In Vancouver, sun peeks in on a perfect storm of attractions

For a moment, I set the Gideon’s aside -- that’s a Bible, not a Scotch -- and take to the jittery streets of what would probably pass for the L.A. of Canada.

Vancouver. V-Town. Protesters. Lots of pot. Women of dubious values. Amazing how all those traits usually travel in herds.

This is the country, after all, that gave us Margaret Trudeau, a stormy gal who, you may recall, was once married to the prime minister and then -- only for a brief time, maybe a day -- Bullwinkle the Moose. So, as unfailingly polite as these locals are, you never really know what lies around the next river bend. Maple syrup slick? Or maybe a hockey riot?

As I write this, Sunday, it is the confluence of three significant events. Even as the Winter Games hit full stride, the streets are filling with Chinese New Year revelers and celebrants of my all-time fave holiday, Valentine’s Day. Like Keats and Brahms, I can find romance in a can of cola, so this chilly morning is quivery with promise. Jeeeesh, I love Canada. It’ll be amazing if I don’t arrive home driving a Zamboni sedan.

“Take me to Chinatown,” I tell the cabbie.

They have strange weather patterns here. It only rains when I go outside -- almost always. If Noah had lived in a place like this, he would’ve just said, “Screw the ark, I’m building a jet.” Just think how different the world would be now.

Yet, after four days of rain, the clouds part as I hit Chinatown. At first, it seems an illusion. Like those lions and dragons parading the streets.

“If you were an animal, you wouldn’t turn your butt toward a predator,” a resident explains as a lion backs through a doorway for a traditional New Year’s blessing.

Nor should you.

As drummers play, cameras click. Sisters lean into sisters, snuggling to get within frame. Out-of-towners stop mid-stride to check a text message, causing a 10-tourist pileup. It is the Olympics of people-watching.

Yes, the sun comes out -- finally -- and so does all of British Columbia. In nearby Robson Square, the city’s core, they wait four hours for the free zip line. They line up for blocks to see the nearby Da Vinci exhibit.

“It’s always like this in February,” jokes Bruce Kehler, who brought his wife, Flo, and the family into town just to knock around.

That’s right. They have women up here named Flo.

This Olympic travelogue, as you’re finding, has very little to do with the traditional sports and a lot to do with what my friend Irv calls “the games of life” (food, wanderlust, conversation). It is now in its fifth day, and I have only really touched the tip of the iceberg here, which as luck would have it, lies half a mile outside my motel window, right there in English Bay.

In half a century, I have never seen so much nature in an urban environment. I’m talking about bald eagles nesting near bridges leading to the airport. Apparently, the way we have squirrels, they have eagles.

By the way, Vancouver is always harping about its diversity, yet I’m discovering that it is a rather specialized diversity, white and Asian. It might be the one town in the world where I could pass for black. Imagine me trying to pass for Shani Davis’ twin? I’m from Illinois too. And I can be as sullen as the next spoiled athlete.

Point is, to someone from L.A. or Chicago, Vancouver really feels very monochromatic.

Still, no complaints, for the city’s gifts are many. Love is in the air this particular Sunday -- Chinese dragons, hockey jerseys, Valentine’s Day hearts, all of it red and flowing like $5 wine.

Speaking of blood, the more you’re here, the more you realize that these Olympics are really just one big hockey tournament to the Canadians. No one seems concerned that the skiing schedule is a mess, or even that there are skiing events. It’s all about the hockey.

In fact, should their hockey team not win the gold, I don’t know what sort of grief counseling the government has in place, but it needs to be substantial. Anything less than heavy metal will lead this bright-eyed nation into the deepest national funk. They may well barbecue those eagles.

In the meantime, I make a quick stop at “Good Morning Vancouver,” or some such morning show, which comes on at about 2:30 p.m. -- go figure.

They ask me about Canada’s “Own the Podium” program, the pre-Olympic crusade to crush the opposition. You could tell they were a little uneasy with the rare display of hubris.

“So what do you make of ‘Own the Podium’?” is how Sofie, the host, puts it.

I suggested that it’s sometimes better to lease the podium, until you’re sure you like it. I know far too many people who have purchased podiums, only to regret it later on.

She said they might consider it.

chris.erskine@latimes.com