I imagine myself as a tourist, and I look through the lens of my camera for the moments that might catch a tourist’s eye. I walk east until I am presented with both a fork in the road and a choice: go right, along Cordova Street, towards the Woodward’s building and into the downtown eastside, or left, along Water Street, into the tourist destination known as Gastown. The first choice could mean coming into contact with homeless people, prostitutes, and HIV-infected syringes, while the second seems to ensure a safer, cleaner, more comfortable experience. I am a tourist, so I choose Gastown. I am, however, a critical tourist, and I find myself drawn to particular images: Canada. Nation. Progress. And, everywhere I look, Indian.