Fare the well B.C.

First a shout out to the all the commenters out there. I really appreciate it and I probably would have dropped this thing a long time ago without you guys. Here's looking at you kid :)

Second this will be the last posting for a while as tomorrow I head to Port Angeles to board the Ocean Dancer and head up to Alaska. I think it is three days running to get to the fishing grounds and I just don't know when I will have access to a computer again.

I suppose I last left off in Ganges where I spent several days taking in the casual island living that is so easily had up here in B.C. I have to admit that I was more than ready to move on to Victoria. After packing up the campsite Tara hitchhiked down to Fulford Harbour and I rode my bicycle the few rolling miles through sun drenched farmlands and vineyards to met up again for the ferry ride to Swartz Bay. Again we parted as she took the city bus in to Victoria and I pedaled in. Any complaints of poor bicycle routes on Salt Spring Island were more than suppressed in greater Victoria where miles and miles of dedicated bike paths connect the outlying areas to the inner city. I rode nearly 20 miles without navigating a busy street as the regional trails snaked through farmland and parks and quiet residential streets all expertly connected to provide a safe alternative for bicycles and pedestrians.



Arriving in downtown Victoria I quickly found the Turtle Refuge Hostel shortly before 7 p.m. where Tara and I had agreed to meet, and found her waiting as patiently as she seems capable of. After unloading my gear we went out for dinner to a sort of country themed pub with peanut shells on the floor and a barman in overalls in a straw hat. The music was great with many lesser know Johnny Cash songs among other well respected country artists on the jukebox. the food was good and filling after averaging just over 15 mph for the 20 miles from the ferry to Victoria which had left me quite ravenous. After dinner and a few beers I was ready for a good nights sleep.

I awoke the next morning, much earlier than planned mind you, to the sounds of men working in the old brick building next to the hostel that is being turned into luxury lofts that are becoming all to common in cities all around North America and abroad I am sure. Tara took me out first for a large fried breakfast and then a walking tour of some here favorite parts of the city. We walked the water front to fisherman's wharf where a small neighborhood of houseboats are moored before rounding the point and walking out a long seawall with the shores of Washington state across the Juan de fuca Strait to the south where I am destined to head tomorrow. On we went through Beacon Park which was really quite lovely and reminiscent of the parks I saw in Europe and especially in Amsterdam with countless little ponds and bridges and fountains all about.

The long walk left us both exhausted and after buying some goods for dinner at the market and a bottle of Canadian wine (my first) we headed back to the hostel. We made a salad that was really quite good and ate dinner up on the westward facing deck on the second story that was just blanketed with sun as it was getting on in the day. The wine was sweet and dry and well suited to the warm evening. the Canadian cheese however was disappointing with little or no flavor to speak of. A far cry from the sheep's milk cheese I had on Salt Spring Island that with just a touch of blue struck quite the balance between stinky and smooth. Below a shot off the deck mentioned above.

Tara took off this morning to the north to begin her summer as a kayaking guide. I thoroughly enjoyed out time together, but I am a bit relieved to be on my own again if only for a short time. After more than a week of travelling solo it was nice to have some company, but I think that on ones own is really the best way to go when on the road.

I spent the majority of the day at the Maritime Museum, which seemed fitting as my life for the next few months will be on a boat, my last two weeks have been spent hopping from one coastal town to the next, and my literature the past several days has been set on Melville's high seas. I was delighted to find a model replica of of a "British 74" the boat on which Billy Bud's story is told. The museum sort of oscillated from excellent to shabby depending on the exhibits but was for the most part interesting and was only marred by incredible sneezing fits that plagued me all day. I must be allergic to the something up here in the pacific northwest. Here is that 74 I was talking about.
I am currently perched at the best Internet cafe I have found yet. Billiards, beer, and cyber terminals. What more could I really ask for. The day is waning and I think I will call it an early night what with needing to be at the ferry terminal at 8:30 in order to clear customs. So to all those I won't be able to talk with before I head out, farewell, and wish me good luck.