Escape Cville. Vancouver.

It’s been a week since we got back, and still no “Escape Cville” entry from me. Until tonight. Still trying to process it all I guess. The Hubby had a conference and I tagged along. Love the tag-alongs, they’re the best part of his job, especially if it’s a city I’ve heard good things about. Especially food-wise.

I knew I’d have fun. I knew I’d like it. I just didn’t expect how MUCH I’d like it. Turned out to be similar to my first Vegas trip. We went once, figuring we’d have a good time, never to return. But I left Vegas completely floored. Overwhelmed. Astounded. Blissful. Like I’d just had the best sex of my life. Vegas was freaking awesome.

Except I’d never want to live in Las Vegas. All that hooch and bling in your face every minute? Nu-uh. Now Vancouver? I’d totally live in Vancouver. You know I mean it when I say totally. I never say totally. Even when it was 1982. So yeah, I’d totally live in Vancouver.

It’s just so damn cheerful there. God that’s lame. Who moves to a place because it’s cheerful? But it REALLY is. The weather is sunny and 70’s cheerful, the people stroll cheerfully, even their clothes were fashionably cheerful. Nutty-crunchy-outdoorsy-wear, and all week I never saw ONE pair of those icky gorilla-feet shoes. A huge plus.

Now I’m sure Vancouver winters aren’t “damn cheerful” probably more “Seattle sullen”, but August? It was heaven. Strolling along the neverending seawall trail that rings gorgeous (and cheerful) Stanley Park I saw about a hundred gazillion fashionable, cheerful people who I wanted to grab and ask, “WHERE did you get that outfit?” The Sartorialist would have a field day. But no, this was not “La Passegiatta” in Rome. It was a park in Vancouver. And it was damn cheerful.

The downtown Bayshore area where we stayed is smack dab on the water and chock full of green space in addtion to the seawall and StanleyPark. On any given day you’ll find hundreds of bikers, runners, walkers, anyone needing to grab some rays. Within Stanley Park? I’ve never seen so many micro-climates.

At one point I was ogling the most gorgeous roses I’ve ever laid eyes on, and the next minute I was strolling along desolate trails lined with centuries-old redwoods. Alone. I was in a major urban city on a Saturday afternoon, but I was completely alone. It was surreal. As the trail approached the sea, all I could hear were waves and I swear for a minute I felt a little of what Lewis and Clark and Sacajawea must’ve felt. Hokey yes, but no shit, it was just that spectacular. The dark, moss-covered trail opened out onto a bright expansive beach and I felt like I’d entered another world. Or crossed a continent.

The other side of Stanley Park was equally stunning. Although we never made it as far as the cliffs and lighthouses, we spent every evening walking the seawall past the sea-planes and million-dollar yachts docked in the harbor. Hundreds of them. Holy crap! So that’s what all the fuss is about. And the whole time we’re strolling, I’ve got that Andy Samberg SNL song going in my head, “I’monaboatI’monaboatI'monamothaeffinboat…” Oh yeah baby. A girl can dream. Don’t wanna own a yacht. Just wanna know someone who does. Hint. Hint. Hint.

So yeah, Vancouver was pretty damn spectacular. Here's a link to my Flickr album if you want to swoon. I'll warn you, I took so many shots of roses park officials thought I was a stalker. And you know what? I haven’t even talked about the food. Ah, the food. That deserves its own entry. Next time...

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