Tourism Vancouver's mission is complete. I have drunk the koolaid that they so graciously provided in a little green swag bag as I was ushered onto a float plane on a glorious friday afternoon. The bag also included 4 bars of Xanax, a 36-foot tall authentic coast salish totem pole, and my very own official 2010 water-cannon. Armed with Blackberries, flash drives, laptops, and digital SLRs the bloggers were greeted by a slimy dude in the water dressed up as a harbour seal. They must have payed him well. The pilot, a former professional badminton player now blazing red from the westcoast UV, offered up all sorts of important information about propellers and twin otters and I think maybe Sasquatches. Just as I was remarking that I was astonished that they had actually let me on the plane, a navy frigate rushed to intercept our course as we taxied out into Burrard Inlet. "The jig is up", I said aloud and we all had a nervous chuckle. But it was too late! We were taking off!

Suddenly I was chloroformed from behind by some high-powered, Vancouver fancy-lady. I remember opening my eyes as we were over Howe Sound, the water glistening like expensive gems. A feeling of euphoria swept over me as magical dolphins frolicked below. I stared at the mansions of Bowen Island and felt nothing. I didn't even once think about Icarus as we climbed high above the Tantalus Range. It was almost as though the greasy layer of photochemical smog didn't even exist! And by Jove the massive man-made scar that is Eagleridge Bluff seemed quaint, and I couldn't understand why poor Harriet Nahanee gave her life to stop it from being built.

The others (one of them even admitted she was a spy) were busy sending reconnaissance to their respective followers. We were really high. False Creek looked so, well, false and the downtown core looked like SimCity; a blurry green-blue grid of coloured concrete and pastel glass. From above you could clearly make out the cryptic messages built cleverly into the winding network of culd-de-sacs and crescents of Concord Pacific. The bright, young mid-spring sun gleamed brilliantly off of micro-foam cappuccinos and jogger's teeth. And finally, where the DTES should have been there was a hologramatic projection of a spirit bear!

Nobody talked as we landed. There may have been an exchange of business cards.