Vancouver: Day One (A Post From my New Blog)

In November, my fifteen-year-old daughter and I took off for ten days. We’d been planning on moving to Vancouver, next summer, in order for me to set up a brick-and-mortar shop, for the kids to be able to enjoy better arts programs in school, to avoid having to endure any more Quebec winters and to take some time to travel up and down the West Coast, and we thought it was high time we check it out before making any solid plans. 

It was Ava’s first time on a plane and she had had many misgivings prior to take off but, once we reached our maximum altitude and our fellow passengers began to unbuckle and move about about, she settled in nicely. In fact, she was much more relaxed than I was and barely noticed when I woke her up during some rather intense turbulence so she could hold my hand. I used to love flying and had even contemplated becoming a flight attendant and then, a few years ago, on my way from Las Vegas to Washington, I had a particularly bad experience that involved getting struck by a downwind while in mid U-turn and banked over Red Rock Canyon. People screamed and prayed out loud and I just haven’t been able to relax since. When this flight U-turned over the Pacific Ocean, in order to land at YVR, I was quietly crying.

Our hosts were absolutely phenomenal. Eryn and I had done a semester at college together and hadn’t seen each other since but it was like only weeks had gone by, from the moment we met up. We became fast friends with her boyfriend Chris, too. I have never stayed with anyone so generous that wasn’t family. From the airport, we were taken out for some pho, at their favourite spot so that our tummies were full and we were warm and sleepy by the time we arrived at their apartment and were greeted by the happiest dog on earth.

Whenever I travel, I tend to pack quite a bit in a day, beginning early and ending late. I like to fully immerse myself, meet locals, sample food and beer and take tons of photos. The fact that were checking this city out for business and relocation purposes made it so much more exhausting and, at times, disorienting.

The one thing I never got used to were the mountains. From the moment we stepped out, the next morning and I startled Eryn  with my enthusiasm to our last, rainy day there, when I squinted my eyes and craned my neck, hoping to see the Grouse Mountain one more time before leaving. Mount Royal has seemed like a puny hump since. They’re these magnificent snow-capped walls at the end of streets and they make me so insanely happy.

We spent the first day walking down (down is North and up is South, in Vancouver) Main Street, stopping for brunch at Slickity Jim’s Chat ‘N Chew, a lovely restaurant with decor that no doubt causes even regulars to notice something new upon each visit and with a menu that had us chuckling, with titles like The McDecimation of Cultural Diversity. The huevos rancheros was amazing and the staff was super pleasant and helpful.

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We popped into a few shops along Main, making our way down (North) and then Eryn had us check out Cartem’s Donuterie. Montrealers who love Léché Desserts, this is your jam but, anyone who loves donuts should check this place out, as with flavours such as Canadian Whiskey Bacon (this one comes sprinkled with actual pieces of bacon), Triple Chocolate Threat and The Earl Grey, you’re sure to find something you’ll enjoy.

Buzzed out on sugar, we headed West to check out Olympic Village before  walking along the water, through Charleson Park, until we reached Granville Island. (My DSLR battery died right after leaving Main Street so the rest of these were taken with my cell phone).

Granville Island is quite distinctive, with its bright colours and seaside feel (I have never seen such enormous seagulls in my life prior to being startled by the ones we saw there). We bought crystals in a painted wooden shop made to look like Noah’s ark, we wandered through public market, feasting our eyes on every type of fruit and vegetable imaginable, we lingered in a store that sells freshly spun wool and fabric dyes and another that sells eccentric and eye-catching paper products. We laughed a lot in a huge novelty shop where Ava bought a night light that looks like a miniature full moon when lit.

Eryn eventually had to go into work so we walked up to West Broadway and parted ways with her at a subway stop. For a while, we didn’t say much, which is rather unusual for us. We decided to head back to Main Street, where we sat at a Starbuck’s and were brutally honest about how we felt. Almost at once, we both blurted out that we thought the city was, well, boring.

I munched on a bagel, sipped my coffee and watched Main Street’s lights go on as the sun set. Suddenly, it seemed that all of these younger, cooler people were coming out of the woodwork. I realized that, in addition to being jet lagged and exhausted, we had really only seen parts of two streets and one neighbourhood and all of this had been during a weekday. We  weren’t being fair at all. And, sure enough, when we headed back out onto Main, after resting our feet and brains, we were pleasantly surprised. All of the beautiful bearded guys and stylishly laid back-looking women that had been at work all day were coming out to play and Main was buzzing with a vibrant energy that had been completely lacking just a couple of hours earlier.

We hit up a few thrift and novelty stores before heading South of (up from) King Edward, where our hosts refuse to set foot, for whatever reason, and discovered an insane selection of cheap Vietnamese, Korean, Thai and Japanese restaurants, as well as several really fun-looking shops. We absolutely loved the markets we went into, when picking up food for dinner. The selection was amazing for that time of year and the prices of organic fruit and vegetables were equivalent to what I pay for in Montreal, at the supermarket and their non-organic items were the same prices as what I pay for at a super discount market that doesn’t always have what I’m looking for and where freshness is not always the best.

I went to sleep eager to see more parts of Vancouver and feeling like I could really be happy there.

(photo 3 courtesy of itstodiefor.ca. 8 and 9 courtesy of expedia.ca)

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In Which I Merge my Blogs (Or: The First One From the Other One)

A while ago, I abandoned this blog and took a break, before starting up a different one that better reflected where I'm at now. A lot has changed. I have a new career, I'm more than half done my first novel, I'm designing again and I'm about to launch two new businesses. My priority is EXIT 29. That designer consignment shop I launched and wrote about here? It has become an international fashion agency and it's what I spend most of my waking hours working on and thinking about.

The new blog, which is on wordpress, is off to an okay start, but I've come to realize that the journey I took to get to where I am matters and a lot of it is documented over here. I will therefore begin transferring posts from the other one (there aren't that many), here, where my main audience is and where it can merge with past efforts. You'll notice I've also transferred the new name over and so, welcome to The Fringe Report.

Here is post number one:

Unless we're talking a bloody caesar or, as of recently enough, a martini, I don't really drink hard liquor. When everyone yells, "Shots!" I  go on a pee break. That said, ever since I saw Ryan Gosling make that Old Fashioned for Emma Stone, in Crazy Stupid Love, I've been wanting to try one. I came close, at a fashion show in St-Henri, last year, where some beautiful hipster bartenders from Ludger had been invited to create and serve a signature cocktail created for the event. It had brandy in it. Or cognac? It might have had some whiskey in it. It was amber and there was a candied orange rind ringlet on its rim. It wasn't an Old Fashioned and, even if it had been, the setting was all wrong. Not having the option of Mr. Gosling preparing the drink for me at The Skyline Residence (which is now owned by Pharrell Williams, anyway), on a rainy night, with Doris Troy warbling in the background, I decided to ask my friend if he wanted to go out in search of the drink, after a particularly tasty ramen experience, at Misoya, yesterday (more on Montreal ramen in a few weeks!). We trudged over to Hurley's, where we found a quiet spot and settled into some super cozy leather armchairs, next to a stone wall. While the Irish band one room over readied themselves to play, I took the first sip of my very first Old Fashioned. It was bitter as all hell and I immediately began wishing I'd ordered a beer. After three or four more sips I actually did order a beer. But then, as the room we were in began to fill up, the music got louder, I relaxed into my seat and I got closer to the sugar at the bottom of the glass, my drink suddenly became quite tasty and, for the first time ever, I regretted ordering a pint of Newcastle. Verdict: I'm probably more excited than I should be that I can add another cocktail to my short list.

Anyhow, it's January 14th and, as good intentions begin to implode around me and New Year's resolutions are already being abandoned by some, I'm reminded of how much I think the tradition is bullshit. Firstly, my new year begins the day after my birthday and, second, I believe that if you really want to change something in your life, you should just go ahead and do it. That said, for the first time in many years, I find myself striving for newness and setting goals at the same time as everyone else and it's odd. The plan had been for the kids and I to move to Vancouver, next summer and then, right before Christmas, my son declared that he no longer wishes to leave Montreal. I can't live across the country from my son yet and so we're all staying put. At first, there was shock. Just once, I allowed myself to vent at my kids, expressing my frustration at their lack of lust for life or some such nonsense (try having this conversation with two teenagers who are neck-deep in their "Uh. Yeah. No." phase). With that out of my system, I wallowed. I may have gone through a few bottles of wine during this period. And then, as I usually do, I made a conscious decision to change my mood and to spring into action. This, right here, is part of that.

I've been blogging for a few years now but, at some point, I fell into a rut and the generic fashion dribble I was getting paid to write for other blogs began to make its way into my personal blog. Get a media pass, go to the fashion show, take notes, drink some free pinot grigio, take funnier notes, text dry but apparently hilarious comments to my daughter, get on a bus and head back home and take my heels off exactly where they need to be for me to inevitably trip over them in the morning, sleep, get up, trip on heels, write a roundup, send it in and repeat. I did go to some fundraisers and shows that blew my mind and had me typing at warp speed upon my return home but those were rare and, after more than a year of doing the Montreal fashion circuit, I was burnt out from seeing all of the same clothing and all of the same people and hearing all of the same music. It made me abandon my style guides and personal pieces altogether and I haven't felt like picking it back up until recently. Well, not all of that but the blogging.

I know who I was writing for but I felt like I wasn't the one writing for them. I'm just not that guy and, well, that's not who I want to write for. I'm a punker and a goth and a geek and a loud-mouth and a storyteller and a designer and a entrepreneur and someone who is the product of having grown up within various sub cultures where it wasn't cool to like mainstream shit and is now living in a world where everything that was cool and special and oh-so-underground is now mainstream. And so, I have Joe Strummer and Maila Nurmi and Bela Lugosi and Joy Division on my walls and the kids and I love punk rock and some metal and all classic rock and ska and Star Trek and Dr. Who and I have a bunch of tattoos and I shave parts of my head on a whim but I love wine tasting and decor and high fashion and going to the Met and plating my food. That's the nutshell version and, if you're interested in the details, by all means, read on...

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