I’m Julian. I once sobbed in a Lonsdale Quay parking lot because a date brought store-bought hummus. Not because I’m a snob – because she missed the point. We’d talked for hours about my little food-obsessed world, about how the smell of wet cedar after rain is basically an aphrodisiac, about the compost bin I…
Look. I’ve been doing sexology research on the North Shore since before the Lonsdale Quay market started selling those overpriced mushroom tinctures. And here’s the thing nobody tells you about open couples dating in North Vancouver – the rainforest humidity makes pheromones stick to your skin like maple syrup on a Sunday brunch plate. Or…
Look. I’ve booked more hotel rooms for awkward, electric, or downright disastrous quickies than I care to admit. North Vancouver, that damp rainforest sliver between the Seymour and the inlet, isn’t just for families and mountain bikers. It’s a pressure cooker for something else. And 2026? With the World Cup buzz bleeding into every bar…
