I have to admit I wasn’t expecting much of my Canada Day in Vancouver. I come from Ottawa, that sleepy town that roars awake only twice a year: St. Patrick’s Day and Canada Day. The streets downtown are closed off from cars so young (drunk) people can fill up the streets with raucous lively partying. There are street performers and vendors everywhere. You wake up at 8AM with a breakfast beer and keep ploughing right through the day. You fight the 8PM hangover; you calm down a random friend freaking out from the fireworks because they took too many drugs; you lose your boyfriend in the crowd and figure you’ll catch up with him at the next party. You sit on the Hill with contraband booze and sing along to blue rodeo even though you hate blue rodeo. You find yourself in the supply closet of a hotel with your high school friends, and none of you can explain how you got there. YOU DO NOT RELIEVE YOURSELF ON THE WAR MEMORIAL.
Anyway, my roommate had warned me that Canada Day is not quite that wild here in Vancouver, so I thought maybe I was going to take it easy. Maybe go to the beach, see an evening show. As it turned out, the girl that is couchsurfing at our place was going to Wreck Beach with her friends for the day, so I invited myself along.
When I was seventeen years old, setting off to explore Vancouver by myself, my father warned me to avoid Wreck Beach, so of course I have been curious about the place ever since. I didn’t quite know what to expect. Certainly it was a trek just getting there; you have to commute all the way to the UBC campus, and then hike on foot through the forest down the bluffs for a while until the thick rainforest suddenly opens up wide to an ocean, beach, and a lot of naked men.
Wreck Beach, according to Wikipedia, is one of the largest, most popular nudist beaches in North America. It is the Vancouver that everyone thinks of when they think of Vancouver aka “Vansterdam”, land of the hippies. A naked old man that introduced himself to me as “I’m not gay, but I am European” told me that Vancouver is a big la-la land where everyone is on drugs and lives in their own world. Well, I spend enough time in the business district downtown and in Kitsilano to know that’s not quite true, but someone living at Wreck Beach could certainly get that impression.
do you remember the San Franscisco beach party scene in the Princess Diaries? A bunch of young people hanging out with their friends, shooting the breeze, carrying boards under their arms, playing guitars, looking cool? yeah, it's a bit like that, only everyone is naked.
Besides the scores of naked people of all ages comfortably hanging out, there is the open air black market that is quite characteristic of Wreck Beach. This ranges from pot cookies to scarves to beach-mixed margaritas to contraband American cigarettes.
I sat myself down right by a rainbow umbrella where a muslim woman wearing a hijab was tanning her bare bottom. I introduced myself to my couchsurfer’s friends, naked young guys playing guitars and a game of Go. I declined the chocolate covered mushrooms offered to me by a nice man wearing nothing but a backpack, finding that Wreck Beach was enough of a hallucination without psychotic drugs. But I did buy myself a yummy veggie hot dog from a brave man that was barbecuing naked.
The waves were fierce that day, so I didn’t wade in the water past my ankles. I was pretty content to lie in the sun, with the rare chance to tan parts of my body that don’t normally see sun.
Someone gave some kind of a signal, and suddenly everyone was rustling. Cops. They come around every once in a while for random raids. Everyone was hiding their drugs and booze, so I hid my bottle of ginger ale in my purse, only to remember that it’s not actually illegal to drink ginger ale in public.
after the cops left, looking awkwardly overdressed in their full uniforms, the party picked up again. Down the way, some folks had lugged along to the beach a full drum set, amps and guitars, and were started up a rousing chorus of Bachman Turner Overdrive, with crowds gathering around and singing along. Little kids ran around in the buff squealing. Our friends set off in inflatable rafts into the waters, led by Conrad, who had painted his face like a tiger, determined to make it down to Jericho Beach. The not-gay European man was right: this was a bizarre la la land, a land that normal social conventions forgot. but everyone was just having a good time.
Showing posts with label north vancouver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label north vancouver. Show all posts
Friday, July 3, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
memorize the city
amanda once said to me, "working in another city must be like a vacation! everything is so new!"
well, not really. with my fever, sore throat, runny nose and dull headache, i'm very conscious of the fact that i'm supposed to work tomorrow, and i get no sick days. cold or no cold though, i maintain that this weekend was gorgeous.
vancouver is a city of sun-worshippers, which is why i fit in, so i got up early on saturday, determined to make the most of my day outdoors. option 1: watching my roommates play volleyball at "Fake Beach". The place was actually called Urban Beach, not Fake Beach, but given the fact that it was literally a pile of sand that they moved into the middle of a parking lot, at any rate it was no Stanley Park. whatever you decide to call it, it didn't matter in the end because i was never able to find it. apparently they had moved this pile of sand from the last time Google Earth mapped the city.
lost in a pecular industrial park (smack dab in the middle of downtown with not a soul in sight...), i called amanda to bail me out. she is much more of a sloth-worshipper than a sun-worshipper so she was still in bed by 2PM, but was up for an adventure, provided i give her time to shower.
we decided to head for Deep Cove deep in the heart of the wilderness, at least it was in my view because it was far, far, far away from the skytrain...in North Vancouver, which i have discovered, is actually a seperate city of its own, kind of like Ottawa and Gatineau. except, unlike Gatineau, instead of being filled with sleazy sex stores and drunk fourteen year old girls in miniskirts, North Van seems like a pretty respectable place with some hip stores, restaurants, a decent downtown area, and a million oceanview condos. guess they cleaned up their North Van girls in white pants (to see what i'm talking about, use the control F function for "white pants" in this Douglas Coupland novel). to get there we rode the BOATBUS which i know is called the Seabus, but to be exact (and i am a fan of being exact when describing modes of transportation such as the bus train) it is a bus that is a boat that plunges across the stormy waters past the giant cruise ships full of fat people to connect with the North Van shores. and people like amanda ride it as a regular part of their commute! how amazing!
it took hours, it seemed, to make the trek to Deep Cove, but it was certainly worth it, especially since we were smart enough to bring Sloth along, who had worked there last year as a kayak instructor. this meant that we could borrow surfboards and paddle ourselves out into the salty waters to explore. it was incredible, to feel the sun beat down on my back, taste the salt sea spray, and feel the water beneath my feet. kind of like jesus! i kid. by some gracious miracle i didn't fall off the board, either.
Sloth's connections also meant that we could borrow (hijack? boatjack?) a motorboat from a friend who lived down the way, so we could zip across the bay and have our minds boggled by the enormous multi-million dollar waterfront country homes, built into the sides of the mountains and spilling out into the docks. As Sloth steered the boat over the waves (we had this hypothesis that motorboats can't be tipped...), he told us stories the summer he spent here: trekking out to remote islands to camp overnight, finding baby seals, kayaking down the stretch in the middle of the night all the way to Indian Arm where the water runs fresh from the mountains, only to realize they would have to kayak back to the dock with nothing but the stars in the dark sky to guide them.
the majestic view of the mountains surrounding the bay reminded me of my business trip last summer to Missinaibi Lake in northern ontario, where it didn't matter how much humans tried to carve a clearing into the forests and mark their existences into the sides of the mountains. as far as your eye could see, the green wilderness stretches on and on and you are reminded that you, yourself, are small.
we had lunch (dinner?) in the tiny stretch of cafes near the docks, where we were introduced to the wonders of Honey's Doughnuts. everything is indeed delicious, and these potato-dough based pastries were certainly no exception. yum yum. if only their prices were as awesome. sigh. tourist gouging can be a fun sport, i suppose, now that we're not allowed to bait the bears.
needless to say, my summer is going well. all of my time not at work is spent by the ocean. i'm starting to kind of feel like i'm on those tv shows where the kids spend their days bumming around the west coast beaches, only i'm not beautiful stupid and spoiled, and my drama here has been kept to a bare minimum (unless you include me leaving my mark on Preston Manning's car...shhhh...). it's probably that smug hubristic thought that caused me to be punished with this awful cold. today, after waking up sick, i lounged on Kits beach. i figured if i'm going be feverish and bedridden, i might as well be feverish and bedridden on the beach.
well, not really. with my fever, sore throat, runny nose and dull headache, i'm very conscious of the fact that i'm supposed to work tomorrow, and i get no sick days. cold or no cold though, i maintain that this weekend was gorgeous.
vancouver is a city of sun-worshippers, which is why i fit in, so i got up early on saturday, determined to make the most of my day outdoors. option 1: watching my roommates play volleyball at "Fake Beach". The place was actually called Urban Beach, not Fake Beach, but given the fact that it was literally a pile of sand that they moved into the middle of a parking lot, at any rate it was no Stanley Park. whatever you decide to call it, it didn't matter in the end because i was never able to find it. apparently they had moved this pile of sand from the last time Google Earth mapped the city.
lost in a pecular industrial park (smack dab in the middle of downtown with not a soul in sight...), i called amanda to bail me out. she is much more of a sloth-worshipper than a sun-worshipper so she was still in bed by 2PM, but was up for an adventure, provided i give her time to shower.
we decided to head for Deep Cove deep in the heart of the wilderness, at least it was in my view because it was far, far, far away from the skytrain...in North Vancouver, which i have discovered, is actually a seperate city of its own, kind of like Ottawa and Gatineau. except, unlike Gatineau, instead of being filled with sleazy sex stores and drunk fourteen year old girls in miniskirts, North Van seems like a pretty respectable place with some hip stores, restaurants, a decent downtown area, and a million oceanview condos. guess they cleaned up their North Van girls in white pants (to see what i'm talking about, use the control F function for "white pants" in this Douglas Coupland novel). to get there we rode the BOATBUS which i know is called the Seabus, but to be exact (and i am a fan of being exact when describing modes of transportation such as the bus train) it is a bus that is a boat that plunges across the stormy waters past the giant cruise ships full of fat people to connect with the North Van shores. and people like amanda ride it as a regular part of their commute! how amazing!
it took hours, it seemed, to make the trek to Deep Cove, but it was certainly worth it, especially since we were smart enough to bring Sloth along, who had worked there last year as a kayak instructor. this meant that we could borrow surfboards and paddle ourselves out into the salty waters to explore. it was incredible, to feel the sun beat down on my back, taste the salt sea spray, and feel the water beneath my feet. kind of like jesus! i kid. by some gracious miracle i didn't fall off the board, either.
Sloth's connections also meant that we could borrow (hijack? boatjack?) a motorboat from a friend who lived down the way, so we could zip across the bay and have our minds boggled by the enormous multi-million dollar waterfront country homes, built into the sides of the mountains and spilling out into the docks. As Sloth steered the boat over the waves (we had this hypothesis that motorboats can't be tipped...), he told us stories the summer he spent here: trekking out to remote islands to camp overnight, finding baby seals, kayaking down the stretch in the middle of the night all the way to Indian Arm where the water runs fresh from the mountains, only to realize they would have to kayak back to the dock with nothing but the stars in the dark sky to guide them.
the majestic view of the mountains surrounding the bay reminded me of my business trip last summer to Missinaibi Lake in northern ontario, where it didn't matter how much humans tried to carve a clearing into the forests and mark their existences into the sides of the mountains. as far as your eye could see, the green wilderness stretches on and on and you are reminded that you, yourself, are small.
we had lunch (dinner?) in the tiny stretch of cafes near the docks, where we were introduced to the wonders of Honey's Doughnuts. everything is indeed delicious, and these potato-dough based pastries were certainly no exception. yum yum. if only their prices were as awesome. sigh. tourist gouging can be a fun sport, i suppose, now that we're not allowed to bait the bears.
needless to say, my summer is going well. all of my time not at work is spent by the ocean. i'm starting to kind of feel like i'm on those tv shows where the kids spend their days bumming around the west coast beaches, only i'm not beautiful stupid and spoiled, and my drama here has been kept to a bare minimum (unless you include me leaving my mark on Preston Manning's car...shhhh...). it's probably that smug hubristic thought that caused me to be punished with this awful cold. today, after waking up sick, i lounged on Kits beach. i figured if i'm going be feverish and bedridden, i might as well be feverish and bedridden on the beach.
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