A boat takes you from Vancouver to Victoria? I’m in.
For reasons unknown to myself, I’m a sucker for traveling by boat. Mind you, I’m not talking yachts or luxury cruise liners, but neither am I endeavoring to brave the high seas on a clipper ship. You know, a relatively safe aquatic journey where you can feel the sea spray in your face and view the world from a vantage point unattainable on land. Thus, when I visited Vancouver, British Columbia for the first time in 2002, I made plans to ride the ferry to Victoria and test the province’s capitol for a couple of days.
The Tsawwassen ferry terminal is sited about a half hour south of downtown Vancouver. The ferry to Vancouver Island glides through the picturesque Salish Sea before docking at Swartz Bay 90 minutes later. It seemed like appropriate weather for sailing the waters of coastal British Columbia: overcast, just drizzling, and a bit chilly. I cannot recall seeing any wildlife or special landmarks, but I can remember a pellucid blue ocean presaging my trip years later from Bellingham to Ketchikan.
Upon arrival at Swartz Bay, I hopped on a slick, modern bus with a flock of other travelers and made the 20-mile trek into Victoria. By the time we reached the oh-so-British-vibes metropolis, it was raining at a steady clip. While the showery sheen shaded the downtown streets a tad ashen, the lush greenery of the city still showed through.
I disembarked at a downtown stop, walked a few blocks to the hostel where I had booked a single room (ooh-la-la!) and checked in. The room was diminutive, but also clean with windows that faced the street scene below. After freshening up in the communal washroom, I hit the pavement and began my walkabout survey.
Charming? Check. Cobblestoned? Check. Friendly? It is Canada after all—check.
I ambled in the general direction of Victoria’s famed inner harbor, peering into shop windows, observing the locals, and laughing inside at advertised 97-cent pizza slices. A slice of pizza for 97 cents with the favorable exchange rate meant something like three quarters from the good old federal reserve of the United States. As a broke college student, I was dumbstruck—hell yes, I’ll have a slice!
Finally, I arrived at the Inner Harbor and wow—just wow. So elegant, so opulently verdant and flowered, so grand. The renowned Empress Hotel, where high tea is a must if you have the budget, was majestic in its castle-like visage with creeping ivy growing up the sides of its façade. And just up the street the Parliament Building was likewise impressive, fronted by perhaps the largest, most spectacular lawn I had ever viewed outside of a sports stadium.
The British ambiance was palpable, but felt authentic rather than hokey or contrived. Yes, spots of tea could be had. Inviting, stone-veneered pubs with ye olde English font signs boasted titles like The Penny Farthing and the Bard and Banker. Dories and more impressive vessels bobbed languid at the center of the scene. I have never visited England and only know Dover or Kent from photographs, but it was hard to imagine Victoria presented a dissimilar setting.
Much like in Vancouver, there were the friendly drug peddlers. Want some blow, eh? No thanks. Ok, sooory to bother you. Much like Vancouver, there was a touch of grimy street life that never felt all that threatening. And much like Vancouver, folks were generally affable, easy to smile, and completely approachable for directions or recommendations.
Eventually, I settled on a kitschy enough pub, ducked inside under the wooden rafters and settled in. Memory fails on the atmospheric details, but I do recall a seat near a window where I watched pedestrians saunter by, a pint of ale, and a steaming shepherd’s pie with lamb, topped by the requisite mountain of mashed potatoes. On a brisk Victoria day, the meal was savory and fitting.
Following dinner I strolled back toward the Inner Harbor, found a seat on a bench, and looked out on the water. No impressive thoughts crossed my mind, no intellectual puzzles were solved. I simply sat, appreciating the allure.
After a few minutes, an elderly woman walking a small dog crossed in front of me. She stopped at the bench, peered out at the winsome anchorage momentarily, then turned to me and said: “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I replied, “very pretty tonight.” She turned back to the path, nodded slightly in my direction, and left me with a seemingly proper “Good evening.”
For me, this wholly uneventful interaction was a revelation. Coming from my home in San Francisco, the idea that an elderly woman would stop for a few words with a large male stranger, mutually acknowledge a lovely evening, and then carry on without a hint of anxiety was in turns quaint, reassuring, and fairly astonishing. She was not worried that I was on the verge of snatching her purse or gruffly requesting a dollar?
Conviviality is a wonderful thing. Perhaps more than anything else, the ineffable spirit that attracted me most to both Vancouver and Victoria, was the ease and repose of the people. It was refreshing and hinted at a different attitude toward life outside the confines of one’s residence. Maybe 20 years later things are different now in Victoria, I do not know. But during my tour of the city, I kept lingering on the stark difference between the disposition of folks in British Columbia’s two most notable municipalities and of those in the San Francisco Bay Area. Naïve perchance, I hope Victoria has not changed one bit.