So Stanley Park turns 125 years old this year. Big whoop.
If there’s one park that’s been coasting on its reputation since day one, it’s Stanley. Sure it’s got history, skunks that get their cute little heads stuck in jars, an overcrowded seawall for tourists and unimaginative locals to frolic along and some impressive trees, a few of which can even withstand a windstorm. But it’s all a little overrated, if you ask us. Stanley Park is like the Beatles of the Vancouver park system — everyone is supposed to love it, but they don’t really know why, except that it’s mandated by law.
And don’t get us started on how tired we’ve grown of hearing Stanley Park called “the jewel of Vancouver” and seeing its smug, leafy face plastered across the cover of every damn print publication in this city (including this one) while it lazily sits atop everyone’s list of must-visit Vancouver attractions alongside its overrated brethren Granville Island, English Bay, pods of orca whales and majestic snowcapped mountains. Get over it, people.
And do we even have to mention that sad bit of bark that has become the Hollow Tree? This once sturdy woodscraper used to lure visitors and photographers alike with its cavernous trunk, which could accommodate families, vehicles, even the occasional circus elephant. Now, ravaged by weather, age and its own mortality, the 1,000-year-old dead stump has become a shell of its former self — literally — propped up by $100,000 worth of concrete and steel reinforcements and people’s inability to accept the passage of time.
So celebrate Stanley Park’s birthday all you like — we’re having none of it. While you’re busy cruising through Stanley Park’s maze of manly trails, reminiscing about that enchanting Sarah MacLachlan concert you and your lover took in while lounging on a blanket sipping some oaky chardonnay, or traveling the park’s concrete circumference with your latte, fleece outerwear, walking sandals and misguided sense of purpose, we’ll be hanging out with all the discerning peeps at Killarney’s Captain Cook Park, or Marpole’s rockin’ Ebisu Park or Mount Pleasant’s wicked-ass Tea Swamp Park, which doesn’t even have a swamp or serve tea. You know, keepin’ it real.
