to get married, which both our families accepted.

The memories bubbling up were from over fifty years ago. The Town of Chapel Hill has also aged. We walked along Franklin Street starting from Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. There were many more restaurants, coffee shops, and fraternity and sorority houses than we could recall from the past, in addition to newer tourist shops, vaping lounges, and art galleries.

As we crossed Franklin Street, we approached the Chapel of the Cross, where we were married decades ago. I couldn’t remember much about the building except for the circular driveway in front. I remember it well because, after the ceremony, when we tried to drive away in Kathy’s car, my classmates had blocked our tires with rocks. I felt embarrassed as I heard all my friends laughing. I quickly exited the vehicle and moved the stones. However, a loud noise came from the wheels during my next attempt to speed off. I decided to ignore the noise as we drove away, stopping a few blocks later to empty the rocks from the hubcaps.

To my surprise, the Chapel did not evoke any strong emotions within me. I struggled to recall its architecture and viewed the Chapel as if I were seeing it for the first time. However, once we entered the building, the historical information provided in a brochure added to a cultural dimension that was entirely new to me and left a lasting impression.

Mary Ruffin Smith (1814-1885) was an early benefactor of the Chapel, constructed in 1843. Her father, a plantation owner, physician, and congressman, paid $450 for a mulatto slave, a fifteen-year-old girl, for Mary. One of Mary’s brothers took a fancy to the slave girl, Harriet, and stalked and sexually assaulted her. Mary’s other brother, Frank, took exception and pummeled Sidney, ordering him to stay away from Harriet. Sidney stayed away from Harriet after the incident, during which she gave birth to a girl, Cornelia. However, Frank fell in love with the girl and had three daughters with Harriet. Mary cared for Harriet and the four girls, bought them from the plantation, and took them to the Chapel of the Cross every Sunday. All the colored people sat on the balcony of the Chapel, not permitted to sit with the white folks. Mary had all four girls baptized at the Chapel, as well as Harriet.

The story continued with Pauli Murray (1910-1985), the granddaughter of Cornelia, the oldest of Harriet’s daughters. Murray was an author, activist, and writer. In 1938, she attempted to enroll at the University of North Carolina (UNC), but her admission was denied due to her race, despite her close relationship with her great-aunt Mary, who had donated a significant portion of her land to the university. Pauli Murray went on to become a lawyer and practice law. In 1977, she made history as the first African American woman to be ordained as an Episcopal priest in the United States. After her ordination, Rev. Pauli Murray took communion in the Chapel where her enslaved grandmother had been baptized.

This story left a significant impression on me. Perhaps it’s because topics like plantations, slavery, the significance of skin color, and religion are not part of my background. Instead, I could discuss the Iron Curtain, Communism, and the experiences of the Pioneers (the communist equivalent of the Boy Scouts), as I spent my youth in Hungary under Russian domination.

Exploring Beaufort: A Cyclist’s Paradise in South Carolina

March 24,2025


We drove south to leave the winter of Ottawa, even though we enjoy snowshoeing. Escaping springtime offers a welcome reprieve from the winter’s cold and snow. Despite my pollen allergies (managed by Claritin), late March in the Carolinas offers ideal cycling weather.

Driving south towards Beaufort, South Carolina, I sighed in relief at leaving the crowded, monotonous, and speedy Interstate 95 behind. Driving for hours had numbed my feet, so I hoped for less, slower traffic on Route 21 East. Although slower, the traffic picked up closer to Beaufort on a four-lane highway.


The expansion of military bases (Parris Island and Beaufort), resort construction (Hilton Head Island), and a Northern retiree influx have driven development along South Carolina’s east coast.
We learned from a hotel employee at check-in that Beaufort’s population has almost doubled since the pandemic, nearing 15,000. It is not only retirees but also people working remotely who have arrived to take advantage of lower housing and living costs.

When Kathy stayed here thirty years ago, she stayed in one of the huge antebellum houses on the waterfront, used as a B&B in those days. Today, developers meticulously redeveloped the waterfront, and they restored the antebellum homes along the waterfront to their original designs. The city designated the downtown area a historic district, and we enjoyed a quiet walk admiring the architecture.

Cycling the Spanish Moss Trail from Beaufort to Port Royal was a smooth ride (it follows the old Magnolia rail line). The paved, twelve-foot-wide trail was flat, crossing marshes with many boardwalks and with the temperature in the mid-twenties (in the seventies in Fahrenheit), was ideal for a bike ride. Much of the Trail crossed areas with oak trees from which Spanish moss hung. I assume the source of the name for the Trail. Although the hanging moss is attractive, avoid touching it because it might contain chiggers.

The paved trail was great for riding, but I knew that falling off the bike would be rough, experiencing injury if going at the maximum allowed speed of 15 mph.

We sped through the twelve-mile trail, pausing to talk with people going in the opposite direction. We avoided talking about politics. We did not know how local people would react to talking to us Canadians, in view of Trump’s desire to annex Canada.

I noticed different organizations took responsibility for maintaining sections of the trail, which included benches at viewing sites, including the military that were in abundance in the area.

In less than a couple of hours, we arrived at Port Royal, at the other end of the trail. We were ready for a cup of coffee and found in the center of Port Royal a home converted to a restaurant with a name Corner Perk that offered fancy coffees. Their muffins were so special we couldn’t resist.

Next, we saw a sign for the Cyprus Wetlands rookery, home to hundreds of local birds (egrets, cormorants, bats, herons, etc.), right by the coffee shop. A boardwalk crosses a lake, going by an island with small trees that provide nesting grounds for birds. We noticed many turtles and alligators also slept on the shore of the island.

Returning to Port Royal, we found a small house converted to a restaurant boasting a sign for Griddle and Grits and the menu included grits with shrimp, with chorizo and grits with different ingredients. I like spicy foods and chose chorizo on grits, which turned out to be excellent. Kathy chose she crab soup, which also turned out to be a good choice.

On the return journey, we paused on a bench and were approached by a man who looked like a bear of an angler, who sat down, smoked a cigarette and started a conversation. He wanted to know all about us and then described his entire life story, including where he was born, where his family members were born and all the ailments they each had. I gathered he has been a floater with jobs in many states before settling in Beaufort. We could not resist listening to him; overall, it was an enjoyable social engagement.

We stopped at a Publix grocery store on the way home to pick up dinner. The Spanish Moss Trail is a nice, paved trail, but it was a bit too tame for us. We like longer and wilder trails with fewer refinements.

Udaipur’s Heritage: Lake Pichola Hotel Experience

March 11, 2025

The Lake Pichola Hotel

Shyaam, our guide, had reserved a room at the Lake Pichola Hotel in Udaipur, Rajasthan. This opulent heritage hotel, formerly Piplia Haveli, was built in the eighteenth century as a private residence for the Jagirdars (nobility) of Thikana Piplia. The hotel’s corridors were adorned with royalty images, illustrating Udaipur’s rich history and property. The owner of the Lake Pichola Hotel is a descendant of the rulers of Udaipur and has taken over the management of this heritage hotel.

Our large, comfortable room faced Lake Pichola and opened onto a balcony with windows all around. The balcony was furnished only with sumptuous pillows, reminiscent of harem rooms we had seen in pictures; it looked incredibly inviting after a long drive. We relaxed on the cushions, enjoying the beautiful views of the lake, the Udaipur Palace across the water, and the Oberoi Hotel, where James Bond’s “Octopussy” was filmed. As we sipped our drinks, we watched women at the lakeside washing laundry, a stark reminder of the contrasts between wealth and poverty in India.

According to Oxfam, seventy-three percent of the wealth generated in 2017 went to the top one percent of the population. The number of billionaires increased from nine in 2000 to over one hundred in 2017. I reflected on these numbers, but seeing poor people washing clothes in the lake opened my eyes.

We met our guide, Shyaam, in the hotel dining room, where authentic Indian food was served. By then, we were running low on rupees, and many of the smaller stores we visited either did not accept dollars or charged exchange rates that seemed exorbitant. We asked Shyaam where we could exchange our U.S. dollars for rupees. Although he did not mention any ATMs or banks, he suggested a contact of his who offered money exchange services. It sounded dubious, but he claimed we would get the best exchange rate from this contact. We decided to take a chance on his offer, partly because we trusted Shyaam, who worked with the travel company Intrepid, and partly because we didn’t see any other options.).

The next day, we walked up the street to an office address and entered a small room on the main floor. Some people were working in the back office. We sat in the waiting room, hoping that Shyaam had indeed arranged a meeting with his contact, the money changer. We waited, uncertain of what to expect, until a dapper, well-dressed gentleman in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, entered the room. He asked if we were Shyaam’s clients, and when we confirmed that we were, he set down his briefcase. He then inquired how much money we wanted to convert and informed us of the exchange rate he offered. It was a better rate than the banks charged, and our only concern was whether his money was legitimate or counterfeit.

The money changer seemed honest, so we decided to exchange some currency, although not as much as we had initially planned, to be cautious in case the bills were counterfeit. He examined our dollars individually, selecting only the ones in excellent condition without tears. After calculating the equivalent amount in rupees, he opened his briefcase filled with rupees, counted out a stack for us, and handed it over. There was no official receipt, and he left immediately after the transaction. I remain uncertain about whether this market activity was legitimate in Udaipur. I wondered if it might have been part of a black market; India likely has various money exchange options. Another thought that crossed my mind was whether Shyaam was involved in this exchange—whether he was assisting clients as a tour guide for a major travel company or if he was part of the transaction and receiving payoffs. However, we had no issues with the money the money changer provided us.

With our newly acquired rupees, we walked toward the center of Udaipur, climbing a hill in search of the famous miniature paintings, sized 4″ x 12″. This art form originated in the sixteenth century, with artists creating these paintings as memoirs for kings, capturing important historical events. The paintings depict vignettes of a king’s life from the past, and even today, they are created and sold as decorative art.

The artists use a meticulous process to manufacture pigments and colors from scratch. We stopped at several stores to admire these paintings. Unable to resist, we decided to purchase a few as souvenirs. They were beautiful and unique to Udaipur and easy to transport due to their small size. Although we could have bought them unframed for easier transport, we opted for framed pieces, which cost much less than a frame at home. 

As we left the store, we spotted an elephant coming up the hill toward us. A mahout was riding on the elephant, sitting more than ten feet off the ground. I quickly grabbed my camera to take a picture. However, as soon as the mahout noticed me, he began protesting and waved both hands, trying to stop me from taking the shot. He made the international gesture of asking for money by rubbing his fingers together with his palm facing upwards. Even if I had wanted to give him money, I couldn’t have reached him, and it was clear he wasn’t planning to stop the elephant or dismount.

Suddenly, the elephant started to pee, creating a river streaming down the asphalt. I couldn’t believe the volume that came out! I felt grateful to be wearing closed-toe sandals at that moment. I noticed some tourists walking behind the elephant, trying to capture the scene on camera, but maintaining a safe distance to avoid the chaos. All of them were wearing open-toed sandals. I felt sorry for them but was reminded once again why open-toed footwear isn’t the best choice for sightseeing.

Our wanderings in Udaipur took us to the City Palace, an imposing structure with a 250-meter frontage and several entrances. This multi-level complex stands 30 meters high and is beautifully situated on a hilltop. The upper floors overlook Lake Pichola, providing excellent views.

The palace was constructed entirely from marble and granite, with construction beginning in 1576 and continuing for four centuries. It is an interconnected complex made up of various palaces built by successive dynasties.

I remember how we had to navigate many staircases to explore the building, which left us feeling quite exhausted. However, it was a remarkable historical and cultural journey. We admired stunning wall paintings, intricate murals, exquisite marble work, detailed inlay work, and remarkable architectural features, including cupolas, domes, towers, and balconies.

After a few weeks on the tour, I felt overwhelmed by the many palaces and forts I had seen. By this point, I preferred conversing with local people rather than admiring centuries-old artifacts, no matter how beautiful or historically significant they were. I found discussions with tuk-tuk drivers about their families fascinating, even though many did not speak English. While I still appreciated history, I realized traveling became much more fulfilling when interacting with the local residents.

The Lake Pichola Hotel.