Two Days in a Swell Place

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  With a regional population of 2.3 million, supplemented annually by millions of tourists from all parts of the globe, Vancouver, BC is consistently rated as one of the most (if not the most) livable cities in the world. Although it is a mere 90-minute ferry ride from Victoria….essentially in my back yard…I rarely go there except to visit my children. Go figure.
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  Thanks to my friend Morlene, Vancouver made my “must-go-there list” for July. Morlene and I became friends when we were both lucky enough to be living the good life in Vancouver’s West End where cross streets run water-to-water between the Vancouver Harbour waterfront and English Bay. Lazily watching the sun sink below the horizon of the Pacific Ocean from the beach is a West End summer evening ritual. Although we’ve both moved back to Victoria, Morlene maintains a little hide-away in Vancouver, with a million dollar view, and she invited me to spend a few days there before once again heading south to the US.
  
  Like two fancy tourist ladies heading for a grand adventure, we joined the rush of lookie-loos dashing to the side of the BC ferry at the mere mention of “pod of whales off the starboard”. It must be a tough life being a whale; constantly chased by tourist-filled rubber zodiacs and subjected to the loud, deafening drone of ferry whistles.
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  We headed straight for the West End and did our standard walk; west on Denman to the beach then east on Denman with a pit stop at The Cupcake Store where, per usual, it was too hard to pick just one so we bought four. With cupcakes and a take-out pizza to share with my son, Jamison, we headed back to Morlene’s hide-away and, in one of our best West End traditions, popped the cork on an accompanying bottle of champagne.

• Vancouver’s Granville Island was once a grungy industrial district. Today it is a super-trendy major attraction for tourists and locals alike. Within walking distance from the hide-away, we meandered through the maze of the fruit/veggie/flower/food market, restaurants, specialty shops and art galleries. Even though the artists charge outrageous prices for their artwork and offer to ship their wares anywhere in the world, there didn’t appear to be many takers and I wondered how the heck they make the rent.
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  Next up was dinner with my daughter Jodi at Felicia’s, a tiny Italian restaurant in the East End. Loaded with “atmosphere” - red-checkered tablecloths draped over small tables, a mishmash of artwork and famous-clientele photographs crowded onto brightly painted walls, the dynamic Italiano owner/cook/waitress/ dishwasher is actually named Lucy. Always wearing her floppy white chef’s hat, Lucy can talk you into whatever pasta she made fresh that day, and if necessary, she will chase you down the street with forgotten leftovers, which she assures you with great certainty, you are going to have for your next day’s lunch. Jodi and I mentioned that we were once Felicia’s regulars, Lucy claimed she remembered us and wants us to come back more often.
  
  Visiting Vancouver just-because-I-can and frequenting Felicia’s are on my list of must-do-more-often list.