at some point I made it a mission to discover a new beach every weekend. God knows there are plenty here in the 'Couv.
On thursday I went for drinks at the Soho Bar & Grill, an ordinary bar (excellent butter chicken wraps) with an extraordinary view of English Bay. With the palm trees and hundreds of beautiful bronzed bodies lounging in the sun, it looked just like California, those San Francisco beach party scenes in The Princess Diaries. Is it sad that my ideas about the West Coast seem to be mainly predicated on a high school fantasy chic flick starring Anne Hathaway? Anyway, I returned to English Bay the next day with Amanda and Sloth and the place was jumping full of like-minded loungers, thick pot smoke, boys performing their various mating dances via football juggling and exposed ugly dragon tattoos... and miles of sandy beach at low tide. It was crowded, but lovely.
Today, to stay in keeping with the linguistically-themed beaches, I decided to check out Spanish Bay, solely because my father told me to. My father never told me that it was a hike to get there, though, through pebble trails in the woods on a steep incline and past the impossibly huge and luxurious mansions that look like they are out of some fairy tale, with the tall gates, fancy fountains, exotic flower gardens, and security cameras everywhere. it felt like my journey to Spanish Banks took so long but once i got there, passed the thick tree line that jealously guards the place, i was taken in by the view, the shoreline seemingly stretching on forever.
the low tide allowed young boys to take their boards and skim through the muddy streams that the tide left behind. Vancouver has dozens of sports i'd never heard of before coming here.
i spread my towel on a spot near the dune grass and let my worries be blown away in the breeze like the sand. i thought about how every member of my family in the previous generation had fallen in love with their life partners here in Vancouver, and it's not hard to see how. it is such a city of healing.