Winter Olympics got you hankerin’ for Vancouver? Indulge….

Now that the last of the medals have been awarded and the athletes, spectators and media have finally bid farewell to this young, hip city in British Columbia, indulge your fancy and pay Vancouver a visit.  You'll be glad you did. 

SheTravels Vancouver highlights:

My husband and I were in Vancouver as the city was in the final throes of pre-Olympic construction.  We’ve got the overpriced tee shirts with official mascots to prove it.  After visiting my Aunt and Uncle outside Tacoma (who proudly showed us around the Chambers Bay Golf Club he’d played such a big role in bringing to fruition),

we made the easy drive up I-5 to Vancouver.  In a little under four hours, we’d traded Mt.Ranier for the Coastal Mountains, lulled into that magic relaxed vacation feeling by the miles and miles of verdant agricultural plains that lie in between.

As we rolled into town, we were grateful for the very specific driving directions we had to our boutique digs, The Wedgewood Hotel and Spa, www.wedgewoodhotel.com (see my later blog on this fabulous, family-run Relais & Chateau hotel).  Vancouver is a new city built onto an old city, on a hill, surrounded by lots and lots of (beautiful) water.  As a result, it’s replete with one-way streets and numerous bridges, and it pays to know exactly which one of them you should be on.   

Despite arriving in the heavy rush hour traffic, the great directions paid off.  As we turned the last corner onto Hornby Street, that familiar wave of happy, “we’ve arrived” sentiment rolled in good and heavy when we spotted the Wedgewood’s signature blue awning and uniformed valets.  They sprang into action, and we were whisked into the intimate, clubby lobby, bidding adieu to our car for the rest of our stay.  This is a walking town with great mass transit, so for travelers who believe the best way to soak up a city is on foot, you’re gonna love Vancouver. 

As soon as you take your first steps out to explore, you’ll quickly notice two things:  1) This city is YOUNG, and 2) These young people are all apparently addicted to coffee.  I kid you not, there is a Starbucks or Blenz on virtually every corner- sometimes two of the same chain right across the street from each other.  I finally had to ask someone if 7 out of 10 Vancouverites that I passed were indeed young, attractive, urbane hipsters, or if it was just my imagination.  Not quite, but it sure seemed like it.  Due to the numerous universities and college in Vancouver, 80,000 of the city’s 600,000 citizens are enrolled in the two main schools alone.

Given that my husband and I are a good 15+ years out of college, you’d think we’d be feeling old and irrelevant in a matter of minutes.  Instead, the youthful vibe swept us along.  We felt our keyboard-cramped shoulders relaxing, our office chair crushed spines unwinding, and what’s that, smiles (?) taking over our faces.  This blissful state was in no small part enhanced, we confess, by the clear blue July sky, perfect 70 degree weather and gentle breeze flowing up from EnglishBay.    

Our first night in town, we snuggled into the red velvet banquette for drinks in the plush bar at the Wedgewood.  If you’re like us, you believe one of the great delights of travel is the perfectly done hotel bar: small enough to feel intimate, but big enough to have buzz.  They invariably attract a mix of business people whose leashes are a little looser than normal, locals out on a special date (or tryst?), and happy vacationers like us, relaxing after a full day of exploring.  In short, everyone is there to have a good time.   

We could not help eavesdropping on one such date, apparently the first between a couple who met on the internet.  Have you ever overheard a guy droning on and on about his successes and life philosophies, thinking he’s doing just great, completely oblivious to the fact that his date has not said a word or made eye contact with him for like half an hour?  It’s a painful but compelling thing to watch- like a train wreck.  I started fantasizing about making up some story, any story, that would allow me to approach the table and spring that poor girl out of her misery.  To our (and her) relief, he got a phone call and she pounced on the opportunity to make her escape for the night. 

As the dating disaster was winding down, we finished the last of our glasses of chewy red zin, and raised a toast to our happily wedded state.  We paid the bill and headed out on foot to the locally-owned Italian restaurant a few blocks south on Hornby, Il Giardino…  

To read about our Tuscan dining adventure, my age-inappropriate shopping spree, and cheap drugs, read next time…