(From Food & Wine, October, 1997; recipe by Jacques Pepin)
This is excellent with a dessert wine. I'm posting it here because my husband posted a photo of it and friends requested the recipe, and this is the easiest way to share it.
6 servings
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
1 c. all-purpose flour
1 c. whole almonds (5.5 oz.)
2/3 c. plus 3 Tbsp. sugar
2 eggs
2 Tbsp. canola oil
1 tsp, baking powder
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1/3 c. milk
6-8 ripe plums, preferably Black Friar or Santa Rosa
½ c. plum jam
1 Tbsp. plum brandy or cognac
Optional: whipped cream or vanilla ice cream
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Coat the inside of a 10-in. spring-form pan with ¼ tsp. of the butter; reserve the rest.
2. In a food processor, combine the flour, almonds and 2/3 c. of the sugar and process until a coarse powder forms. Add the eggs, oil, baking powder, vanilla and remaining butter; process just until incorporated. Add the milk and process just until the batter is smooth. Pour the batter into the prepared pan; it should be about 3/4 –in deep in the pan.
3. Using the tip of a sharp knife, remove the pit from the stem end of each plum. Rinse the whole pitted plums well in cold water and, while they are still wet, roll them in the remaining 3 Tbsp. sugar. Push the plums down into the cake batter until half immersed, making sure to space them evenly.
4. Set the pan on a cookie sheet. Bake in the centre of the oven for 40 minutes, or until the cake is puffed and browned. Let cool on a rack until lukewarm.
5. Mix the plum jam and brandy and brush the glaze over the lukewarm cake. Remove from the pan and cut the cake into wedges; each serving should contain a plum. Serve lukewarm or at room temperature.
Wine note: Juicy, ripe plums need an equally fruity, plummy sweet wine. Muscat has just the right amount of sweetness and aromatic flavour, according to Food & Wine.
IT was Shark Week on the Discovery Channel recently. Programming vacillated madly between trying to placate shark-paranoid viewers (selachophobics) and attempting to stir them once again into the hysterical froth that has abated only slightly since the film Jaws came out in 1975.
The two shows I watched attempted to excite us and calm us down in the space of one episode. In Bull Shark: World’s Deadliest Shark, English wildlife presenter Nigel Marven helpfully revealed that we needn’t just be petrified of swimming in tropical oceans, because the confluence of the freshwater Mississippi river and the Gulf of Mexico is also teeming with vicious bull sharks.
They are cute at the outset, suggested the vegetarian host of the show. He patted a young shark in a soothing way before warning us in a dire tone that in a few short years they’ll be giant torpedoes who’ll mow down our dogpaddling toddlers.
But apparently, the bull sharks’ aggressive behaviour is just the result of a misunderstanding and shouldn’t be held against them. Marven demonstrated that the glint of a ring on a finger at the surface of the water could easily be mistaken for a delicious fish. Bull sharks get hungry, just like the rest of us.
Then, as home viewers en route to tropical or Mississippi river vacations began coating their ring fingers with lard and wrenching at their wedding bands, Marven revealed that frenzied kicking, such as swimmers do to keep from being eaten, was, for a shark, like a casual invitation for sangria and tapas. Sharks can sense vibrations from a great distance and are attracted to them, he noted.
In a month or so, my family is going to Maui. So my 11-year-old son has been studying his favourite subject, sharks, more diligently than ever. He is now given to such remarks as, “You have a better chance of being killed by a vending machine than you do of being killed by a shark,” which certainly makes me glare suspiciously at vending machines. The difference between a vending machine and a shark, of course, is that vending machines don’t swim underneath you in tropical oceans, smacking their lips while sizing up your clumsily pedaling drumsticks.
Then again, neither do sharks, according to half the experts on display during Shark Week (the other half said they did). A documentary called Sharks on Trial made excuses for the diet of Great Whites, who seem to honk back Australian surfers for roughage. Seen from below, backlit by the sun, a surfer on a surfboard is supposedly a dead ringer for a seal. Since sharks pop delectably oily seals like the rest of us plough through cherries in July, how can they resist, the announcer implied.
This gave me no comfort whatsoever. I look like a seal at the best of times and do not even need to accessorize with a surfboard. While I contemplated my imminent demise, Sharks on Trial insinuated that sharks were not benign creatures who blundered along like Mr. Magoo, accidentally ingesting vacationers mid-chuckle, but remorseless killers like Tony Soprano. They also have fantastic eyesight, the anonymous narrator noted, which certainly cast that “Sorry, thought you were a seal” defence into question.
He went on to talk about “rogue sharks” who cut a swath through Australia’s best beaches, presumably while their more conventional relatives dutifully stayed away and said “Tsk, tsk.” He then quoted an expert who said there was no such thing as rogue sharks. In summing up, the narrator broadly hinted that, actually, rogue sharks were all around us and if we had any thoughts of going surfing, scuba diving, snorkeling, swimming, or kayaking anywhere at all, we were nuts. At that point, I was prone to agree.
Television is the perfect medium for fomenting shark anxiety because the truth is, sharks are terribly unphotogenic. Up close they may cut a dashing figure (although few humans live to tell that tale) but those dead eyes, that underslung jaw, and those hopeless, nasty, pointy teeth remind the TV viewer of nothing so much as a hungover Shane McGowan of the Pogues.
If sharks were more attractive, with an eyelid or two to make a friendly wink possible, it would go a long way toward improving their global reputation. The fin is also a liability, implying that there’s something sinister going on under the surface. I’m not sure what to do there, though. The fin is the shark’s “brand.” You can’t mess with that.
Of course, many do. Sharks are hunted by humans precisely because hunters get a great price for those fins; they’re the key ingredient in shark’s fin soup. According to Sharks on Trial, hundreds of thousands of sharks are killed every year to make this delicacy possible, which makes man by far the worse predator.
I figure some sharks are aware of this and believe in Old Testament-style justice -- an eye for an eye, a spine for a fin. My proposal, and I admit to just a tad of self-interest, is that shark slaughtering and baiting stop, at least until I return from Maui. After that, the conservationists and the hunters can duke it out while I stay well away from balmy seas.
It's looking like a surprisingly busy summer. This July, Kate is:
proofreading the newsletter of a major American oil company through a U.S. communications firm
rewriting the brochure of an adventure tour company
helping to judge a writing contest
writing about Vancouver's EAT Food + Cooking Festival, a blog about blogs, and copy editing for City Palate magazine's Sept./Oct. issue; also writing stories about trips to San Antonio and Azerbaijan for upcoming issues
writing articles for Doctors of B.C.
writing for the Vancouver Aquarium
going to Osoyoos to meet and write about a local winemaker and organic farmer
accompanying husband Rockin' Ronnie Shewchuk on a few barbecue-related jaunts to Whistler
cooking recipes by Yotam Ottolenghi whenever possible because they are DELICIOUS
My friend Laurie called with an offer of a free concert ticket yesterday. It wasn’t for the Australian psychedelic recording project Tame Impala, which my son and his friends were going to see in Stanley Park last night. It wasn’t for Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga, stars of their own universes, strangely aligned to croon jazz standards at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre. No, it was to see Barry Manilow, on his optimistically named One Last Time tour.
I quickly made sure she knew she didn’t have me pegged.
“Laurie, I’m afraid I’m not a fanilow,” I would have said, if I’d only remembered that that’s what Manilow’s fans are called. But my hesitancy implied the same thing. “Uh….”
“Keep an open mind,” said she, so off we went. This, despite the fact that CBC Vancouver’s drive-home radio host had sarcastically warned his listeners, “We’ve all heard about those Manilow fans. You be careful out there.”
As we approached Rogers Arena, the crowd seemed unusually understated. The sole scalper looked downright embarrassed. “Want any tickets?” the grizzled fellow muttered, eyes trained on the ground and hat pulled low in case any of his cool scalper friends saw him. We followed the wobbling middle-aged asses, our own keeping perfect time with them, filing along the sidewalk and into the arena.
“Wait, Laurie -- my underpants have holes in them. If we’re going to be throwing stuff onto that stage, I’d better see if there are any ‘Fanilow’ g-strings at the kiosk,” I said. Then I remembered I’d spent all my money on a plastic cup of wine and we scuttled off to our seats in the nosebleed section.
Hugely enthused sax-player Dave Koz and his band were warming up the crowd with over-caffeinated glee – tight as hell and apparently wild about Barry. After playing their own brassy tributes to the ’70s – tunes like “That’s the Way (Uh-huh, Uh-huh) I Like it” -- they urged us to give the star a proper welcome.
Finally, with huge fanfare, and an enormous backup band including one male and two female dancers, Manilow strode onto the stage. The maestro of the middle-of-the-road was surprisingly tall, in a wine-coloured dinner jacket and the same kind of giant, hay-coloured wig Jane Fonda tosses around irritably in the Netflix series Grace & Frankie.
All my life, I’ve dismissed Manilow as a crass, Vegas-y, utterly commercial musician, his gremlin face now ludicrously pinched as tight as the skin on a banjo. According to Wikipedia, however, in 1978, the Brooklyn-born Barry Alan Pincus had five albums on the best-seller list at the same time, putting his success in the ranks of The Beatles, Frank Sinatra and Michael Jackson. Manilow has sold more than 80 million records; he’s one of the bestselling recording artists of all time, and Radio & Records once named him the No. 1 adult contemporary artist. Even my kids and their friends, born in the 1990s, know who Barry Manilow is, though when we offered to trade our tickets with theirs for Tame Impala, we had no takers.
The crowd waving its glow-sticks at Manilow was not so blasé. He is also the inventor and singer of the jingle “I am stuck on Band-Aid brand, cuz Band-Aid’s stuck on me,” but saw fit not to sing that tune beside such hits as Mandy, Can’t Smile Without You, Even Now, Tryin’ to Get the Feeling and Looks Like We Made It. He did, however, do a duet with himself shown as a skinny young man playing piano and singing on Clive Davis’ TV show, and another duet – Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart -- with a video of Judy Garland. His latest album features him doing such virtual duets with an assortment of long-gone stars, including Louis Armstrong, Marilyn Monroe and Mama Cass.
Now 71, Manilow performed for a solid 90 minutes, successfully joking with the audience, calling one woman up on stage for a stilted dance, and leaving with the kind of massive, polished finale where streamers shooting from the ceiling didn’t seem a bit like overkill.
I admit it: I went to see Barry Manilow. And guess what? Je ne regrette rien.
It's been a busy few months. You can find Kate's work in:
the Spring, 2015 issue of Montecristo, writing about Baku, Azerbaijan opening up to the world
the March/April issue of City Palate magazine, writing about Saskatoon Eats and, in her Palate column, What's Cooking Online
the Globe and Mail's March Break activities infographic
the May/June issue of City Palate magazine, writing about technology in restaurants, a recently released study of trends in wine consumption, and, in her Palate column, about wine blogs
the Summer, 2015 issue of Flavours magazine, writing about skewers
and on the website of Capilano University.
This week, Kate's writing more stories for Cap University, an article for the Vancouver Aquarium, copy editing City Palate stories as its contributing editor, and editing an English Literature paper for a York University student.
If you’re a Calgarian desperately seeking Vancouverdom, be careful what you wish for
By Kate Zimmerman
(Swerve magazine, February, 2012)
February in Calgary. It’s so cold that your eyelids creak when you blink outdoors. You’ve discovered that the freezer-burnt smell that’s been following you around is your feet. And then you see a newspaper photograph of a trim, rosy-cheeked Vancouverite—it might even be the city’s hunky mayor, Gregor Robertson—cycling past a field of crocuses in his shorts.
Who cursed you to live here? Why haven’t you joined the hordes who’ve made the move from all over the world to temperate Vancouver, where great skiing is 15 minutes’ drive from downtown’s cherry blossoms, ivy runs so rampant it’s considered pesky, and locals refer to a GoreTex anorak as “my winter wardrobe”? Hold on a sec, though. If you’re not one of the 20,000-plus Albertans who relocate to the province of B.C. every year, maybe you’re savvier than you thought. You might have suspected something folks out on the Wet Coast just officially discovered—that it’s lonely out there.
Yes, in a regional district of more than two million, loneliness is Vancouverites’ big complaint. As part of a 2011 research project, the Vancouver Foundation, which manages community endowment funds, interviewed 104 community leaders from an array of backgrounds, ages, ethnic groups and incomes about their most important concerns. Number one was “isolation, its consequences and the craving for connection.”
In response to an open-ended question about what bothered them most, many said that “they feel isolated within their own community,” said the Foundation’s Summer 2011 report. They felt disconnected from the various cultural and ethnic groups that populate metro Vancouver, didn’t know their neighbours, worried about the general lack of civic engagement, and described the city as “fragmented, disjointed, split along economic, ethnic, social, even geographic lines.”
I admit to a certain degree of smugness at seeing the Globe and Mail report on these findings in a story it called “Alone, so alone, in Vancouver.” I’ve been complaining about loneliness in my adopted city for years, often to skeptical Calgarians who spend their holidays merrily tromping through our rainforest. My husband has had two career moves that brought us to Vancouver from Calgary, the last time in 2001. This lovely city offers many pleasures; still, as we enter our 12th year here, we constantly dream of Calgary, where, when we visit, our generous, exuberant friends are as eager to seize any chance to see us as they were back when we lived there.
In those days, we got together all the time, no matter what the weather. At home in rainy North Vancouver, weekends come and go with nary a phone call. If we want to play host, we have to book people weeks in advance. As carpe diem types, that’s never been how we roll, so most of the time we roll alone.
On the Lower Mainland, the mere act of getting together is a hassle – something that never occurred to us in Cowtown. Vancouver city planners seem to have chosen beauty over connectedness years ago. Unlike Calgary, where freeways such as Deerfoot Trail allow drivers to get from here to there relatively quickly when it’s not rush hour, Greater Vancouver resisted this unsightly, if practical, approach to getting around. That tends to put the kibosh on spur-of-the-moment get-togethers. If, like us, you live in North Vancouver and want to meet at a beach on a sunny evening with friends who live across the Burrard Inlet in Dunbar, it will take one of you a good 45 minutes of stop-and-go traffic to make the get-together happen. And the tempting antidote of convivial drinks will have to be severely restricted in order to safely drive home. When I visited a sick friend in White Rock at Christmas, it took me an hour to get there and, because of traffic, two to get back. No wonder we see each other infrequently, and, since it’s no fun to drive at night in thepouring rain, it’s usually over lunch.Our kids, 21 and 17, have grown up here and have made lots of chums at school, work and the skateboard park. It’s we adults who are doing the whining. As it turns out, we’re not alone—at least, not in our unwelcome sense of solitude.
Of course, many experts have addressed the topic of the growing distance between people in general as, increasingly, we work solo from home and go to our gadgets for entertainment. Vancouverites use social media more than anybody else in the country—I suspect in lieu of face-to-face fun. A whopping 40 percent of the city’s social media users polled by Angus Reid in 2010 claimed they couldn’t imagine their lives without it.
It wasn’t hard to find ex-Calgarians with personal experiences that back up these research findings.
Raj Taneja is both popular and totally wired. Nevertheless, says the personable IT consultant, world traveller and Vancity resident of 16 years, “Vancouver has always been a lonely place for me.” Apparently it’s not enough to be warm and attractive if you want to have a social life there—you must have a concrete strategy. Taneja, who was born and raised in Calgary, found it so hard to get to know people that he took matters into his own hands, helping to run two successful social clubs.
Eryne Ordel joined one of them. A Vancouver native, she spent several years working, going to school and happily socializing in Calgary. “I meet people all the time who say Vancouver is a really hard place to meet people,” says the 28-year-old fashion, public relations and marketing manager. Ordel says she makes friends instantly everywhere she travels. Vancouver is a different story.
Having an outgoing personality has also proved insufficient for former Calgarian Rina Chong, a 34-year-old sales and marketing director. Chong has no problem breaking the ice in Terminal City—it’s progressing beyond social pleasantries to genuine friendship that’s the challenge. Invitations to dinner parties, for instance, are rare, except from her fellow Calgary transplants.
Being gainfully employed is no guarantee of office homies, either. Before Ordel got her current job, she worked at a company with 1,000 other people. Of those, she says, only one became a friend. Vancouver’s office workers “get in, get out,” Ordel explains. They don’t “do” lingering; they’ve got the gym or their lengthy commute on their minds.
Non-native Vancouverites often comment on the cliquish or “silo” mentality exhibited by locals who’ve constructed an impenetrable wall around the friends they made in their youth. Once they “have their 30,” Taneja says—meaning their 30 key friends—many of them seem to slam the door and set the alarm. It’s not just social awkwardness that steers their behaviour, in Taneja’s opinion; sometimes it smells like old-fashioned fear of strangers.
Vancouverites don’t just define their friendships on the basis of how long they’ve known you, but also on whether you share the same neighbourhood. In this sprawling city, the desire to connect only with people from your own neck of the woods plays out in the dating scene. Chong learned early on that most of her fellow singles wouldn’t pursue any potential romance that would demand they cross a bridge. She doesn’t get that—she’s constantly buzzing around town in her vehicle. But many urban Vancouverites don’t have cars. They can’t be bothered to take public transit or spend money on cabs in the mere hope of getting laid.
Chong lives near English Bay in the city’s West End. She loves Vancouver’s blend of sophistication and outdoorsy-ness, but finds its citizens’ lack of sociability puzzling. “I’ve heard that people don’t want to get that close to you because they invest time in you and then you leave anyway, because it’s such a transient city.”
It’s true that Vancouver tends to function as a way station, a place for goal-oriented people to pause for R & R between better career opportunities. In 2011, for instance, there were 94,000 foreign students attending post-secondary institutions in B.C. It’s unlikely they’ll settle down for good in the province’s biggest city.
“Vancouver is a really terrible place to do business,” says Taneja, who’s considering a move to bustling Bangkok. “The head offices left when the NDP came into power [in 1991]. A lot of them went to Calgary, a lot of them went to Toronto. So those high-paying jobs, where there’s room for advancement, where there’s a place for an ambitious guy to go, just don’t exist.”
As a result, men with ambition that extends beyond a perfect round of hacky sack at Spanish Banks tend not to stay in Vancouver. Meanwhile, the Beta males who remain on the Coast aren’t doing much to cure female loneliness. In a January 2012 Vancouver magazine article by Katherine Ashenburg entitled “Do Vancouver Men Suck?” a disgruntled single female asked rhetorically, “What are the main activities here? Dope smoking and yoga. Neither generates much mojo.”
If Vancouver men “suck” from a woman’s perspective, the women don’t get high marks either from their male, er, opponents. One online respondent to Ashenburg’s story, a single Mexican fellow named Jorge, described trying to strike up a friendly conversation with members of the opposite sex on buses or at the beach. No matter how innocent his opening remark, he writes, the woman’s eyes would flick desperately away and her hands would clench. Anywhere else in the world, Jorge continued, he might get rebuffed, but he could at least speak to a female stranger without setting off every alarm bell in her psyche.
It’s tempting to blame the city’s Scottish roots for the lonely mess it’s in. The Scots had such an influence on Vancouver’s history that there’s a statue of poet Robert Burns in Stanley Park. Last summer, a Winnipeg friend of Scottish descent told me that the Scottish approach to life can be summed up by this remark, best delivered in a thick brogue: “There’s a stranger. Let’s throw a brick at him!”
This mistrust of others readily aligns with Vancouverites’ predominant values, which Ashenburg sums up as “the importance of image, self-actualization, enlightenment and personal fulfillment.”
What about achievement? Examining the bigger picture? Connecting with your fellow man? Meh.
Urban planner and researcher Andy Yan, who works in the office of renowned architect Bing Thom, has a more sympathetic view. He believes Vancouver is a young city that’s still trying to find its feet as it transforms from a sleepy working-class burgh to a global metropolis. Yan, 36, points out that his hometown was only formed in 1929, with the merger of the cities of Vancouver, South Vancouver and Point Grey.
Thus, “Vancouver has yet to write its story,” Yan says, adding that every great city needs one. New York’s metropolitan identity centres on the American dream of rising from nothing to create your own success, he says; L.A. has its Hollywood mythology. In my opinion, Calgary’s persona is a celebration of persistence, resourcefulness and a cheerful determination exemplified by the phrase, “Let’s get ’er done!”
“What is the narrative of Vancouver that can connect everyone together?” Yan asks, noting that the city’s densely packed condominium buildings hardly invite camaraderie. “We’ve attempted to backfill this (void) with consumerism, with stuff, whether it’s skis or bikes or snowboards or the latest designer threads from all over the world.
“I don’t find my meaning in my stuff—I find meaning in my friends,” he adds. “I find meaning in my community.”
But how do you create a cohesive sense of community in a city where two out of three people come from outside the province, Yan asks, citing figures from Statistics Canada, and where 40 percent of residents emigrated from another country entirely. Next to Toronto, Vancouver has more foreign-born residents as a percentage of its total population than any other major North American city. And it’s not like these newcomers have any shared history on which to capitalize when they arrive from such disparate regions as the Middle East, China, India, South Korea, Taiwan and the Philippines.
“We are truly a city of immigrants, all trying to find our respective places,” says Yan, who lives in an enviable-sounding East Vancouver enclave where his Italian neighbour shares his homemade prosciutto and people shovel each other’s sidewalks on the rare snowy day in Shangri La. Yan wonders about the identity some Vancouverites favour, an emerging demographic called “Lifestyles of Health and Sustainability” (LOHAS), which focuses on health, fitness, the environment, personal development, sustainable living and social justice. He fears it may define Vancouver’s emerging story line—that of “the Lululemon economy.”
Maybe that stretchy, synthetic raison d’etre accounts for Vancouver’s ungraspable ethos. This is a place where any Peter Pan can thump his bongos on a beach for hours without anybody observing that it’s a Tuesday morning and he ought to have more productive things to do.
Indeed, for many, life in Vancouver has nothing to do with work, and everything to do with following their “bliss.” If, as a newcomer, your hobby happens to mesh well with others’, you might have a built-in community. If you’re an avid mountain-biker, a “burner” (Burning Man enthusiast), a perpetual joiner of groups, or gay, you’ll likely fit into a pre-existing clique that welcomes ardent newbies.
“It’s sort-of a hobbyist’s city,” says Calgarian Zak Pashak, who founded Cowtown’s Sled Island festival, still co-owns its Broken City Social Club and owns Vancouver’s cabaret The Biltmore. Pashak moved from Terminal City to Detroit in 2011 to start a commuter bicycle business. He has his own tongue-in-cheek definition for Lotus Land: “Vancouver —where 25-year-olds from Calgary go to retire.”
He loved the pick-up games of kickball, soccer and street hockey he got to play year-round when he lived on the Coast. “That’s why I didn’t decide to settle down there,” Pashak explains. “It felt like retirement a little bit. After a while, I thought ‘I’m going to end up being an old man who’s hung out for a long time.’”
Pashak thinks the 2010 Olympics warmed locals up, and the constant influx of energetic Calgarians is making the city a friendlier place, at least for the young. Maybe. I’m still looking to make a real connection with native Vancouverites who have Calgary-style joie de vivre and appreciate good company. A couple of anecdotes say it all.
Last year one of our best Calgary friends, Brian, learned that his family’s housekeeper’s son had been injured in an accident in Vancouver. The housekeeper wanted to visit him. She would need a vehicle when she got to the Coast, but was too distracted to drive there. Without thinking twice, Brian left his own family, hopped in his car and drove her the 12 hours to Vancouver. He slept at our place and flew home. That, to me, is Calgary style.
Meanwhile, a few years ago, my father was gravely ill in Vancouver while my mother had terminal cancer. We’d been buddies with a couple of Vancouverites for about seven years; the man referred to us as their “best friends” and they had few others. They’d enjoyed many Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving dinners with our extended family, but during this sad and stressful period, they were completely M.I.A. There were no calls to see how we were doing, or invitations for tea or a walk. After my father died, with my mother on the wane, I had brain surgery for what turned out to be a benign tumour. When our “best friends” got wind of this through the grapevine, the man called to express his concern, and asked how long we’d known about the tumour. “For about six months,” said my husband pointedly. That was the end of the conversation, and the end of the friendship. They mailed me a card. We haven’t heard from them since.
Say what you will about generalizations. My thesis is this: For the most part, Calgarians know the difference between what’s important—the people in your life—and what isn’t. Many Vancouverites haven’t yet worked that out. Yes, in a good year, we have daffodils inching up in February, and you don’t. Here’s what I say to that: Big effing deal.
November/December 2014 was a pleasantly busy period. I worked behind the scenes for the Vancouver Aquarium, always a treat, as well as for Simon Fraser University and several corporate entities in Alberta and Quebec. I also went on assignment to Baku, Azerbaijan, one of 39 journalists who travelled there from all over the world. Fascinating place!
My most recent articles may be found in:
the Cheap Eats issue of Calgary's City Palate magazine in Jan./Feb. 2015, which features my new column about food, wine and travel blogs. City Palate is published every second month; I'm also its longtime contributing editor
(With apologies to Dylan Thomas, whose A Child's Christmas in Wales is a masterpiece and, in homes like the one I grew up in, a beloved holiday classic.)
One Xmas was so like another in those pre-Wii years around the sea-town corner that I can never remember whether it rained for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it rained for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six. Experience with West Vancouver tells me it was both.
All Christmases tumble down into the sluice of memory. It was on the afternoon of Xmas Eve, and I was sprawled on Mrs. Rothenberger’s leather ottoman, waiting for aliens, with her son Jordan. It was raining. It was always raining at Christmas. December, in my memory, is grey as England, although there were no gryphons. But there were aliens. Patient, cold and callous, our blistered fingers bandaged, we waited to kill the extraterrestrials. Dead-eyed and non-English-speaking, armed with a never-ending assortment of grenades and guns but no motivation that we could understand, they lurked behind walls in our Halo game until Jordan and I, hopped-up on eggnog lattes, hurled our own bombs at them on the gloomy dust-free screen of his giant TV.
We were so silent and intent, like blind people speedreading Braille as we manipulated the plastic buttons that snuffed out our oppressors, that we never heard Mrs. Rothenberger’s first cry from her yoga studio at the top of the garden. But soon the voice grew louder. “Fire!” cried Mrs. Rothenberger, and she beat her Buddhist gong.
And we ran up the wet grass, with our Halo controllers in our hands, toward the yoga studio; and smoke, indeed, was pouring out the building, and three sweaty people in workout gear were repeating profane mantras, and Mrs. Rothenberger was predicting that she would be horrendously taut by New Year’s Eve if the studio were not saved. This was better than all the aliens in Halo standing on the wall in a row. We dashed toward her, and stopped at the open door of the smoke-filled room.
It smelled intensely of cinnamon incense. Or perhaps the culprit was Mr. Rothenberger, a red-headed movie producer who led the chanting on special occasions, which caused his face to become more and more flushed until it seemed it would erupt into flame from the effort. Perhaps this time it had. He was standing on his head in the middle of the room in a dhoti, saying, “A fine Ex-mas!’ and smacking at the smoke with a yoga mat.
“Call the fire department,” cried Mrs. Rothenberger as she beat the gong.
“They won’t be there,” said Mr. Rothenberger. “It’s Ex-mas.”
“Don’t be so cynical, Jon,” she said. “Has yoga taught you nothing?”
“Do something,” he told us, as we were standing there pointing our Halo controllers at the fire but somehow not putting it out.
“Let’s call the police, as well,” Jordan said. “And the ambulance. And Mayor Goldsmith-Jones. She likes fires.”
But we only called the fire department, and soon the fire engine came and two tall men and a muscular woman brought a hose into the studio and Mr. Rothenberger, who was making himself and Mrs. Rothenberger triple espressos, got out just in time before they turned it on. And when the firefighters had put out the spicy blaze, which had smouldered in a silk pillow on the floor before it lit a pile of hemp thongs, Jordan’s aunt, Miss Rothenberger, came in out of the damp garden and stared at the brawny crew. Jordan and I waited, very quietly, to hear what she would say. She said the right thing, always. She looked at the three firefighters in their gleaming helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving hemp, and said, “Do you have a recipe for tofurkey?”
Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were cottages in West Van, and only white people, except for the Indians who were there first, it rained and rained.
But here a small boy says: “It rained last year, too. I drank the rain and my brother drank the rain and I knocked my brother down and then we went to Delaney’s and had two hot chocolates in a row.”
“But that was not the same rain,” I said. “Ours blew in from the typhoons of Asia and the hurricanes of Louisiana and the monsoons of India, it wrenched trees and houses up into the thunderclouds pressed against the North Shore mountains and set them down in Haida Gwaii the day before the previous Tuesday.”
“Were there postmen then, too?”
“With sodden hoods and streaming cheeks the postmen came, and postwomen, and delivered packages of water and then dissolved into mist before we could even offer a ‘Merry Christmas.’”
“And were there presents?”
“There were the useful presents -- new Hummers and motorized snowboards and trips to Bora Bora.”
“Go on to the useless presents.”
“Clothing with no logos; knock-off purses; biographies of wastrels from Paris Hilton to Lindsay Lohan. And a packet of cigarettes: you put one in your mouth and you stood propped against the wall in the vestibule of an Ambleside restaurant and you waited for seconds for someone to call the police to arrest you and put you in jail, and just as they were about to cuff you, you smirked and ate it. And then it was family dim sum catered in the guest pagoda, and fireworks.”
“Were there uncles, like in our house?”
“There are always uncles at Christmas. The same uncles. Some of them snorting coke in the washroom, others urging their new wives to model the Victoria’s Secret lingerie they ordered for them while they were still married to their previous wives, which has finally arrived. And a few surly teenagers, not wanted in the kitchen, nor anywhere else for that matter, sitting on the very edge of their chairs text messaging insulting remarks about their relatives to each one of their thousand equally trapped and unfairly encumbered best friends.”
“Was there music?”
“Always on Christmas night there was music. An uncle threatened to play the accordion, an Acadian got out the spoons and began clattering. My sister put on Jessica Simpson’s Christmas album, ReJoyce, and I began playing the spoons to that and she whacked me on the head with the Lindsay Lohan biography and everybody laughed. And then we both went to Lions Gate Hospital for reasons no one can remember and then we went to bed. I put on my iPod and started listening to Dylan Thomas reading a real poem called A Child’s Christmas in Wales. And because I have the abbreviated attention span of anyone born after 1973 I fell asleep almost instantly, well before he ‘said some words to the close and holy darkness.’ And on I slept.”
I'm gearing up for a busy fall. At the moment, I am writing speeches, annual reports, op-eds, articles, and info-graphics for a variety of organizations that include:
Simon Fraser University
Vancouver Aquarium
Suncor
I'm also writing newspaper articles, copy editing and launching a new column about blogging in City Palate magazine. I'm always up for new assignments, so please keep me in mind.
When most people picture Vancouver, they think of a beautiful ocean-side city with mountain peaks and forests in the background. The North Shore is home to those mountains and forests. So if you skip the gorgeousness of the North Shore in favour of shopping in chain stores downtown, you’ve really missed the essence of the Vancouver experience. I’m a food and travel writer who lives and works in North Vancouver, and I want to share the hidden joys of this incomparable spot with you and your fellow travelers. I welcome you in for an Internet dip and hope you’ll choose to immerse yourself once you hit the coast.
First thing to know is that the North Shore is made up of three municipalities: the City of North Vancouver, the District of North Vancouver and West Vancouver, the latter home to some of Canada’s priciest real estate. Don’t let that put you off – you can do a little goggling at houses worth millions of dollars, but West Vancouver has plenty to offer regular folk, from family-friendly beaches to spectacular viewpoints, and from trendy shops and restaurants to secondhand stores. North Vancouver, City and District, is distinguished by lush rainforest, rushing creeks, mountain trails and water views of the city. This is where you’ll find some of the world’s best mountain bike trails, along with spectacular hikes, snowshoeing trails and, of course, three popular ski resorts: Mount Seymour, Grouse Mountain and Cypress Mountain.
Here’s an insider’s list of some of the North Shore’s best. I’ll be adding to it on a regular basis. Please feel free to send questions to me at this website.
North Vancouver
Lonsdale is the “main street” of North Vancouver, stretching up from the waterfront and including off-ramps to Highway 1, east and west. (Hwy 1 West takes you to the turnoffs for West Vancouver, Horseshoe Bay, Squamish and Whistler; Hwy 1 East takes you to Lynn Valley, to Mount Seymour Parkway en route to Deep Cove, and, eventually into downtown Vancouver over the Ironworkers’ Memorial Bridge, a.k.a. the “Second Narrows” bridge.) Grocery stores, gelato joints, pizzerias, sushi spots, and banks can all be found along this relatively bustling street. Though parking is free on Lonsdale and its side streets, parking time is limited, so make sure you know how much time you can be in your spot before you park and set out for a stroll. Local meter “maids” are maddeningly efficient. Here are some of Lonsdale’s highlights.
Lonsdale Quay: Perfectly located at the foot of Lonsdale on the waterfront, right near the entrance to the SeaBus, the Quay is a don’t-miss site with a food fair that features frozen yogurt, crepes and Mexican fare, among other treats, a craft beer vendor, an artisan wine shop and an excellent fishmonger, as well as flower shops, artful Canadian souvenirs, kitchenware and a “love shop” (wink). There’s two hours of free parking underneath the Quay, and parking’s free evenings and weekends at the adjacent ICBC parkade. There’s a hotel attached that gets good reviews from friends of ours. Saturdays from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., May-October, there’s a farmer’s market on the East Plaza that’s well worth investigation (http://www.artisanmarkets.ca/), and from Friday-Sunday and holidays between late June and the end of August, there’s face-painting and other kid-friendly activities from noon to 4 p.m. Live music, free zumba lessons on Fridays from noon to 1 p.m., dance lessons on Saturday afternoons from 2-5 p.m. – there’s almost always something going on here, and it’s a lovely family environment. For specifics, look under the “events” listing at http://www.lonsdalequay.com/
Shipyards Night Market: Fridays from 5-10 p.m., early May to late September, at Shipbuilders’ Square, one block east of the Lonsdale Quay on the waterfront. Vendors offer everything from pastries to First Nations art, there’s live music, and 15 food trucks offering everything from Filipino specialties to pakoras ensure that nobody leaves hungry. 138 Victory Ship Way.http://vancouversnorthshore.com/whats-happening/night-market-the-shipyards/
On other nights, consider having an appetizer here, an appetizer there, and a main somewhere else, maybe starting at:
Anatoli Souvlaki: A big, relatively casual Greek joint where the excellent kitchen makes no false moves. The menu features classic Greek vegetarian dishes like saganaki (fried cheese) and spanakopita (spinach pie), and terrific lamb of various types. Friendly service, large portions and cold retsina make this a great hang-out with something for every member of the family. There’s a patio out back, too. 5 Lonsdale Ave. http://anatolisouvlaki.com/
The District: As popular for its lively, youthful vibe as it is for its delicious Gulf Island mussels and “patat friet” (fries), The District has proved so successful that it’s spawned a couple of siblings – El Tapas, one block east, and The Little District, further up Lonsdale. Portions are a little bigger than traditional tapas but not as big as most restaurants’ mains, which means you might want a couple apiece. Its wine selection is sophisticated and astute. 13 Lonsdale Ave.http://www.thedistrictsocial.com/
Fishworks: An outstanding modern fish restaurant, located in a heritage building, decorated with photos of olde tyme Northe (okay, it’s over) Vancouver. The entrees run between $20-30. In spot prawn season (May) Kate had an unbelievably good appetizer special of spot prawns while her friend demolished a large bowl of velvety lobster bisque. We’d started off sharing half a dozen oysters, washed it all down with a crisp bottle of Burrowing Owl chardonnay – Burrowing Owl being one of the Okanagan Valley’s most celebrated wineries -- and the whole thing cost less than $100. Much awarded; highly recommended. 91 Lonsdale Ave.http://www.fishworks.ca/
Pier 7: Ideally located at the foot of Lonsdale, overlooking the water (a rare situation on the North Shore). Fish tacos, pulled pork sliders and sophisticated seafood mains make this an ideal spot for out-of-towners, whether you just want a drink and a snack or a stylish, lingering lunch. Across the water is the city; it is customary to look longingly upon the city’s enticing lustre while on the shores of the North Shore, and look longingly at the North Shore’s peaceful lushness when in the city. 25 Wallace Mews.http://pierseven.ca/
Tamarind Hill: Malaysian food has had many influences over the centuries and this cosy oasis provides a fine introduction to such dishes as roti canai (fried bread with curry dip), satay, and laksa (spicy soup). Is this the best Malaysian food ever? No. You will find better at Banana Leaf in Vancouver, for example; Tamarind Hill tends to win third place in terms of Malaysian restaurants city-wide. But that’s still saying a lot; its food is fresh, well-made, and delicious, and if you’re over here, you won’t have to cross a bridge. On the Lower Mainland, that counts for a lot. 1440 Lonsdale. http://www.tamarindhill.ca/home
Elsewhere in North Vancouver
Andrew’s on Eighth: Century-old buildings are few and far between around here, which is why it’s a treat to take an hour to sit down with a cup of coffee and a sandwich or pastry at the charming Andrews on Eighth, in North Vanouver’s Victoria Park neighbourhood. Staff will even lend you a blanket to take to the park across the street so you can admire the building from afar. Andrews Street at Eighth. https://www.facebook.com/AndrewsOn8th.
Cactus Club Café: This chain restaurant is home to beautiful, cheerful servers, a jukebox by the washroom, and satisfying hot wings, dry ribs, quesadillas, burgers, etc. 1598 Pemberton in North Vancouver, and in The Village at Park Royal in West Vancouver. http://www.cactusclubcafe.com/
Earls North Vancouver Tin Palace: You’ll see locations of this popular chain in various spots all over the Lower Mainland, but there’s one in North Vancouver just east of the Lions Gate bridge. Watch for the giant parrots perched on top of the restaurant. Burgers, steaks, and good appetizers are the rule here, along with highly attractive and friendly service. (It’s actually Earls and not Earl’s – sorry, we aren’t in charge of punctuation.) 303 Marine Drive. http://www.cactusclubcafe.com/
Milestones Grill & Bar: Another west coast chain in the casual, family-friendly genre. There’s one in West Vancouver on the south side (meaning the water side) of Marine Drive, just past Park Royal Shopping Centre. http://www.milestonesrestaurants.com/
Golden Pearl Chinese Restaurant: If you’re looking for your basic, familiar North American Chinese food, Golden Pearl’s a fine choice. Located in Park & Tilford Shopping Centre, it offers hot, fresh grub of the sort favoured by families with kids in tow. Billed as Guangdong and Szechuan, it’s not particularly spicy and offers fairly big portions for sharing. Its “deep fried squids with spicy sauce” and minced pork with eggplant in hot garlic sauce are a couple of our favourites. #128-333 Brooksbank Ave.http://goldenpearlrestaurant.com/
Honey Doughnuts & Goodies: Any hike up to Deep Cove’s Quarry rock earns you a stop at Honey Doughnuts,where the divine doughnuts come in three flavours – honey, maple and chocolate. There are healthy housemade options here, too, if you’re into that sort of thing -- brunch dishes, sandwiches and soups. 4373 Gallant Ave., Deep Cove. http://honeydoughnuts.com/food
Mumbai Masala: Good Indian fare in decent portions, in a clean and inviting spot, with friendly service, close to a movie theatre. What more can you ask? The Chicken Tikka Masala is especially good. Located in Park and Tilford Shopping Centre. #770-333 Brooksbank Ave.http://www.mumbaimasala.ca
Westview Oriental Restaurant: When was the last time you saw a restaurant describe itself as “Oriental?” Don’t let the retro name and bland appearance of this strip mall eatery put you off. It’s been there for 20 years and under the current ownership for 10. Try something new rather than your old stand-bys; as a former Calgarian, Kate wouldn’t especially recommend the ginger beef (which was invented, popularized and perfected in Cowtown, not China), and honestly, if all you want from a restaurant is Canadian “Chinese” like fried rice and lemon chicken, you can get that anywhere. The cooks here, who hail from Hong Kong and from China’s Szechuan province, are outstanding, and the menu contains all kinds of unusual goodies, including candied pumpkin with walnuts, Szechuan pepper chicken with exotically papery fried leaves (either spinach or gai lan), and assorted stir-fried lamb dishes. Its dim sum is ordered off a menu, not from carts, which speeds up the process. Always fresh, hot and delicious if you go for the non-Canadian stuff, this is absolutely terrific Chinese food. #108-2609 Westview Dr.http://www.westviewchinese.com/
West Vancouver:
West Vancouver’s Marine Drive functions as its spine, with major detours along the way including Park Royal Malls North and South (whose newer sections include shops like Sephora, Anthropologie and The Loft, and restaurants like Trattoria Italian Kitchen and frozen yogurt emporium Pinkberry), Ambleside Beach, the West Vancouver Aquatic Centre, Dundarave Village and Dundarave Beach. Above Marine Drive is mostly residential housing, worth nosing along for gawking or squawking purposes, depending on your tastes. Below Marine Drive are beaches, community gardens, art galleries, some lucky people’s residences, and the 1.7 km. Centennial SeaWalk, a lovely, flat stroll that stretches from 18th St. to Dundarave Park and is suitable for all ages. One thing to know about West Vancouver – it’s big on rules. (“Well-behaved dogs are allowed on the Centennial Seawalk between 19th Street and 24th Street only, and they must stay behind the fence,” says the website. You won’t be behind the fence yourself, so your dog will be separated from you by the fence; it’s goofy.) Other things, like skateboards and bikes, are also not allowed on the SeaWalk. There’s a stuffiness to West Vancouver that can be tedious to the free-er spirited, but it’s absolutely beautiful, so we put up with it.
Ambleside Farmers’ Market: Sundays from 10 a.m.-3 p.m. from early May to late October, in the 1500-block of Bellevue, this ever-growing market close to the West Van waterfront is loaded with fruit and veg vendors, bakers, organic chicken farmers, jewellery makers, musicians, and a couple of food trucks (we recommend the Korean vendor), making for a festive way to spend a bit of time in the sunshine.Why not pick up a snack and head for Ambleside or Dundarave beach, or a local park? http://www.artisanmarkets.ca/
La Regalade: For many years, we’d do our restaurant celebrating at La Regalade, a delightful, high energy French bistro whose classic dishes are prepared by Chef Alain Raye and whose guests were greeted by his charming wife, Brigitte. Sadly, Brigitte has apparently decamped and her warmth and humour are dearly missed, but chef’s still got game. You really can’t miss with starters like the herring with warm potatoes or blue cheese tarte with pear, anything featuring duck, and you must save room for the fabulous desserts. 2232 Marine Drive, West Vancouver. http://www.laregalade.com/
Activities:
Ambleside Park and Beach: Here’s a great hang-out, whatever your age and interests. It’s long and lean, has a concession (with washrooms), playground, and waterpark, basketball court, a skateboard area that’s being renovated, tennis courts, sports fields and it offers a nice view of the Lions Gate bridge, especially when the cruise ships chug along out of the Port of Vancouver. Swimming is permitted. There aren’t many picnic tables, so bring your own chairs or a blanket. At the east end of the 24 hectare beach is a 3.5 hectare off-leash dog park where dogs can dash into the ocean and play, although they can’t be on the beach elsewhere. Nearby is a Duck Pond where dogs, of course, are not allowed. At 14th St. and Marine Drive. http://westvancouver.ca/parks-recreation/parks/ambleside-park
Dundarave Beach: Transport a backpack of food and picnic gear and head to West Vancouver via Highway 1 to the 21st St. exit, heading south to Marine Drive. Turn west (right) and proceed to 25th St. Turn south (left) and find a parking spot. You are at Dundarave Beach. There’s a wading pool, a playground, and a concession. While you can’t light fires on the beach (alas), you can fire up a BBQ and spend a wonderful evening swimming, looking for seals, and watching the sunset. (There are special bins for the disposal of smoldering charcoal.) Wine/beer aren’t officially permitted, but as long as you’re discreet about it, are adults, and drink it out of plastic rather than glass, nobody is likely to care. You can always plead ignorance because you’re from out of town. There’s a playground there, too, and a pier.
John Lawson Park: The perfect destination for families with young children. A waterfront site, it’s dog-free and has a new splash park, a playground with a “pirate ship,” washrooms, a pier, a pool for tots and food trucks from May until September. At the foot of 17th Street. http://westvancouver.ca/parks-recreation/parks/john-lawson-park
Whytecliff Park: A rockier beach with interesting places to climb, this spot is popular with scuba divers; it’s Canada’s first Saltwater Marine Protected Area. When you drive in, you’ll see lots of green space suitable for Frisbee-tossing, etc. Follow the signs, go down a path and you’ll get down to the beach. There is a concession in the park, and a playground, there are walks and hikes, and swimming is encouraged. You might want to hit this one on a week-day as it can get very crowded on weekends. End of the 7000 block of Marine Drive; look online for directions. http://westvancouver.ca/parks-recreation/parks/whytecliff-park
Hikes:
Please note that when we mention that dogs can go off-leash on a particular trail, we mean the kind of dogs that don’t take off and go AWOL on a regular basis. Animals can get lost here, so keep close track unless they’re the type of BF that returns regularly to make sure you’re still around. And of course, you MUST pick up after your dog. Fines are steep and the fierce glares of goody-goody dog walkers must not be discounted. Many parks even have free bag dispensers, so there’s no excuse.
North Vancouver
Hastings Creek Trail: A little west on Hoskins where it meets Arborlynn is a small parking lot. Pull in and embark on this fantastic creekside hike, where dogs can ramble along off-leash through the leafy rainforest, tearing away whenever they like to splash in the rushing creek. Thus far, this hike is amazingly uncrowded; it’s an unheralded throwaway by North Shore standards. It takes about an hour and there are 322 steps knocked into the trail (altogether) in its stretch all the way up to the playground outside Ross Road School and back again, but you don’t need to be in tip-top shape. You may well want to take a break along the way to listen to the creek, marvel at the scenery, and wade in the rocky water, so think about bringing a snack and even a book.
Lynn Creek Park: The entrance to this trail isn’t obvious – a set of stairs off Alderlynn heads downward into a forest on the west side of Lynn Creek. Local dog-owners adore this trail, which is an off-leash paradise until just before you hit Bridgeman Park. Say on the west side of the creek to enjoy these off-leash privileges; the other side is inviting but may require leashes, depending which direction you take. If you don’t have a dog, no worries; this is just a relaxing amble until your return, when you’ll have to climb back up the stairs. No biggie, though; as canyons go, this one is gently hewn.
Lynn Creek Park to Sea to Sky Trail: Enter the Lynn Creek trail mentioned above and go down the stairs from Alderlynn, but as the trail curves right, head left, over the bridge. Turn left at the end of the bridge and walk a bit to reach the Sea to Sky Trail, a glorious forest hike that ultimately links to several other trails, including the Diamond, which takes you up to Lillooett Road. There are more than 200 stairs round trip, but you’ll hardly notice as there are flat-ish parts between them. Dogs can be off-leash in here and they have a wonderful time rushing around, as will you. This can take anywhere from an hour both ways to two, depending on whether you go all the way up to Lillooett Road or not. Other linking trails will take you to the Lynn Suspension bridge (dogs must be leashed there) and Twin Falls.
Seymour Demonstration Forest: Homestead Trail
Mountain bikers love Fisherman’s Trail, also located here, but don’t miss this glorious hike through towering firs. Head to the very top ofLillooett Road and veer right for the parking lot.Take the forest trail to the right and once you enter the forest, quite soon you’ll see a sign on your left marking Homestead Trail. It’s off-leash bliss for dogs on the Homestead trail, with bikes not allowed (although some people flout the rules and ride them in here anyway). Fairly gentle slopes mean you’ll get a work-out, but not a terribly challenging one. The hike loops back to the parking lot and takes 90 minutes to two hours, with a rushing creek, the odd picnic table, a mysterious tunnel to your right on the return loop (optional) and, as you get fairly close to the end, a trail to the left that takes you to a quiet little pond.
Lighthouse Park: So named because the Point Atkinson Lighthouse (no longer manned due to our dumb government) is here, this West Vancouver park is full of beautiful forest trails that lead to rocky cliffs that tumble down to the sea. Truly gorgeous, although you will really need to watch the youngsters on the cliffs. Don’t go if you have a disobedient or clumsy brood. Wear good walking shoes and remember to take your camera. BYO picnic and eat it on the rocks at the end of Seven Sisters Trail, which is close to the entrance end of the parking lot. Don’t go at night. You could get really lost as this is fairly wild and it would be incredibly dark and dangerous on the trails.
Horseshoe Bay Beach: Yes, Horseshoe Bay is where you go to take a ferry, but it’s also a quaint little town where you can take out fish and chips, cast a few fishing lines yourselves, swim, look at the boats in the marina, inspect totem poles and watch the ferries come and go. Take Highway 1 west to the Horseshoe Bay turnoff and keep left to enter the village or you’ll find yourself in the lineup for a ferry. http://westvancouver.ca/parks-recreation/parks/horseshoe-bay-park
Capilano Suspension Bridge: One of the North Shore’s most popular tourist attractions, this 125-year old draw features a suspension bridge that stretches 137 m. across and 70 m above Capilano River. Other draws include a Cliffwalk, a cantilevered walkway attached to a granite cliff, and Treetops Adventure, a series of seven suspension bridges attached to eight 30-ton, 250 year old Douglas-firs, which takes you as high as 110 feet above the forest floor. http://www.capbridge.com/
Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge: The Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge is free. It hovers 50 m. above the canyon floor and offers beautiful creekside trails through second-growth forest (80-100-year-old trees), a swimming hole at 30 Ft. Pool, an Ecology Centre, and a café. Please note that there are some very inviting-looking spots to swim in at this park, but some are dangerous. If you want to go in, make sure you find out the safe spots from someone official. Follow Lynn Valley Road to Peters. Turn right. Go to the end of the road and watch for the signs to Lynn Canyon Park. http://lynncanyon.ca/trails/
Lynn Headwaters: Another gorgeous park, this offers several great walks by a rushing creek. We like the 3 km. Varley Trail, which only takes 30-40 minutes altogether through the woods and isn’t too taxing, so is suitable for kids. The trail is named after the Group of Seven painter Frederick H. Varley, who lived here once upon a time. There are points where you can veer off the trail and walk on the rocks by the creek as it barrels along; very pretty. Take a look at the video on this helpful site, which will also give you directions. http://vancouversnorthshore.com/what-to-do-outdoors/parks-and-recreation-areas/lynn-headwaters-regional-park/
Parks:
Just looking for a short stroll through the woods, possibly with off-leash dog and kids in tow? Check out Eastview Park in North Vancouver, a neighbourhood forest backed up against a school yard that, in itself, boasts three sets of playground equipment plus swings, outdoor basketball hoops and a climbing wall.This lovely little park, located on Rufus Drive/16th Street, a couple of blocks north (toward the mountains) of Mountain Highway on your right, also contains a free 9-hole disc golf course.Bring your own frisbees or get properly kitted out at a sports store. http://www.dgcoursereview.com/reviews.php?id=3829&mode=rev
For official North Vancouver parks information, consult: http://www.communityguide.ca/communities/north-vancouver-bc/things-do/parks
Need a gym while you're in town? Check out Bodyco in Deep Cove, a new spot with friendly and accommodating staff. My friend Laurie Cooper's the owner -- her place is not intimidating or snooty, and she'll bend over backwards (though not literally -- she's not a gymnast) to get you what you need. http://www.bodyco.ca/deepcove/location-details/
To get to Vancouver (though really, why bother?):
You can take the SeaBus to downtown from the Lonsdale Quay area. The SeaBus is an enclosed boat that takes about 10 minutes to whisk you across the inlet and over to Gastown’s Waterfront Station (there are no other stops). It’s well worth the price (about $2.75 for adult single fares) and perfectly clean and safe. Gastown is definitely touristy but interesting home decor and fashion shops have sprung up over the years, along with excellent restaurants. Recommended: The Block (350 W. Cordova) for trendy clothing. Across the street is a magical little place that looks like a junk shop, Salamagundi West (321 W. Cordova). Make sure to go downstairs and explore the giant chest of drawers, packed with cheap but kid-pleasing stocking-stuffer type things.
