By Esther Tung

Re-Framing Vancouver’s “No-Fun City” title

It’s nearing 10 p.m., and the poorest postal code in Canada is alive with laughter and excited chatter. East side chic has descended upon the corner of Hastings and Columbia, juxtaposed with a shirtless homeless man, trawling the sills of the gallery windows for empties.

I crack open the last of the Palm Bays stashed in my tote bag. I hand it off to a friend — a familiar stranger — someone I’d only complimented earlier that night, re-boozes me with a Dixie cup of homebrewed nutmeg rum, and quickly makes himself at home in our circle. One of the gallery artists hosting the event cheerily reminds us to watch for cops and not get the venue into trouble.

All summer long, such parties were a dime a dozen a night in Chinatown and the Downtown Eastside area, so when Huffington Post columnist Mitch Moxley fanned the flames of Vancouver’s reputation in his article “Welcome to Vancouver: No Fun City”, it felt disconnected from the Vancouver that I had come to know.

For all you foreign exchange students and small-town kids just moving into the big-city and experiencing a culture freeze-shock: there is hope. Getting people to smile back at you and call you back for that bro brunch is totally possible in Vancouver.

I, too, have had this experience. Five years ago, I moved back to Vancouver from Singapore, where culture was just the opposite: there is a jaw-dropping lack of common courtesy and disregard for etiquette in public areas, but people tend to warm up immediately to strangers in any kind of social setting. At the time, I was dissatisfied with the friends I had made in high school and the first year of university, so I took to going to music festivals by myself. Some of it was pure luck, but for the most part I like to think I’m a self-made woman in terms of my social circle. If there are so many people complaining about how closed-off locals are, then it should logically follow that there are plenty out there open to being approached and befriended. It will take some dedication carving out a lively social life for yourself here, but it can be done.

This much is true: Vancouver is a city-based upon making and maintaining connections. In order to get that one foot into the door, you’ll have to put yourself out there in ways that are demonized as being socially deviant: “cold-calling” strangers at concerts or Wreck Beach (less weird than it sounds), online dating, or dropping in unannounced at student clubs.

So now that you’ve made some friends, how are you going to have fun in a place with Prohibition-era liquor laws, limited night transit, and a dearth of taxis to take you home?

For starters, go to Whistler. It has all the Granville Strip nightlights, with the added bonus of an Australian college town vibe. The game of “Who will wake up with the biggest regret?” has yet to lose its lustre among the ski bums, if that’s the kind of night you’re looking for.

In his column, Moxley writes: “How could a city often cited as one of the world’s prettiest and most liveable be such a black hole of boring?” But take a look at the list of the world’s most livable cities; on Mercer’s Quality of Living Survey, Vancouver shares its top 10 ranking with the likes of Calgary, Melbourne, and Helsinki. Not exactly party centrals. Berlin ranks 18th, with Paris and New York at 34th and 49th, respectively.

We have a world-renowned nude beach, quality dining options opening up every month, and air that doesn’t clog your pores and doesn’t smell like bleach or sewage (I write this bitterly from Hong Kong). And just you try drinking water straight out of the tap in any other city ever.

Unfortunately for the party-hardies, our natural amenities cater to morning people and an earthier lifestyle. Activities like the Grouse Grind or doing a sunrise run around the seawall are much more popular than partying through the night. So, if you’re searching for the kind of night where the end-goal is to keep your appointment with the toilet bowl, make sure there aren’t mountains around to climb or nudists to host a marathon. After all, where’s the fun in that?