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VANCOUVER - I had to call Blunt Bros. from my cellphone in the cab on
the way over. I am a tourist after all.

"I'm sorry, I forget if you're on East or West Hastings. Can you give
me the exact address?" I asked the female voice which greeted me the
other end.

"Yup. We're 317 East Hastings," she says. "NO WAIT," she yells
suddenly, "I mean WEST Hastings. I'm so sorry. It's West. What was I
thinking?"

I couldn't help but think, can I really trust this person who works at
one of Vancouver's most popular cannabis cafEs? I mean, was she really
"completely with me" at that very moment?

You can't be a visitor in Vancouver without hearing "how great" the
pot is, man, how "smoking weed walking around outside is more
acceptable than smoking a cigarette," man, and how you can smell pot
"everywhere you walk," and isn't it great, dude?

I only smelled pot twice during my four-day stay.

Once at a party Sunday evening, because people were indeed smoking up,
and once again on the street Tuesday afternoon, when I got out of the
cab on West Hastings, outside Blunt Bros.

A Vancouver friend directed me to Blunt Bros., known as a
"smoke-friendly," environment, because, well, when in Rome, she said.
Plus, hanging out at any cafE seemed more fun than playing
ultimate-Frisbee in a park, which was her other suggestion.

"Smoke-friendly" does not mean you can smoke cigarettes, like in
Toronto. It means you can smoke weed. One of my friends once tried to
light a cigarette in Blunt Bros., and was almost kicked out for doing
so.

"Basically, pot is legal here. It's just part of life," she
explained.

I am starving when I arrive, after having missed lunch. Immediately, I
am shocked by Blunt Bros. It's not grungy or grimy at all. It's
spanking clean.

In fact, if you didn't immediately smell the stench of weed upon
entering, you might mistake Blunt Bros. for a very lovely cafE, a
place where you could sit down and enjoy an espresso while reading The
New York Times. I understand why its motto is "A very respectable joint."

I read the menu, over the cashier. "Let Us Roll Ya One," it reads, and
lists their feature pita sandwiches called "Blunts." Customers have
the option of these tortilla rolls filled with spicy jerk chicken or
turkey, with names like "Cheech" and "Chong" and "Half-Baked."

There is also a "Munchie Menu," which includes cinnamon toast, or milk
and cookies for $3.25.

I order a latte and a fruit salad, pay, and drop the leftover change
in the "tip bong."

"Hey, do you want whipped cream on your fruit salad," asks the
server.

"Um, no, no."

I wonder if she thinks I'm stoned.

At just after 3 p.m. there are at least a half-dozen customers, most
of whom look like snowboarders, sharing nachos, drinking Snapples,
just hanging around.

There are at least a half dozen more in the back, in the glassed-in
"Smoking Room," who are, without a doubt, stoned.

This is where you can smoke rolled-up joints or take hits off pot
pipes. It's much like the smoking lounges in airports. You don't want
to go in, unless you want to come out reeking, in this case, of pot.

I get immediately that the owners of Blunt Bros. seem less concerned
about people smoking this illegal substance than they are with the $2
minimum charge for being allowed to stay in the cafe. There are signs
everywhere reminding customers of this.

After I finish my latte, I take a deep breath and enter the smoking
room. Immediately, my eyes start to water.

You cannot buy or sell pot here. You can just smoke
it.

I feel like an idiot, as I'm just standing here, and don't, in fact,
have any pot. I feel so very Toronto, so I rely on the good old,
"I'm-a-tourist-from-Toronto" routine and introduce myself to two young
males, who, I can tell, are not 19, the legal age for entrance. They
look 16.

They offer me a "toke."

I decline. It's just after 4 p.m. and, really, it's such a beautiful
day outside, and who needs to be stoned right now anyway?

"We'll be back here tomorrow," said the one wearing a basketball tank
top, "If you want to come back to smoke."

I'm impressed with Blunt Bros., but, as I leave, I can't help but
wonder why, if according to all Vancouverites, you can basically smoke
pot anywhere, are people here, in this small, stinky, room, instead of
in their own backyards. After all, it is basically legal here, right
man?