Travel Tryst: One Night in Vancouver, B.C.
I awoke and carefully untangled my limbs from the 6-feet plus of Canadian man Bacon and was relieved to realize we had conveniently crashed in my luxurious Sutton Place hotel room.
My phone buzzed on the bedside table. It glowed 8:22 AM at my bleary eyes.
A friendly and frisky giant Canadian man was so not what I was expecting to get into when I jetted off on a brisk flight from California to Vancouver, British Columbia for an old Auntie’s second wedding.
Since her party was scheduled for Sunday afternoon, I decided to leave Los Angeles Saturday and explore the west coast Canadian culture hub. L.A. had me on a cruel dry streak recently and I was hoping a change of venue would get more juices flowing.
After I checked in to elegant accommodations at the Sutton Place Saturday afternoon, I made the few blocks stroll over to the Gay Village. Nestled on the West End between Coal Harbor and English Bay, with lush Stanley Park at the edge, the welcoming area had me splurging while shopping on Robson Street. Among mainstream staples like Club Monaco, LuLu Lemon, and Banana Republic were amazing boutiques overflowing with unique sweaters and stylish tee’s you couldn’t find at home. There were also no shortage of coffee bars and cafes overflowing with attractive men, from youthful to more mature foxes, that made just strolling aimlessly enjoyable.
As Saturday’s sun dipped away, I decided it was time to put something more substantial in my tummy. Though Vancouver is overflowing with old-fashioned fine dining options like La Brassiere and Gotham Steakhouse, I decided it would be easier to dine alone and possibly strike of some casual connections in the super trendy and refined West Restaurant and enjoy one of their renowned tasting menus. The seafood, organic produce and sheer talent of the culinary artists operating in Vancouver easily rival if not surpass that of New York City, but the dining experience was much more serene and pleasurable.
In Van city the party sets off closer to midnight than ten, so I took a break for a quick swim and shower before slipping into my tightest jeans to hit the bars. I’d noticed earlier when perusing the gayborhood that Canadian men seem to be on the whole, somewhat lower fuss than the California boys I’m used to messing with. They have this enticing soothing, sexy vibe in the North that had me buzzing before I sipped my first drink at Celebrities, the biggest and glitziest gay club in the tight-knit town.
Right off the bat I noticed big sexy Bacon by the bar in his plaid shirt, looking all lumberjack hot. There were plenty of perfectly ripped men removing their shirts on the dance floor but I saddled up next to big boy Bacon at the bar.
Bacon was chatty; he loved his set design job in production and told me about boat parties the weekend before. He offered to take me to a forest party. Apparently, it’s not so legal, but the collegiate set love to get trashed deep in the wooded surroundings of the city. “Things can get pretty wild since everyone is out of earshot,” he warned me. Sounded refreshing but a little risky. Maybe on my next trip.
Bacon finished his fourth beer before I order a second drink. Everyone seemed to be able to out-drink. Since the drinking age here is nineteen, everyone can Drink, and this lower drinking age also explained all the baby-faced boy candy bumping to the beat.
After a few more drinks, shots, and near-fondles in the crowded club, Bacon was good to go. I led him out to the street where we were pleasantly greeted by several available, clean taxis. “We could totally bus it to my place,” Bacon offered. I opted for the privacy of a cab so we could get closer on our way downtown….
Now in bed, the brawny man beside me grumbled and stretched, sheet slipping off his hairy torso.
“Want to go get some really great coffee?” he asked with a grin.
The best java in the caffeine hooked city came from 49th Parallel Roasters. The organic, fair trade coffee as "black as the devil, hot a hell, pure as an angel, sweet as love,"-- and it was. The perfect double baked almond croissants and cozy blue mugs put me over the edge to pure vacation relaxation.
The wedding may have been a tacky bore, but I’d have fond memories of my one night in Vancouver and my tasty Canadian man Bacon for a long time to come.
Always a hook up and never a husband, Frank Lopez works as a travel and entertainment writer based in Los Angeles, CA, where he cannot meet a sane attractive man to save his life. However, for some reason, as a tourist in hot gay destinations he is always quite lucky in lust love.