Victoria Adventure

Louise and I flew back from Victoria recently.  I was there for a job interview and some dinners related to future employment opportunities (ie, who is going to give me the biggest bonus so I can set up my hand-built standup paddleboard workshed?) and Louise came along to hang out with the hubs sans kids, look at some more schools, take me to at least 3 restaurants a day that didn’t serve Timbits, check out some more neighborhoods, and get more Mount Royal bagels (in a paper bag).

Helping us on this adventure (mis-? You decide, read on…) were Grandma Barb and Poppa Mike.  Selflessly flying three more time zones just a few days after a long trip from France, they absorbed the download from Louise on the many nuances required to keep up with which animal Teia may be impersonating at any given moment or which vehicle Kai might be loving.  We were thrown for a loop by a late-breaking fever on Kai but after some reassurance he would survive (including Teia’s kindergarten teacher priceless observation “I’m sure the grandparents have dealt with a fever before”), we confidently marched out of the house towards victory (job offer, school choice, dream neighborhood, Mount Royal Bagels in a paper bag).

We were also hoping for some relaxing time alone, enjoying a quiet kid-free trip for a change.  Just as Hannibal’s plans to invade Rome went pear-shaped in the Alps (elephants don’t do well on snowy cliffs), so did ours go pear-shaped in Seattle airport (boxes of chocolate don’t walk by themselves).  Louise had purchased some chocolate in San Diego to give to a friend.  After the flight into Seattle, we boarded one of the trains that go from one terminal to another when a woman next to us blurted out “I forgot my poster!” and darted out the door (I initially thought she said “I forgot my COASTER” which made this action even more surprising.  She may as well said “I forgot my floor mat!” or “I forgot my canuba wax!”).  As I was thinking about what else one might forget as random as those things, Louise looked up at me with a start “I forgot the chocolates!” and sprinted off (seemingly in pursuit).  Without a second to think, I ran after her, narrowly avoiding a vivisection from the closing train doors.  I can only imagine what the other passengers in this train must have been thinking.  Surely they weren’t expecting such excitement or profound forgetfulness.

Now, some may not realize that Louise has wanted to run a sub-seven minute mile for awhile.  Recent injuries and life’s demands have made it difficult to train for this goal.  However, leave some chocolates abandoned somewhere in Seattle airport, and brother, that 7-minute barrier gets broken like a dry twig.  Stairs were taken 2, 3, 4 at a time.  Her body angled around the corners like she was on a banked track.  As she approached the potential drop zone, she realized they might be near a water fountain.  A logical person may reason that the difference in speed from a 2 mph saunter and 20 mph sprint isn’t significant over a 20m distance (its about 27 seconds).  But lost chocolate does not lend itself to logic or calculations.  So onto her toes for the final sprint did Louise go, zipping around the corner to a mighty “Huzzah!  Huzzah” as the chocolates were found by a water fountain.

(the chocolates were a gift for Louise’s friend & colleague, Dorothy.  If only she knew how much panicked passion and cardiovascular output went along with that gift)

With the heartrates down and back in the terminal for our connecting flight to Victoria, we boarded a tiny Dash 8 for the 30min trip.  So far, other than the poster mis-placer (and ourselves), we hadn’t met too many interesting characters.  That was about to change in a toque-bundled flash.  Many of you may know of Bob and Doug McKenzie as pretty famous but over-the-top stereotypical Canadian “hosers” in “Strange Brew” and various SCTV episodes.  Well, Louise and I sat in front of their cousins on the flight from Seattle to Victoria. 

I’ve never heard two people talk so much… about almost nothing.  It was sort of a stream-of-consciousness on various male interests.  Getting drunk in Burger King waiting for a flight, watching the landing gear go up and down (and the subsequent changes to drag and speed, unless power was increased), takeoff distances of the Dash-8 versus other aircraft models, commentary of the geography and terrain below us (whether there were clouds or not to block our view, it didn’t seem to matter: clouds merely led to discussion over what we had just flown over), comparison of current credit card limits vs. the taxes for a new Breitling watch for sale in Las Vegas, and on and on.  It was a pretty quick 30min flight.

Prior to our trip, one of our selling points to the kids (other than they’d have Grandma and Poppa Mike spoiling them crazy!)  was that this would be a business trip for mom and dad.  No fun would be missed. No kid-friendly activities.  Our first indications we had inadvertently lied through our teeth came when we were walking from our hotel towards the harbor.  We only intended to walk along the water then grab a bite.  We quickly noticed folks hanging around each street corner.  In some cities, ne’re do wells hang out on street corners; they ask for money or smokes, occasionally they let you know their opinion on things at the top of their lungs.  I thought it odd that in Victoria, the ne’re do wells were young families with kids in strollers, but hey, I’m flexible on the socio-economic classification of vagrants I should be wary of.

But as we walked further along, we noticed more & more families.  So the corner-stalkers weren’t actually stalkers, they must all be waiting for something.  But what?  We asked a couple young people in BC Transit safety gear.  The answer: “ Trucks.”   Um, what kind of trucks?  “Lighted Trucks.”

OK, let’s check it out!  The Lighted Truck Parade, as we’ll call it, was running a little late, but was pretty spectacular once it cruised & honked on by:

The quintessential Canadian moment:

After the lighted truck parade, we watched the slightly quieter, slower, more stately lighted boat parade, then decided to check out the Empress, a famous hotel in Victoria, with equally famous Christmas Tree competition. 

As we crossed the street from one direction, another family crossed from another.  We met at the corner, stopping before a collision. The following conversation occurred (it doesn’t really matter who said what):
“Oh sorry, excuse me.”

“Sorry, excuse me!”

“Go ahead”

“No, no, you go ahead”

“Its OK, sorry, you go ahead.”

“Oh no no, its alright, you go ahead. So sorry!”

How do you break a Canadian Sorry Spiral?  Apparently, you need an American (me), to steer Louise around the back of the other family before we spent the rest of the night on that street corner trying to out-sorry each other.  As we walked away from each other smiling, laughing, with prolific, apologetic head nods, a woman from the other family stated proudly/humorously: “Canadians!”

Yes, indeed!