How does one sum up one lone day in a city you never visited before? A tough task.

I touched down in Vancouver at 10.30am on Monday morning. It is my first visit to the west coast of Canada and to this city that’s gearing up for the 2010 Winter Olympics. Driving into downtown from the airport, it felt very much like Seattle – a Pacific Northwest metropolis with a stunning natural setting that takes your breath away. Mountains meet the ocean meets the rainforest greenery and old-growth forests hiding hundreds of years of unspoken wisdom.

After checking into my downtown hotel, I went out to explore. I had a 5.30pm appointment so my encounter with Vancouver was to be short and hopefully sweet. I strolled Robson Street, the main shopping thoroughfare lined with big-name stores and funky independent boutiques. It was a pleasant walk but shopping isn’t what a city makes. At least for me. Food, more so. My lunch was delicious, at a small waterfront restaurant, Raincity Grill on Denman Street, that serves organic locally sourced food from within the 100-mile radius. My salmon was succulent and perfect fuel for the walk along scenic English Bay toward the Granville Island ferry.

After what was probably the shortest ferry ride of my life (about five minutes long and $3 cheap) on the tiny Aquabus boat, I took a wander through the delightful Granville Island Public Market. The food looked so appealing that I almost regretted having had that filling lunch. What followed was a ramble along the back streets of this artist enclave chockablock with galleries and crafts shops. I loved the echoes of the area’s industrial past – once home to sawmills, warehouses and factories – and the bridge running above, giving it an urban edge. Below, a few market scenes.

At 3pm, I had the ambitious idea of zipping over to Stanley Park in a cab in order to rent a bike and see this evergreen oasis on wheels. By the time I arrived to the park’s edge, I realized I am about to enter a 1000-acre swath of dense forest and hop on a sea wall path that takes at least an hour to circumnavigate. I had to be back at my hotel within the hour so, regrettably, I had to stand up Stanley.

Or so I thought. But the evening had a lovely twist in store. After dinner, I joined a small group – two Saudis, two New Yorkers (including yours truly) and our Canadian guide Pieter – for an evening exploration of Vancouver sights. While I prefer to stumble into things unexpectedly, explore independently and get lost in cities new to me, this particular tour was a pleasant surprise. We saw the usual roster of sights: the First Nations totem poles in Stanley Park (I did make it after all, although on four wheels not two), the hip gentrified waterfront community of Yaletown, the narrowest office building in Chinatown and the panoramic views from Vancouver Lookout, a viewing deck more than 40 floors above ground with a 360-degree view of Burrard Inlet and the North Shore Islands.

But what impressed me more were Pieter’s stories, the tidbits of information only locals know, the “secret” spots like Third Beach in Stanley Park at sunset and historic Gastown, the birthplace of Vancouver with cobblestone streets and Victorian houses once frequented by sailors and now transformed into a restaurant-bar row near the edge of Vancouver’s rough alleyways. We ended the night at a Gastown sidewalk over a glass of red wine, watching the gallery of local faces – quarreling couples, quirky characters and homeless artists paraded past us, some stopped for a chat… No better way to end my single day in Vancouver than with a little local flavor.

Visit everthenomad.com for more by Anja Mutic

I remember it like it was yesterday. We were in the Rocky Mountains near Jasper Canada – myself, and two climbing mates: Kelly and Luc. We hiked. We climbed. And we caved.

The year prior, I had my first caving experience in the same place. We aimed high with Disaster Point: a very technical cave involving multiple rappels (abseils) into a glorified hole in the ground. Without rope, you can’t even get close to the entrance, and you would certainly have a “disaster” on your hands if you were in the cave and lost your rope. (Okay, so maybe it was not the best cave to have chosen as a first for me, but there you have it).

So as you might expect, as a newbie caver, I absolutely froze when I suddenly realized I was over 30 metres underground, I was cold, and I was looking up at an icy hole as my route back to the outside world. Before bottoming the cave, we got the heck out.

Fast forward one year later: once again at Disaster Point’s doorstep. As a climbing and caving team, we had put a lot of time into training and generally frolicking in Canada’s Rocky Mountains. And I had a bone to pick with Disaster Point: it was going to be mine this time. No turning back.

The first rappel (abseil) was straight down a chute approx 30 metres. We slid down next to a huge icicle , and at its narrowest the chute was only about 1-2 metres in diameter. From there we swung ourselves onto a balcony where we could (ahem) admire the scenery, and scope out the next rappel.

Straight down again, the second rappel was much shorter, and landed us on another small balcony. We stayed on rope though, and continued down through three very small squeezes (with names like “birth canal”, very little is left to the imagination), and eventually sumped out (a caving term for hit the bottom as far as we could go, but not necessarily as far as the cave goes – due to water, mud, or rocks) over 60 metres from the very top.

Having made it to the bottom though, was not the end. Now we had to get out! (Similarly in mountaineering, reaching the peak isn’t necessarily the time to celebrate – the way down is often more dangerous than the way up).

After waiting for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time for Luc to reach the top of the first rope so the next person could ascend, Kelly & I were getting nervous. We had lost almost all audial contact with Luc, save for hearing the occasional muffled sign of frustration. He wasn’t responding to any of our calls, which indicated to us that he likely couldn’t hear us. Having only the bottom of the rope to hang on to (our lifeline in this situation), all we could do was wait, and not think about the cold, our fading headlamps, or the worst case scenarios that kept creeping into my mind.

Finally and thankfully, we heard the faint and delicious words “Off Rope” coming from above, signifying that Luc had made it to his destination and the next person could start ascending. That was my cue.

Ascending at the best of times is no easy task. Armed with any number of different systems, you are relegated to hauling yourself up the rope, sometimes in thin air, and sometimes using the features of the rock around you to help (or hinder) the process.

After making it back up through the tight squeezes, I was able to communicate with Luc but was losing contact with Kelly who was still waiting at the bottom. I figured I was on easy street, and wondered what took Luc so long to ascend. Of course, I was about to find out.