Cherry Blossoms & Leica Glass: A Morning in Victoria’s Chinatown

It was one of those mornings so unfairly beautiful that it could make even the most devout nihilist believe in something—a blue sky so perfect it looked photoshopped by the angels of Adobe, and air so fresh it practically exfoliated you. I had arrived early to Victoria’s Chinatown, a compact, photogenic gem tucked into the folds of Vancouver Island’s capital city like a fortune cookie left at the bottom of Canada’s cultural takeaway box. Armed with my Leica M11 and a 50mm Summilux f/1.4—because what better way to capture cherry blossoms and eccentric locals than with a lens so sharp it could perform minor surgery—I set off in search of stories, colour, and whatever passed for enlightenment before 11 a.m.

Victoria’s Chinatown is, for those unfamiliar, the oldest in Canada and the second oldest in North America, bested only by San Francisco's, though Victoria’s has the distinct advantage of having fewer hills and considerably more Canadians apologising for accidentally walking in front of your lens. It was founded in the 1850s during the Fraser Canyon Gold Rush, when boatloads of Chinese immigrants arrived hoping to strike it rich, only to discover that Canadian weather and colonial policy were both deeply unaccommodating. Many stayed anyway, building a vibrant neighbourhood filled with tea shops, apothecaries, gambling dens, and the sort of alleyways that look tailor-made for opium-fuelled introspection.

Today, the opium is gone (sadly replaced by other horrific drugs that plague nearby areas), but here the still charm lingers. There’s Fan Tan Alley, possibly the narrowest street in Canada and certainly the most Instagrammed by people who believe hashtags are a personality. And the Gate of Harmonious Interest, an architectural flourish that tries very hard to sound peaceful while simultaneously looking like it could star in a kung fu remake of Game of Thrones. But let’s begin where I did—under a blooming cherry tree so perfectly positioned, it seemed to have been directed by Wes Anderson.

The morning light filtered through the blossoms like divine approval. I crouched, aligned, and fired the shutter. The Leica M11 purred in that smug way only a camera that costs more than your first car can. The 50mm Summilux, wide open at f/1.4, turned background chaos into buttery dreamscape—bokeh so delicious it should be illegal in several countries. In the viewfinder: a contrast of crimson Chinese lanterns against the soft pink of cherry petals and the stern geometry of 19th-century brick buildings. It was like photographing a postcard, except better.

The neighbourhood was already stirring, with vendors setting up for the day and early risers pretending not to notice that they were walking straight into frame. I love the way Leica shooters move—slow, deliberate, and slightly aloof, as if composing a symphony rather than a photo. I wandered toward Fan Tan Alley, that absurdly narrow corridor that looks like it was designed by a feng shui enthusiast on a calorie deficit. Once home to opium dens and gambling joints, it now boasts artisanal sock shops and minimalist bookstores curated for people who say things like “hurry up Chip, the cruise ship is leaving in 25 minutes“.

Inside the alley, the light played tricks. One moment, stark contrast and deep shadows; the next, a golden shaft of sunlight that illuminated a young man standing in a too-expensive Jeremy Clarkson on acid double denim combo and making love to the lens of his friend’s iPhone like he was auditioning for the Spring/Summer edition of “Slightly Confused Models Quarterly.” I watched as he pivoted dramatically, the kind of pivot that says, “I’ve studied under Zoolander.” His friend crouched low with all the serious intensity of someone reenacting the Normandy landings.

Going to have to steady my hands at iso 64 in darker environments.

They were not alone. Chinatown on a good weather day attracts aspiring influencers like spilled syrup attracts ants. And I don’t say that to disparage—it’s good to have dreams. I just question whether Chinatown should be treated as a runway, especially by someone wearing pants that seem to double as emergency flotation devices. Nevertheless, they added a sort of surreal vibrancy to the scene—a blend of traditional red-and-gold heritage with the dazed look of someone Googling “how to look thoughtful in photos.”

But Chinatown’s charm isn’t just in its aesthetics or its beautiful light—it’s in the characters. Like the elderly man who appeared outside a dumpling shop and began performing tai chi with all the grace of a man who knew precisely what he was doing and none of the concern for who was watching. I tried to photograph him discreetly, but of course, he noticed. He gave me a slow nod, part approval, part challenge. I took another frame. He moved like water in a silk tracksuit. It was poetry in motion, if the poem were written by a man who once arm-wrestled Confucius.

Then there was the woman who stopped me to ask if I “was shooting for National Geographic or just pretending.” I stared back into her obtuse face with the appropriate amount of distain. She replied to my silence with, “So… pretending?” She walked off devouring a sesame ball the size of a small planet, leaving me to contemplate her existential worth. Between her extremely loud bites and subsequent off putting chewing noises, it was hard to know if it was a beautiful Tuesday morning in Chinatown or feeding time at the zoo.

Now then, the colours. Red doors, golden dragons, green tiles, and enough ornamental clutter to give Marie Kondo a nosebleed. The Summilux lens turned each hue into a visual haiku. At f/1.4, even the cracked paint on an old windowsill looked like art. I found myself shooting details: a chipped lion statue, a stack of incense sticks catching the sun, a hand-painted sign whose English translation read “Good Luck Fish Ball House,” which I dearly hope isn’t a euphemism.

I took a break on a bench in Market Square, the Leica resting on my lap like a loyal, overpriced dog. Locals sipped coffee from indie roasters with names like “Bitter Moon” and “Coffee & Regret.” A man walked by wearing socks with sushi printed on them and shoes that screamed “fashion victim” in five languages. A seagull watched him pass with undisguised contempt, which, I noted, is how most seagulls look at everyone.

A quick stop at Camera Traders in Market Square to test a Tri-Elmar.

I ambled back toward the Gate of Harmonious Interest, that improbably majestic portal that seems to whisper “cultural heritage” while also shouting “photo op.” A busker nearby was playing the erhu, the haunting two-stringed instrument that sounds like it’s permanently on the verge of tears. A child stopped to stare, entranced. I raised the M11, framed them both—the timelessness of a traditional instrument and the innocent curiosity of youth. I clicked. One frame. Perfect.

By late morning, the cherry blossoms began dropping petals like nature’s own ticker tape parade. A breeze rustled the branches and the streets took on a slow, dreamy pace—the sort of lazy, beautiful pause that makes you forget that people, somewhere else, are probably yelling into traffic.

As I made my way back to the car, past murals of dragons and phoenixes, past the smell of barbecued pork and jasmine tea, I felt that rare and delightful mix of satisfaction and sadness—the feeling that you’ve seen something beautiful and that it’s already slipping away. But that’s photography, isn’t it? Capturing what’s already disappearing. One frame at a time.

And Victoria’s Chinatown? It’s a place that wears its past on its sleeve while still putting on a pretty compelling show for the present. It’s where the ghosts of the Gold Rush wander past art students and foodies and the occasional Leica-toting lunatic hoping to document it all before the light changes.

If you find yourself on Vancouver Island with a morning to spare, go. Wander. Shoot. Smile. Maybe even pose like you’re auditioning for GQ. Just try to get there before the blossoms fall.

I hope you enjoyed today’s post. I love to read your thoughts in the comments section if you have some spare time. Spring is here!

Live Well!

M.

All photos taken with the Leica M11 and 50mm Summilux. The 28mm Elmarit and Tri-Elmar made a couple of guest appearances.

Wandering Chinatown with a Summilux.

A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE WITH AN ANGRY SANGLIER.