Though I did press my snooze button an epic six times before finally re-setting my alarm clock for 6:30am, once I finally extracted myself from bed I was content. I slinked toward the bathroom feeling full of purpose and excitement. There was this thrilling idea of being awake so early on the weekend floating in the air—I imagined most of the city still being asleep while I bustled about folding laundry, putting away dishes and packing my suitcase. I padded around softly on the bamboo floors, mindful of the clinking plates lest I should bother my friend Nico, all tangled limbs awkwardly perched on the couch, passed out from profuse beer consumption the evening prior.
As I packed, I intently chose the nicest and newest of my clothing, delicately and deliberately folding each piece and thoughtfully placing it just so in my red Orla Kiely suitcase. I become the woman I want to be when I travel…who, in my opinion, I truly should be: a chic, unique, urbane, and cosmopolitan ingénue. With everything in its place—the two water jugs filled, the “activities folder” (complete with maps and directions) tucked into my book bag, snacks, amenities and my navigator “Lady Thermidor” (the stuffed cow procured from a wily road trip from Chicago to Appleton)—I began to nudge Brett to wakefulness.
After 15 minutes of my incessantly chanting his name, Brett finally rolled out of bed, into his shorts and tee, and lumbered about preparing for our trip—a preparation that was absolute worlds away from mine (read: simple and quick). Moments later, he was ready for departure as was Nico (watching NFL whilst waiting for the two of us.) We decided to drive through McDonald’s en route to the ferry terminal to drop off Nico before commencing our journey to Vancouver.
I munched on my hash brown and hummed to Glenn Miller as we drove down the waterfront. After seeing Nico off, our journey finally began. The drive to Canada could not have been more of a breeze….when we arrived at the border, the wait to get through was about 30 minutes. I sat impatiently, wondering why each vehicle was taking at least a good five minutes to pass through. Has no one done this before? Was the customs officer giving each person the tenth degree?? When we finally pulled up, we passed through in under two minutes. I simply grinned and confided that we were enjoying a weekend getaway, staying in Yaletown and taking advantage of the food, shopping and sites.
Following the directions I had printed out on Mapquest, we arrived at the Opus Hotel at 11:45 easily and without incident. I parked the car right out front and the valet proceeded to remove our bag from the trunk and take the car to their secured underground parking. Immediately upon entering the hotel, I was consumed by an air of unaffected cool. Hip European men loitered on the banquettes in the Opus cocktail lounge and we made our way toward the check-in desk, which was under an umbrella-esque ceiling dome featuring Philippe Starck-style lighting. This is one of two Opus hotels—the other being in Montreal.
Much to our delight, our room was ready. We were handed the keys and directed to the fourth floor. The elevators were dim and hip. Soft techno music issued forth from the ceilings and we leaned bemusedly against the glass-covered metal mesh walls, anxious to see what was in store for us. When exiting the elevators, I was struck by the sheer minimalism which engulfed me. Gauze curtains lined the interior of the hallways and were illuminated by tiny bulbs offering an ethereal mood. We wound our way around to room 404 and I quietly considered which palette room we may have. (The Opus features five different room aesthetics: hip red, tranquil blue, fresh green, invigorating yellow, and I can’t remember the fifth for the life of me.) Upon opening the door, we were greeted by a tranquil blue environment. The walls were a bright and soothing cerulean and the accoutrements were minimal. The back wall was closed off with melamine shoji-style doors and Brett wondered where the bathroom was.
I slid the doors open to discover a bright, open, and voyeuristic spa-style bathroom. The entire back wall of this room was floor to ceiling windows overlooking both the street and a condominium complex right across the way. In the unit directly across from our room, a gentleman sat nude in front of his PC…So without thinking twice, I sat down to relieve myself and failed to close the curtains. Why would I mind if someone saw me sitting on the toilet? It’s not as though they have any idea who I am….I’m on holiday, after all.
After settling in and refreshing ourselves, we headed out to partake of the city. Opus is in Yaletown, which was historically the warehouse district of Vancouver. Now, it maintains its aesthetic character with brick buildings and raised sidewalks seamlessly integrated amongst the towering condominium high rises. The mood is young and urban but still relaxed and a mellow during the day.
Walking down Davie Street toward the harbor led us straight to the Aquabus, which we would have to take to go to our first stop, Granville Island. The Aquabus is an almost comically tiny, rainbow- coloured boat that seats perhaps 20 people and features the captain sitting on a pedestal smack dab in the center. Once the captain pushed off (with his foot), he maneuvered the jolly little boat between kayakers and anchored yachts, staying close to the waterfront for approximately ten minutes before pulling into the Granville Island dock.
Granville Island is an island right in the middle of Vancouver and it is famous for its Public Market. Historically however, it was known as an industrial manufacturing area and the center of the island is still home to an enormous cement plant. Walking up the steep plank from the dock to the market, I began to soak up the energy from the hustle and bustle around me. The Public Market is huge and puts the Pike Place market to shame, in my opinion. It seems much less of a tourist attraction and more an actual legitimate market. Brett and I proceeded to wedge ourselves into the throngs of people clustering at every single station.
There were dozens of meat stands featuring every type of meat imaginable from the pedestrian to the fringe. For every meat stand there were at least three times that many produce stations containing an abundance of beautiful fresh produce. The sea of colours swimming before us was mesmerizing. Beautiful green kale, bright purple champagne grapes, shiny apples and so on… ad nauseum. There were Chinese herbal apothecaries, tea shoppes, milk stands, fromageries, candy counters, arts and crafts boutiques, florists, and cafes. We wandered through the maze and at each turn were greeted with a new opportunity for consumption. Musicians loitered in the halls and sang with such ardor I was sucked into their realm.
After exiting the market we were confronted by the Net Lofts—a quaint collection of cute and kitschy shops that is still crowded with people but a bit less overwhelming than our previous stop. I can tell in an instant whether or not a place will be promising so we were able to mosey through in a short amount of time. I still managed, however, to spend $80 at a darling Japanese paper shop, proving that I am able to spend money far more quickly than I can ever hope to make it.
We decided to lunch on Granville Island and began poking around for a restaurant that was neither touristy looking (food court) nor tacky (the Keg). We stumbled upon Cats Social House. During Granville Island’s industrial age, the Social House building was actually a shake and shingle mill which is likely why it embodied a factory-type feel (industrial chic, if you will). The food was delicious too! Brett enjoyed a chicken avocado Caesar with parmesan crisps and I, a bowl of blackened chicken wonton soup. We dined al fresco and enjoyed indigenous Granville Island beer and a Rose from BC.
The next stop, Railspur Alley, was chock full of galleries, and also where we found Osake, an artisan sake maker storefront featuring small-batch production of five different sakes- all high quality and all delicious. Despite my affinity toward Japan and Japanese culture, I have never been a fan of sake. Imagine my surprise when I actually enjoyed each sake we tasted! The goal of this store’s owner is to bring this beverage to the masses and teach them to enjoy it with every meal—A goal which I feel he has successful achieved. I procured a bottle of the Junmai (first batch) sake to take home.
With our bellies full and our livers put to work, we headed back to the mainland via the trusty Aquabus. We returned to the Opus around 4pm and decided to walk toward the downtown shopping area on Robson Street. Our jaunt was an hour long and the only place I really wanted to stop was Lush (the intoxicating fragrance that emanates forth from the store front just draws me in.) I purchased a special edition shower gel exclusive to the Vancouver location (a heady formulation of ylang ylang and vanilla that was made for the managers meeting held there days before…), some of their Too Drunk tabs which are aromatherapeutic tabs to use in the shower the morning after a night of indulgence, and Candy Fluff body powder that shimmers and makes the user smell absolutely edible.
Other than that, shopping on Robson Street is like shopping in any big city. I was taken aback by a store called One Tooth, though. I noticed this place immediately because their emblem was very similar to Lululemon’s (my favorite to wear in the Bikram studio). What really gave them away was their slogan: “Athletic ware at a price that’s fair.” Yes, Lululemon clothing is a bit pricier than one would hope but to blatantly rip off styles and publicly bash the competition…I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not what One Tooth is doing is legitimate.
After returning from our leisurely stroll down Robson, we curled up in the mound of colourful pillows on the window banquette at Opus Bar. This bar is renowned for being the hip Yaletown night spot: a place for trendsetters and celebrities alike to see and be seen. Despite the emptiness, the hipster vibe was still prevalent. Metal beading hung in curtainesque panels from the ceiling and the furniture was a bizarre mix of magenta coloured Napolean era chairs, lime green ottomans, and bar height tables with glowing table tops. Brett and I were there uncomfortably early during a time when the senior citizens were finishing their brandies and the staff was busy preparing for the debauchery to come. We watched a pubescent Canuck finagle with a tablecloth for a good 15 minutes before setting off to find a different (more suitable?) one. After his snail-paced endeavors were through, our server, dressed in a faux Herve Leger dress that barely covered her business, stepped up to bat. We watched and snickered as she painstakingly placed a jar of limes and glasses atop the table.
I, adopting the “when in Rome” school of thought, ordered a specialty cocktail off the menu which, though overpriced, was quite good. Their feature drinks are five different cocktails which certain personas would order. I ordered the Thai Breeze, which was the favorite of “Susan,” a fashion executive from Toronto who enjoys yoga, fashion, and classical music. This libation included Skyy vodka, hibiscus flower syrup, and lime- a bit sweet and mostly tart (right up my alley!) Brett partook of the usual Tanqueray up with a twist (no vermouth). For hors d’oeuvres I ordered us some Pecorino fries (with Truffle oil) and a dish called “Sweet. Salty. Spicy.” I was expecting something quite fancy, but instead the dish simply consisted of spicy pecans, regular pimento stuffed olives, and caramel corn. I suppose I can’t complain too much though because I did mow it all down. We had one more drink – Brett partaking of a G&T, and I had a sparkling Negroni. Finally, apparent that we would not be seeing anyone and that no one would be seeing us either, we received our bill and ascended to our blue cube.
After a brief disco nap, I changed into a cute frock and my Marni heels (but not before I gussied up my countenance a bit!) in preparation for our dinner out on the town. Having already logged a good five miles on foot, we took a short cab ride to Jean-Georges’ restaurant “Market” at the base of Hotel Shangri-La, Canada’s tallest condominium/hotel tower.
Upon stepping out of the cab, I knew we were in for a treat. In order to enter the restaurant, one must climb up an extraordinarily steep al fresco flight of stairs. The stairwell in and of itself is a masterpiece, at once modern and classic, illuminated with candles all the way to the top. To the left is the heated outdoor terrace, and to the right is the restaurant and bar. With trepidation I requested a table for two, concerned that we may be told to scram since I was unsuccessful in my call-ahead attempt to make reservations. The hostess congenially let us know the wait would be approximately five minutes and would this be acceptable? Naturally, neither Brett nor I minded at all.
We sat waiting in the rotunda and watched greasy men and bedraggled women traipsing in and out. One group of young Canucks shook hands with the manager conspiratorially whereupon he guided them to a private room. Another group of ladies looked as though they were already fairly sauced. They must have been attending a special event themselves because all of them were decked out in horrifically tacky Madonna circa 1987 gear. I know Canada is a little behind in fashion, but I had a hard time believing that their appearances could have been in earnest….Despite no one being that noteworthy (though Brett is convinced he saw Justin Therou, the gentleman who wrote Tropic Thunder), everyone had a thick air of self-importance and elitism. So thick were these airs that I began to choke. I was humbled by the superficiality and apparent wealth.
After a few minutes, as promised, we were ushered to our table in the heated outdoor terrace. The evening breeze was cool, but we sought solace under the warm lamps above. Our seating location was prime, in an angular dark wood cabana that was open on both sides, but sheltered with thick cream-coloured grommeted curtains.
My only gripe was that the bread lady was shirking her responsibilities of keeping every one in the dough at all times. I quipped that she needed a lesson in roll patrol and actually embarrassed myself while Brett was in the bathroom. I audibly called her out and asked “May we PLEASE have rolls? You’ve missed us three times.” She giggled in fractured English and said “Oh I miss you.” Lest I forgot that I am, in fact, no one special, Miss Pillsbury helped to remind me of this fact.
With our wine and cocktails in hand, our server graciously took our order. We began with a divine tuna tartare mixed with avocado and a deliciously tangy ginger dressing. It featured spicy radishes resting atop the creation like little flowers. For our entrees I enjoyed an impeccable sablefish that was crusted with nuts and seeds and swam in an irresistible sweet and sour broth. Brett partook of the seared beef sirloin from B.C, which was accompanied by ginger mushrooms, a soy-caramel sauce, and bathed in a strange sea of foam.
As a side note, the bathrooms at Market were just as phenomenal as the restaurant. Each room was private and indicated by way of a subtle sign right outside the door whether the room was reserved for men or women. Once occupied, the sign began to glow. The interior of the bathroom was all posh mirrors and tile, with the too cool lighting fixtures dimly lit for effect. I could have curled up happily in one of those rooms, being approximately the same size as our home in Ballard.
Filled to the brim with deluxe thoroughfare, there was sadly not an inch of room to spare for dessert. I took a picture of the dessert menu for posterity, and in naive hope of recreating the cookies on my own one day.
We slinked down the stairs, content and enriched, and hailed a cab back to the Opus. By the time we arrived, the party at the previously vacant Opus Bar was in full swing. A DJ took up a large corner, and scantily clad girls hung drunkenly over their seats, waiting for an opportunity to pounce any marginally attractive male.
I paused and considered inserting myself into those environs, and then continued on toward the elevator, turning in to our blue haven for the rest of the night.
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