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Canada: Victoria, Vancouver and the Red Coat
By Alexa Trotta
My exquisite wool and cashmere red coat, a product of Italy, bought in New Zealand, and worn by an American almost never left British Colombia. Frankly I don’t think it wanted to leave, and I really couldn’t blame it.
I was at Victoria’s small airport struggling through security when I realized my red coat was currently in a van en route back to one of the most romantic cities you’ll find in Northern America. And if it wasn’t the perfect place for a classy and elegant red coat to adorn some enchanting lady as she meanders through twisting streets, dotted with hanging lampposts and pots of colorful flowers, I don’t know where such a sophisticated red coat might end up. Of course being the prideful and jealous owner of this rosy garment, I could not bring myself to depart without it. And in a fleeting moment of frenzy I left the security check and abandoned all hope of boarding my plane back to California.
Two days is barely enough time to quench one’s desire to traverse through the hip and modern shopping districts of Vancouver, or to take a stroll along Stanley Park gazing at the perfectly placed art sculptures giving stark contrast to the grays and browns of the distant cityscape. Nor were two days quite enough time to bask in the elegance that is Victoria, blessed with her plentiful Butchart Gardens and stately old buildings. But four days was more than enough time for me to fall in love with the food, the art, the culture and the gracious people that comprise these two spectacular cities.
It looked cold and misty that first morning when I peeked out my window at the artfully decorated Listel Hotel in Vancouver. I snuggled down further into the sheets, worming my way back into the warm cocoon, feeling somewhat reluctant to emerge from the haven of sleep. My stomach was warm, still satisfied from the tasty duck and pork spring rolls and the several helpings of butternut squash gnocchi I had indulged in the night before at O’Douls Restaurant. It was discussed that same night at dinner how Vancouver was well known for its abundance of delectable fine restaurants and eateries. Only then did I feel a surge of panic as I rolled myself out of the chair and wondered how I might be able to get a sufficient taste of everything without completely gorging myself. I continued to ponder this in bed and realized my stomach was growling: the problem appeared to be solved.
It was a good thing too, because Vancouver indeed does have a spectacular variety of eating establishments and many of them should not be missed. From delicate crab and prawn cakes served with tangy lemon aioli at O’Douls to simmered sausages of wild boar at Liliget’s Feast House to dainty kabocha and butternut squash potstickers at the modern and funky “Wild Rice," I always found myself more than happy after every meal. The accompaniment of herbaceous Sauvignon Blancs and fruitful cabernets made the dining pleasure even more of a special event. Being Italian, I’ve convinced myself that enjoying good food and wine is not just a luxury of life, but a necessity. I also felt that since I was in a place that offered such exquisite cuisine, it would be completely inexcusable to refuse even the smallest sampling of these delightful delicacies. This was how I managed to gain 4.3 pounds in four days.
Luckily ladies, Vancouver is a foot-friendly city, offering a plethora of footpaths and plenty of lush green park areas to work off your expanding middle-belly. Or, if you’re so inclined: rent a bike and peddle around the Stanley Park Seawall and watch the floater planes glide in through the harbor. It was on one of these “days of exploration” that I stood staring at what appeared to be a missing link from the Golden Gate Bridge. Towering into the sky, the flaming red crisscrossed long rectangular structure was a dominant presence overlooking Stanley Park and the high-rise buildings of the city. The daring dissimilarity between the colossal piece of art, jutting outside of its rectangular confines to the bland identical apartment buildings blending into the peripheral background was truly stunning.
And “The Jaguar,” as it was named, was not the only piece of modern art to grace the city limits. Vancouver’s international Sculpture Biennale launched on October 21st, 2005, features works from 22 different artists from around the world. The Biennale is an effort to celebrate Vancouver’s open spaces and its beautiful natural surroundings as well as to form a cultural bridge with other nations.
And if you absolutely love artwork don’t pass up a day at the Vancouver Art Gallery, currently home to the unique collection of works by renowned artist Brian Jungan, whose most famous display is that of old Nike shoes artistically shaped and converted into Native ancestral masks. Vancouver was apparently brimming with creativity. I glanced down at my nearly dilapidated pair of sneakers and wondered if anyone could make a masterpiece out of them. Somehow I reckoned not.
The day I arrived in Victoria on the short ferry ride from Vancouver, the sun gingerly peeked through foreboding dark clouds, and for the first time in a of couple days I felt the warmth of its touch. Before my eyes was a multi-colored patchwork quilt of vibrant flowers. I stood overlooking the sprawling grounds of the famous Butchart Gardens, a heavenly sanctuary that should not be missed. I mean what ignorant soul would pass up on tea, cookies, scones, magnolia trees, and of course millions of blooming flowers?
I’m not necessarily a flower guru meaning that I don’t scream madly when I see pink phalanoepsis orchids, though I hear they’re stunning. Nevertheless, with camera in hand I wildly snapped photos covering just about every inch of the lush land surrounding me. And whatever you do: be sure to stop in The Dining Room for high tea. The Teaberry Blend tea and candied ginger scones are just about enough comfort food to soothe anyone’s woes.
Later that night I sat smoking a stogie wondering how a day that started with sipping tea out of delicate chinaware turned into pints of beer and smelly cigars. Was I suddenly transported to Tijuana? No, I was still sitting on the elegant balcony of Hugo’s Bar and Grill looking out upon the brightly lit grand Empress Hotel. After yet another incredible meal consisting of pepper crusted filet mignon with brandy cream and several samplings of beers, what could be better than a good ol fashioned cigar? I really couldn’t think of anything more perfect. I blew a puff of smoke and watched as it twisted above my head, its long gangly and ghostly arms reaching hopelessly toward the sky.
I promptly decided that the next move was to explore the city’s nightlife, so strap on your dancing shoes because Victoria is bound to show you a good time. From large multi-level clubs to beach volleyball on rooftops at the Strathcona Hotel, don’t be fooled by the city’s seemingly uptight appearance. At a crowded bar in the Stathcona amid a rush of twenty somethings, I ordered my traditional gin and tonic with lime. Never really a good idea but bound to provoke a good time. And judging by the slight tingling of a headache I awoke with the next morning, the gin and tonics had worked their magic.
I was barely coherent enough when daylight peeked through the drawn curtains to stumble downstairs into the Magnolia Aveda Spa. Here it should be also noted that I am not particularly a “spa person.” Spa people are generally older, have plastic-looking faces and are usually whining about something that went wrong with their special “spa day.” In any case I’ve vowed to never become one of these people, which is a hard thing to do when one loves indulging in massages and facials. As a result I’ve become skeptical about frequenting spas for fear of turning into a crazed fanatic and addict. I\'m always stressed about something, and I know deep down that a trip to the spa is the ultimate muscle relaxant.
The Magnolia’s Aveda Spa was no exception, and as I settled onto the bed wrapped under warm covers and inhaled the soothing scent of lavender, I felt myself drifting away. The delicate touch of the esthetician’s hands lulled me beyond any apprehensions, and for one hour at least I didn’t care about a single thing in the world. It was really a great thing too since in approximately five hours from that moment I would be running frantically through the airport parking lot, having lost my luggage, my coat and my common sense.
Yet missing my flight was actually one of the best things I could have achieved. My stomach was especially happy later that evening as I sat through an eight-course dinner that included fire roasted portabella mushrooms and lamb chops glazed in balsamic vinegar. Turned out to be much better than the bite sized portions of plastic delicacies they would serve on my outbound flight.
That night at 12:45 AM I couldn’t sleep and I had to be up at 4:15 for my second attempt at heading back home. The large pillowy mattress cradled my exhausted body, and I thought I might just be happy if I were to miss my flight once again. The rest of my luggage had gone ahead without me when I fatefully decided that a single piece of clothing was more important than any other possession I owned.
Consequently I was left with no toothbrush, no hairbrush, and no other clothes, but I had that damn red coat. Aside from feeling slightly sheepish about the whole experience, I decided I was kind of happy I’d almost left it behind. Because of my ridiculous attachment to it, I’d gotten one more night in the quaint and lovable Victoria and that was worth missing a plane for. I also decided that I was somewhat obsessive, sighed and turned out the light.
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The Listel Hotel
1300 Robson Street
Vancouver, B.C.
Call (604) 684-8461 for rates and reservations
Magnolia Hotel and Spa
magnoliahotel.com
For more information on the Vancouver Sculpture Biennale go to:
www.vancouverbiennale.com
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