Victoria, a small city perched on the edge of an island. About two hours from Vancouver by the deceptively named ferry. You can buy iPads from the vending machines and drop a few hundred dollars on silk blouses. Quite a ferry.
They say everyone who is rich enough to leave Ontario goes to Vancouver. I'm not sure who goes to Victoria then, since I could have happily dropped my food budget for the day on a frozen yoghurt. The city was beautiful, surrounded by the sea with distant mountaintops breaking the horizon. It was quite a vista taking the bus from the ferryport, with rolling hills bordering glittering bodies of water.
I picked a good time to visit - temperatures that reached into the mid twenties, but not many tourists cluttering up the place. Best of both worlds. It appeared that every other shop was an independent coffee store and bakery, which suited me fine. It was a nice break from Tim Hortons, as I endeavoured to sample pastries and muffins from a two mile radius. Apart from that, there was a small downtown area that was mainly a generic mall surrounded by tourist trap shops. These sold a bizarre mix of pop culture memes and First Nation artwork. Ever want to hear Grumpy Cat complain about elk? Yours, for only $19.99.
Though I want to live in Vancouver one day, eating apples in a highrise apartment and spitting pips on the commoners, Victoria seems the perfect place to retire to. I don't think I viewed anyone doing something more stressful than raise an arm for a refill. Vancouver was packed with runners, selfishly hogging the road as they quash heart disease. Victoria was more of a casual walk along the seafront, before stopping in for a fresh squeezed orange juice. A definite gear change from Vancouver, dodging joggers in tight clothing, to weaving around grandmothers pottering about in their Sunday Best.
So, the food was fantastic. Mornings consisted of muffins from the local cafe, and dinner was an excellent cultural blend. Whether it was the Mexican food truck for enchiladas or noodles from Chinatown, being able to look up from my gluttony to see a landscape so beautiful it could be a Windows stock background was amazing. With the large Asian immigrant population, the availability of stir fries was beyond anything I could have wished for.
Apart from culinary snobbery, there were also some excellent museums. The mix of green parkland, lakes, sea and mountains create a fascinating diversity of fauna, which was represented in the national history museum. The exhibits on First Nation culture were both beautiful and chilling, going hand in hand with the history of colonial expansion.
It was a shame to leave, though my arteries didn't protest. As a final fuck you to my cardiovascular system, I picked up a chocolate banana muffin and waited for the bus. This was of course the perfect time for an energetic fellow on the comedown from methadone to start up a conversation. We chatted about his brother, his bitch of an ex wife, his son in London and the book he wrote. And of course the very nature of love and reason for existence. Well, I say we chatted. He talked and I tried to avoid eye contact.
Though, apparently I saved some other poor soul from his attention. This soul belonged to Jesse, a bass player from the Vancouver band Sleuth. Jesse made for an excellent travelling companion as discussions on video games, music theory and the nature of academia became the backdrop for a few hours on the bus, ferry, bus again and the Vancouver sky train. Shame I missed his gig the evening after, but I had a date with destiny.
Which by that, I mean of course a bus to Edmonton.
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