Clothed for the Season.

No beach bums today.

Vancouver, BC – The shiver set in as my bones chattered, my eyelashes long with drops.

The rain hasn’t stopped all day.

We rented a car and headed across the city to the University of British Columbia, which is perched atop a hill. Thunderbird is certainly an appropriate mascot.

I had planned to find a comfortable spot to sit with a coffee, but opted instead to open the curtains of the storm. Wandering first through the Mall, I decided I couldn’t resist taking the trek down 500 leaf- and pine-needle-strewn steps, slick from the morning's deluge.

After all, how many university campuses have nude beaches on their fringes?

Wreck Beach is not only Canada’s busiest beach, it’s North America’s largest naturist beach. The university campus peeks over the hill with a half-closed eye at bathers below.

Not today – not with this chill.

A lone, grey heron stands at the shore, feathers slicked, before evaporating into the mist.

I can’t wait to get these wet clothes off.

Just not here.

Ashore Thing.

Bet you didn't see the hard place.

Vancouver, BC – The sea comes to bear on the land, beneath clouds seemingly low enough to fleece: swatches curl in broad strokes as the sea roils.

The air is briny – pickled and punctuated by pungent wet cedar. If only I could bottle this moment as a cologne. Still, the Stanley Park Rose Garden bursts with end-of-season colour and, with a whistle of wind, spruce-tipped mountains unveil themselves to us.

As we return to the Stanley Park Seawall, blue washes over the sky. White caps, however, continue to gnash at our feet. The day's breath lurks coolly in the shade, melting in sunlight.

Nearby, a rainbow forms in front of Lions Gate Bridge.

It's thirty-thousand steps around the park before curtained skies welcome us back from the edge of nature and the heart of bliss.

And, inadvertently, onto to the set of the television show, iZombie.

No, I’ve never heard of it.

Two Vans.

You seem to be missing a W, Internet.

Vancouver, BC – Near Hastings and Cambie, artists set blue tarps against the drizzle.

Most is much less art than it is livelihood.

Tired chain link, unlinked, leans before moping gardens, the morning grey only mildly resisting the haphazard curls of spray cans.

Ashen faces are etched hollow by addiction. Many barely conceal their activities: a man, hunched over in a wheelchair, shudders with his hand outstretched.

Instead of coins, pills offered fall into it.

And yet, here I sit, tucking into a delicious Ruben Eggs Benedict at Jam Café. Delicious, but a reminder of my good fortune. Around the corner, the Gastown steam clock – one of the few remaining in the world – spouts a merry tune.

My journey carries me to Chinatown, where colours are both visual and olfactory: neon – although not what it once was, apparently – blends into dried seafood, lemongrass and fry oil. With an incense chaser.

Heading home, people and buildings alike are missing teeth, their makeup spray-painted. Reaching the west side a couple blocks away, I'm struck again by the contrast: high cheekbones set in glass.

Two Vancouvers.

Falling for Vancouver.

Pick your Flights.

Vancouver, BC – Free in the greyness of a silent morning, the sea air provides enough of a wake-up coffee.

I’ve always loved mountains and the ocean, even if my affinity for Vancouver hasn’t aligned. Heading toward The Seawall in Stanley Park, however, I am left to my own thoughts, slowly breaking like the day. Bliss.

Set against a sky cross-hatched by sailboat masts, the sun rises in golden shards. Leaves lay like stained glass: seasons shattered in my palm.

Past the totem poles and under Lions Gate Bridge, where the corn chip crunch of barnacles and banana peel viscosity of kelp welcome my footfalls. It smells of past-due pumpkin. On to Prospect Point and Slhx̱i7lsh, where the land melts into the vast expanse of the sea, dotted by bulking freightliners.

As I make my way over the bridge to Granville Island, the sun puts up its dukes against the morning chill. The sun, dare I say, has made it hot. Could this day get any better?

Such peace in beauty; such beauty in peace.

An Abridged Version.

Suspension of Disbelief.

Vancouver, BC – Even with a translucent mist brushed over the hills, Lions Gate Bridge opens her maw to a majestic view of the ocean as we emerge from Stanley Park. The weather offers a simple reminder we are entering a rainforest.


The driver of our free shuttle to Capilano Suspension Bridge Park maintains a steady patter, punctuated by oddball humour that keeps us giddy. It may just be the lack of sleep.


Making fun of unaware pedestrians, he exhorts us to stay off our phones, and to obey bike lanes, which are plentiful throughout the city: “I saw this crash with a cyclist, and it wasn’t funny. Well, it was funny to see the pedestrian’s arm all caught up in the spokes.” We shouldn’t laugh.


But.



Natural Light.

Capilano feels like an overpriced theme park ($45), despite its natural beauty, famous suspension bridge and cliff walk. Connected bridges throughout the canopy make me feel like an Ewok. Mammoth, 200-foot Douglas firs, meanwhile, loom like dinosaur femurs, bark bleached and topped by a fistful of branches.


From below, the bridge resembles a spine that connects both shores shouldering the Capilano River. Tourists sway across it.


Back in the city, sailboats stand sentry before mountains smoked in by dusk as we amble toward dinner at Lift with a couple colleagues. My mind, craving sleep, has come to resemble the rattle of crisp, fall leaves overhead.


Having awoken at 3 a.m., the three-hour change in time zones has by now rolled in with the tide.