LOS ANGELES - July 24th
In a couple of hours I leave for the wild blue yonder, specifically for British Columbia. It's a vacation. Ellie has been cooking it up in preparation for my birthday, and I'm looking forward to the chance to visit a part of the world I have never seen, but which I hear is beautiful. Still, some trepidation about the travel itself: everything I hear about air travel these days suggests that it is more difficult, even, than a year ago. New terrorist scares have made the security lines longer, and of course the summer crowds.
And yet... It will allow me the opportunity, perhaps, to breathe my way into some patience. A little Buddhist practice, I know, always serves me well.
I hope to continue to make entries in The Buddha Diaries, as I have done on travels in the past--most recently from our trip down the Danube (see below, right sidebar.) That is, assuming easy online access in the places that we visit. I do happen to know that there are some Buddha Diaries readers up in that area... Let me know if you're reading this and would enjoy a cup of coffee in Vancouver, Victoria, or points north. And please stay in touch. My able assistant, Cardozo, will be tending to the blog for here in Southern California--and I'm hoping to have some nice visuals to post. We'll see... Until later, blessings all around!
Patience...and its Reward
VANCOUVER - July 25th
Well, we made it. I'm sitting here overlooking the city of Vancouver from our 12th floor hotel room.
It's a beautiful city, as we discovered yesterday on our walk along the Sea Wall and a first foray into the lovely Stanley Park.
But first, the journey... which proved mercifully easy, despite the pre-departure worries. Oh, one hitch. We had one of those "operated by" flights that got me into trouble once before: you have to check in at the operating airline, not the one that's on your ticket. Wise to the problem--so I thought--we stopped of at Terminal 7 and asked one of the skycaps, just to be sure we were right. On his assurance, we said our goodbyes to Cardozo, who had brought us to the airport, and sent him on his way. It was only when we were turned down by the electronic check-in system that we realized something was wrong--and were sent dashing round the airport to Terminal 2 to catch our flight.
Goodbye, good intentions about applying all those good lessons from the meditation practice! Ellie is far better at the practical realitites than I, who arrived at the proper check-in point already in a sweat and--to be truthful--inner turmoil. Ah well, I did soon settle down to a comfortable level of travel anesthesia. The New York Times crossword helped. And the flight took off in good time, and proved easy, fast, and comfortable.
And, yes, Vancouver... We arrived here early afternoon, and set out into the city before even pausing to unpack. A few blocks down to the waterfront and a stop for a refreshing glass of beer and a bite to eat at a restaurant out over the water;
then a gelato--not up to Ellie's high standards for this treat--and that walk along the Sea Wall, past the rowing club where teams of rowers were out plying the oars (I recalled how my father rowed for his Cambridge college) and on to the yacht club before turning back. Beautiful green lawns and trees and, unexpectedly, a clear blue sky. Delicious.
Back at the hotel, I was dismayed to hear news of the Tour de France and the withdrawal of Vinokourov from the race, having tested positive for a blood transfusion. Why do they do this? It's a crying shame... A quick shower, a rest, and off for the remainder of the evening at the Vancouver Art Gallery, where we waited in a long line to get in, missed the main show (of works from the Cleveland art museum because it was too crowded (!) and saw instead a fascinating show by the Chinese artist Huang Yong Ping. It's worth taking a quick look at the site, which includes a picture of his eye-opening elephant and tiger installation. I was unfamiliar with his work before, but was much impressed: huge installation pieces challenging a variety of received ideas about society, race, nationality, and history. Still, I was already tired and did not explore the show in enough depth to comment other than superficially.
An odd supper at an Italian restaurant where they were out of pizza--and out of the pasta we ordered instead. We settled for chicken souvlaki (Italian???) and a glass of Australian shiraz. Then back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.
Well, we made it. I'm sitting here overlooking the city of Vancouver from our 12th floor hotel room.
It's a beautiful city, as we discovered yesterday on our walk along the Sea Wall and a first foray into the lovely Stanley Park.But first, the journey... which proved mercifully easy, despite the pre-departure worries. Oh, one hitch. We had one of those "operated by" flights that got me into trouble once before: you have to check in at the operating airline, not the one that's on your ticket. Wise to the problem--so I thought--we stopped of at Terminal 7 and asked one of the skycaps, just to be sure we were right. On his assurance, we said our goodbyes to Cardozo, who had brought us to the airport, and sent him on his way. It was only when we were turned down by the electronic check-in system that we realized something was wrong--and were sent dashing round the airport to Terminal 2 to catch our flight.
Goodbye, good intentions about applying all those good lessons from the meditation practice! Ellie is far better at the practical realitites than I, who arrived at the proper check-in point already in a sweat and--to be truthful--inner turmoil. Ah well, I did soon settle down to a comfortable level of travel anesthesia. The New York Times crossword helped. And the flight took off in good time, and proved easy, fast, and comfortable.
And, yes, Vancouver... We arrived here early afternoon, and set out into the city before even pausing to unpack. A few blocks down to the waterfront and a stop for a refreshing glass of beer and a bite to eat at a restaurant out over the water;
then a gelato--not up to Ellie's high standards for this treat--and that walk along the Sea Wall, past the rowing club where teams of rowers were out plying the oars (I recalled how my father rowed for his Cambridge college) and on to the yacht club before turning back. Beautiful green lawns and trees and, unexpectedly, a clear blue sky. Delicious.
Back at the hotel, I was dismayed to hear news of the Tour de France and the withdrawal of Vinokourov from the race, having tested positive for a blood transfusion. Why do they do this? It's a crying shame... A quick shower, a rest, and off for the remainder of the evening at the Vancouver Art Gallery, where we waited in a long line to get in, missed the main show (of works from the Cleveland art museum because it was too crowded (!) and saw instead a fascinating show by the Chinese artist Huang Yong Ping. It's worth taking a quick look at the site, which includes a picture of his eye-opening elephant and tiger installation. I was unfamiliar with his work before, but was much impressed: huge installation pieces challenging a variety of received ideas about society, race, nationality, and history. Still, I was already tired and did not explore the show in enough depth to comment other than superficially.
An odd supper at an Italian restaurant where they were out of pizza--and out of the pasta we ordered instead. We settled for chicken souvlaki (Italian???) and a glass of Australian shiraz. Then back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.
Nothing But Sun
VANCOUVER - July 26th
Dawn
Our twelfth floor
hotel balcony: a pink
dawn. Down below us, a score
of seagulls drift
and scream incessantly.
Below them,
a screech of brakes:
the city wakes.
Thus, yesterday morning during meditation; thus, too, this morning.
Ah, yesterday! A fabulous day in Vancouver. The sun shone all day. The locals marveled: all last week, nothing but rain, and now two days of nothing but sun.
I crossed the street early for a cup of Starbucks—and in the hope that Starbucks here would carry, as they do down south, the New York Times. Anxious for news of the Tour… No, no Times. But coffee…
We made an early start, walking back down Robson Street and turning down Burrard, as instructed, to the little tub-boat ferry that took us across a narrow stretch of bay—blue, blue water!
—to the huge market on the Granville Island wharfs.
Quite a spectacle, with dozens of fruit and vegetable stalls inside, bakeries and flower shops, and a host of small café counters. Needing breakfast, Ellie opted for a slice of grape bread, I for a small wheat loaf and a pat of butter picked up at a different stand, and we sat out on the dockside with a cup of coffee, feeding bread crumbs to the gulls.
After wandering for a while down the narrow streets behind the market and visiting a couple of rather junky souvenir shops, Ellie found a jewelry stall to her liking and sprung for $15 for a couple of pairs of craftsman-made earrings. Then, venturing on, we began to think about visiting the Museum of Anthropology and discovered, on inquiring from some friendly natives, that it was way out along the peninsula on the campus of the University of British Columbia.
Not to be daunted, we decided on a bus, and found the number 4, (appropriately, on 4th Avenue) which took us out to the edge of the university, where some very serious swimmers were taking advantage of the sunshine, doing laps in a huge Olympic pool. A long walk through the beautifully landscaped campus—trees, lawns, flowers—to the very furthest edge from where we started out, pausing for pictures in a truly lovely rose garden with a view across the (blue! blue!) water to the snow-capped mountains and the (blue! blue!) sky beyond.
The Museum of Anthropology—currently under serious renovation—proved an extraordinary experience. The café was not up to much—and eggs salad sandwich, a bottle of lemonade—but the exhibits were spectacular, from the stunning collection of Northwest totems to the seemingly endless cases chock-a-block with artifacts from all parts of the world: baskets and jewelry, woven textiles, articles of clothing, ritual masks and carvings, weapons, hunting and fishing gears, utensils, musical instruments of all kinds—flutes and whistles, clappers, drums…
An amazing testament to the endless inventiveness and creativity of the human spirit, and one which left us awed—myself even somewhat overpowered with a strange fit of nausea and dizziness—by the pent-up, discarded spiritual power invested in these objects. Strangely, the nausea returns even as I think about them. I recall a poem I wrote a while ago about the incongruity of our "civilization" relegating such objects to the sterile confines of a museum.
On our way back through the campus, we stumbled on the university art gallery and another powerful exhibition—this one of the contemporary African American artist Glenn Ligon, who turns an unrelenting gaze on the issue of skin color and the racism still inherent in our society. Huge canvases, in which loaded texts are spelled out—and left only partially legible—in coal dust. An ironic series of "Runaway" prints, runaway slave posters featuring the artist himself in a variety of inept descriptions. And another series of strong paintings with the texts of numerous, and truly scurrilous Richard Prior "nigger" jokes—his term, borrowed by the artist, not mine, I have not earned that right.
A bus ride back to Granville Island, a ferry ride over to a different point in the city, Yaletown—a renovated downtown warehouse area, now teeming with what appeared to be trendy restaurants and boutiques. A stop to buy a new battery for our digital camera, and another long walk back though the city to our hotel. We discover that there is to be a fireworks display tonight—but are told that our room, regrettably, faces in the wrong direction. I study the map, where the fireworks barge is supposed to be, and think, well, maybe...
A shower, a catch-up on the travesty of the Tour de France—Michael Rasmussen, the overall leader, now fired by his team for not showing up for drug tests, and out of the race—and out to dinner at Cin Cin, an excellent, second-story Italian restaurant overlooking Robson Street, where crowds of people are streaming down toward the site of fireworks. We shared an excellent fig and prosciutto starter, a salad, and a lobster linguini, and enjoyed a glass of wine recommended by the helpful (Chinese, from Calgary!) waitress, then headed back to our hotel. To discover, miracle of miracle, that we had front row and center seats for the fireworks…
A spectacular end to a spectacular day.
Dawn
Our twelfth floor
hotel balcony: a pink
dawn. Down below us, a score
of seagulls drift
and scream incessantly.
Below them,
a screech of brakes:
the city wakes.
Thus, yesterday morning during meditation; thus, too, this morning.
Ah, yesterday! A fabulous day in Vancouver. The sun shone all day. The locals marveled: all last week, nothing but rain, and now two days of nothing but sun.
I crossed the street early for a cup of Starbucks—and in the hope that Starbucks here would carry, as they do down south, the New York Times. Anxious for news of the Tour… No, no Times. But coffee…
We made an early start, walking back down Robson Street and turning down Burrard, as instructed, to the little tub-boat ferry that took us across a narrow stretch of bay—blue, blue water!
—to the huge market on the Granville Island wharfs.
Quite a spectacle, with dozens of fruit and vegetable stalls inside, bakeries and flower shops, and a host of small café counters. Needing breakfast, Ellie opted for a slice of grape bread, I for a small wheat loaf and a pat of butter picked up at a different stand, and we sat out on the dockside with a cup of coffee, feeding bread crumbs to the gulls.
After wandering for a while down the narrow streets behind the market and visiting a couple of rather junky souvenir shops, Ellie found a jewelry stall to her liking and sprung for $15 for a couple of pairs of craftsman-made earrings. Then, venturing on, we began to think about visiting the Museum of Anthropology and discovered, on inquiring from some friendly natives, that it was way out along the peninsula on the campus of the University of British Columbia.Not to be daunted, we decided on a bus, and found the number 4, (appropriately, on 4th Avenue) which took us out to the edge of the university, where some very serious swimmers were taking advantage of the sunshine, doing laps in a huge Olympic pool. A long walk through the beautifully landscaped campus—trees, lawns, flowers—to the very furthest edge from where we started out, pausing for pictures in a truly lovely rose garden with a view across the (blue! blue!) water to the snow-capped mountains and the (blue! blue!) sky beyond.
The Museum of Anthropology—currently under serious renovation—proved an extraordinary experience. The café was not up to much—and eggs salad sandwich, a bottle of lemonade—but the exhibits were spectacular, from the stunning collection of Northwest totems to the seemingly endless cases chock-a-block with artifacts from all parts of the world: baskets and jewelry, woven textiles, articles of clothing, ritual masks and carvings, weapons, hunting and fishing gears, utensils, musical instruments of all kinds—flutes and whistles, clappers, drums…
An amazing testament to the endless inventiveness and creativity of the human spirit, and one which left us awed—myself even somewhat overpowered with a strange fit of nausea and dizziness—by the pent-up, discarded spiritual power invested in these objects. Strangely, the nausea returns even as I think about them. I recall a poem I wrote a while ago about the incongruity of our "civilization" relegating such objects to the sterile confines of a museum.On our way back through the campus, we stumbled on the university art gallery and another powerful exhibition—this one of the contemporary African American artist Glenn Ligon, who turns an unrelenting gaze on the issue of skin color and the racism still inherent in our society. Huge canvases, in which loaded texts are spelled out—and left only partially legible—in coal dust. An ironic series of "Runaway" prints, runaway slave posters featuring the artist himself in a variety of inept descriptions. And another series of strong paintings with the texts of numerous, and truly scurrilous Richard Prior "nigger" jokes—his term, borrowed by the artist, not mine, I have not earned that right.
A bus ride back to Granville Island, a ferry ride over to a different point in the city, Yaletown—a renovated downtown warehouse area, now teeming with what appeared to be trendy restaurants and boutiques. A stop to buy a new battery for our digital camera, and another long walk back though the city to our hotel. We discover that there is to be a fireworks display tonight—but are told that our room, regrettably, faces in the wrong direction. I study the map, where the fireworks barge is supposed to be, and think, well, maybe...
A shower, a catch-up on the travesty of the Tour de France—Michael Rasmussen, the overall leader, now fired by his team for not showing up for drug tests, and out of the race—and out to dinner at Cin Cin, an excellent, second-story Italian restaurant overlooking Robson Street, where crowds of people are streaming down toward the site of fireworks. We shared an excellent fig and prosciutto starter, a salad, and a lobster linguini, and enjoyed a glass of wine recommended by the helpful (Chinese, from Calgary!) waitress, then headed back to our hotel. To discover, miracle of miracle, that we had front row and center seats for the fireworks…
A spectacular end to a spectacular day.
Le Tour de Stanley Park
VANCOUVER, British Columbia - July 27th
Well, now that the Tour de France is out of reach--in more sense than one: I just can't get the OLN channel on the hotel television and, well, you know that the whole thing has degenerated into the worst disaster anyway--we decided we'd go it on our own. Here's Ellie rounding a sharp, hilly turn in Stanley Park. It looks like someone has taken a nasty spill behind her, but she's carrying on regardless...
No, seriously, we did rent bikes this morning. Woke early, wrote the poem that you may have read in the previous entry, and made that very entry over a cup of coffee in the hotel room. Left a little later than usual, and stopped for a "proper breakfast"--Ellie satisfies this need with a munch on a muffin: I happen to prefer the proper variety--and found a bicycle shop near the entry to this wonderful park.
We were a wee bit wobbly to start with--we have not been in the saddle for more years than either of us can remember--but once we got the hang of things again, we did just fine.
Starting out along the coastal Sea Wall, we turned inland at the point where they have closed off the shore line, due to a damaging winter storm last year, and found ourselves riding through magnificent forest scenery,
past Beaver Lake, with its millions of water lilies covering the entire surface, and its water birds;
to Third Beach, where we stopped to admire the view, a brief nap under the pines for myself,
and a pleasant outdoor lunch
at the Sequioa Grill--and, by miraculous happenstance, ran into good friends and neighbors from Laguna Beach! Then on, along the Sea Wall, and through the bottom end of the park, past the Lost Lagoon, and back to our bicycle rental shop. The whole tour took us four and a half hours.
A walk up the hill back to our hotel, and time to wrestle with the task of getting our pictures from the camera to the computer, then choosing those you see here on the blog; a few minutes to prepare for an early departure in the morning, and down the hill for dinner at the Raincity Grill in Davie Village. An excellent meal, but for Ellie's steak--almost too tough to be edible. A good restaurant, they courteously excluded it from our bill. Then a walk around the bustling beach community another, differently spectacular view of the bay, and back to the hotel.
Well, now that the Tour de France is out of reach--in more sense than one: I just can't get the OLN channel on the hotel television and, well, you know that the whole thing has degenerated into the worst disaster anyway--we decided we'd go it on our own. Here's Ellie rounding a sharp, hilly turn in Stanley Park. It looks like someone has taken a nasty spill behind her, but she's carrying on regardless...
No, seriously, we did rent bikes this morning. Woke early, wrote the poem that you may have read in the previous entry, and made that very entry over a cup of coffee in the hotel room. Left a little later than usual, and stopped for a "proper breakfast"--Ellie satisfies this need with a munch on a muffin: I happen to prefer the proper variety--and found a bicycle shop near the entry to this wonderful park.
We were a wee bit wobbly to start with--we have not been in the saddle for more years than either of us can remember--but once we got the hang of things again, we did just fine.
Starting out along the coastal Sea Wall, we turned inland at the point where they have closed off the shore line, due to a damaging winter storm last year, and found ourselves riding through magnificent forest scenery, past Beaver Lake, with its millions of water lilies covering the entire surface, and its water birds;to Third Beach, where we stopped to admire the view, a brief nap under the pines for myself,and a pleasant outdoor lunchat the Sequioa Grill--and, by miraculous happenstance, ran into good friends and neighbors from Laguna Beach! Then on, along the Sea Wall, and through the bottom end of the park, past the Lost Lagoon, and back to our bicycle rental shop. The whole tour took us four and a half hours.A walk up the hill back to our hotel, and time to wrestle with the task of getting our pictures from the camera to the computer, then choosing those you see here on the blog; a few minutes to prepare for an early departure in the morning, and down the hill for dinner at the Raincity Grill in Davie Village. An excellent meal, but for Ellie's steak--almost too tough to be edible. A good restaurant, they courteously excluded it from our bill. Then a walk around the bustling beach community another, differently spectacular view of the bay, and back to the hotel.
Oooooh! Ahhhh!
VANCOUVER ISLAND, British Columbia - July 28th
Not much to say, really. Woke at five. Did a half hour sit. Packed. Walked down street to pick up rental car. Office closed. Walked back to Starbucks, bought coffee, waited for car rental to open. Picked up car. Picked up luggage (oh, and Ellie) at the hotel, drove ninety minutes to ferry dock. More waiting in the passenger service area (they sell all kinds of stuff there--but no NY Times!) More coffee. Boarded ferry...
Not much to say, really. Woke at five. Did a half hour sit. Packed. Walked down street to pick up rental car. Office closed. Walked back to Starbucks, bought coffee, waited for car rental to open. Picked up car. Picked up luggage (oh, and Ellie) at the hotel, drove ninety minutes to ferry dock. More waiting in the passenger service area (they sell all kinds of stuff there--but no NY Times!) More coffee. Boarded ferry...
Crossed channel between lovely islands...
Disembarked and drove down Vancouver Island to the incredible Butchart Gardens...
Apologies for the dupe, I couldn't work out how to erase one of them, but they're worth seeing twice, no? And there's more...
Roses...
The lovely Japanese garden, with its myriad greens--the trees, the shrubbery...
And the famous Sunken Garden...
So many pictures, so few words. And then on, south, to our new digs in Sooke Harbor...
And dinner...
And bed...
Need I say more?
Sooke Harbor
VICTORIA, British Columbia - July 29th
between the open sea and the wide harbor, with its yachts, its fishing boats and
While the memory is still fresh... This morning! This glorious Sunday morning! I woke at five-thirty, time enough for a delicious full hour's sit--and thoughts of our little sangha, gathering even as I write these words, down in Laguna Beach, a thousand miles to the south. Outside, the fog bank still hung low at the other side of the bay, and the sun was just beginning to glow through the clouds on our side. Birds everywhere, sea birds, land birds... Herons, two-a-penny. Well, no, because each one of the is different and individual--a different stance, a different attitude, a different crook of the neck and a different flap of the big wings as they take to flight. They love it here. I saw eight of ten of them at one time, just outside our window. Then, the greatest thrill of all, a great bald eagle appeared from behind a stand of pine trees and made a lazy, wheeling turn right above my head. Electrifying! And I didn't even have the presence of mind to take a picture...
Speaking of which, it's time to get a camera with a better zoom than the little one we have. It takes wonderful pictures (no?) but I'd love to get in closer to those herons.
Or to the band of sea otters that Ellie and I saw, just a little later, as we walked out along the long, curving spit of land outside our hotel, which makes a natural breakwater
between the open sea and the wide harbor, with its yachts, its fishing boats and piers. I did not know that otters swam in bands like this: there were six or eight of them, closely grouped--and they were surely too small to be seals or sea lions.
We humans sorely need this contact with the wild. These creatures serve to humanize us in the example they set of the precise and proper use of power, their complex relations with each other and the environment they inhabit. They waste nothing, occupy only the terrritory that they need and, I imagine--perhaps too fondly--do battle only over natural imperatives.
Oh, and then, on our return from a long walk out along the spit, there was breakfast.
As they used to say, dig it! More, later, about the incredible food we've been enjoying at this inn.
In the meantime, on with the day. Yesterday, that is. We hung out comfortably for the duration of the morning, needing the chance to take in the breath of life outside the city. Then, being so close, we took the forty-five minute drive into Victoria and spent the afternoon exploring that famous city. Wandering down through the streets from a convenient parking structure, we arrived at the sea front and wandered along the promenade, pausing to watch a juggler doing his act--and to retrieve some cash from a reluctant ATM machine. Then on, past the elegant and venerable Empress Hotel,
to a comfortable area along the quay where we could sit and enjoy the packed lunch provided by the hotel...
Is this the time to rhapsodize? Our inn provides breakfast served in the room AND a packed lunch, as well as dinner, if one so chooses. Everything is prepared with enormous skill and sensitivity to the ingredients, and presented so artfully--you've seen the pictures--that it seems almost a shame to eat it. All local ingredients, most of them grown in the gardens of the hotel, all of them organic, and blended with extraordinary devotion to the balance of taste. Our packed lunch: a salad with beets, orange and yellow bell peppers, marinated fava beans and chick peas and specially prepared tofu (I know what you're thinking if you don't happen to be a tofu fan, but this was truly delicious!) An orange nectarine, very tasty. And a piece of the most delicious carrot cake I have ever eaten. Period. No contest.
Thinking to avoid the milling millions of (fellow!) tourists, we wandered into the back streets behind the parliament building, and happened upon a local food and crafts fair (luckily, we were no longer the least bit hungry) and got directions to the Emily Carr house, a few blocks further on. It turned out to be a modest Victorian, by no means a mansion, nicely kept up for those interested in learning more about this until recently little-known Canadian artist. Carr seemes to have been part Emily Dickinson, for her spinsterly isolation; part Georgia O'Keeffe, for her sensuous landscape painting; and part, yes, even Getrude Stein, not only for her stern appearance and her impressive girth, but also for the ever-so-slightly sardonic wit of her writing. We enjoyed the tour of the house, a nicely done CBS video about her life and work, and (free!) tea and cookies in the sun room.
We walked on through the beautiful Beacon Hill Park,
past wonderful, whimsical children's playgrounds, lakes and open lawns,
and out the other side in search of St. Ann's Academy--a Catholic institution recommended for its interesting buildings and gardens.
The chapel was sweet, but much else was closed for a wedding celebration, so we left and strolled back through the city center to the old Chinatown area,
then back to the car, feeling quite exhausted from the extended walk.
Surfeited with food of the gourmet variety, we stopped at a pub on the way back for a huge helping of greasy fish and chips. Delicious. Too much. The big plates were overflowing at the edges. Thankfully, I didn't take a picture.
And so, as Pepys used to say, in his diary, to bed. Wouldn't he have loved a blog. No?
Another Glorious Day
VANCOUVER ISLAND, British Columbia - July 30th
I wrote yesterday about our early morning in Sooke Harbor, so there's no need to repeat myself. Except to include another few pictures of the spit that I don't think I used yesterday...
We spent our Sunday morning close to home, relaxing and reading on the small lawn outside our room, and taking some pictures
then spreading out before us in its full, splendid length.
There was a brisk wind, quite cold, we thought, and marveled at the sight of sunbathers in scant costume--some even braving the waters--and kayakers paddling in the breakers. We found a sheltered spot for our packed lunch--this time, a meat pasty (shredded pork) with a rhubarb sauce, apricots again, and cake with chocolate icing. Very nice. Then strolled back and forth along the beach in search of shells (not many) and attractive pebbles (more than plenty) to add to our pebble souvenir collection back in Southern California.
I wrote yesterday about our early morning in Sooke Harbor, so there's no need to repeat myself. Except to include another few pictures of the spit that I don't think I used yesterday...and those darn herons.
So beautiful, so elegant, such efficient fishers! Oh, and breakfast!
We spent our Sunday morning close to home, relaxing and reading on the small lawn outside our room, and taking some pictures
of this beautiful hotel and its bountiful gardens.
Wanting to see more of the coastline while we're here, we stopped by the front desk around noon to pick up our packed lunch, ask for hiking suggestions--and borrow binoculars. I especially wanted to see a few more of those magnificent bald eagles. Our friend at the desk suggested China Beach, a half hour's drive north and west of the hotel, and we followed his suggestion.
A lovely road that hugged the shoreline, passing through sometimes dense forest, sometimes alongside the pebbled beaches with their piles of sun-bleached silver driftwood. The parking area for China Beach had only a few vehicles, even on a Sunday, and we left the car there and walked perhaps a half mile down through
A lovely road that hugged the shoreline, passing through sometimes dense forest, sometimes alongside the pebbled beaches with their piles of sun-bleached silver driftwood. The parking area for China Beach had only a few vehicles, even on a Sunday, and we left the car there and walked perhaps a half mile down through
the forest to the beach. We had heard about the previous winter's storm, and saw the evidence of it here in the forest, with many downed trees, splintered or sawed up by rangers to clear the path. A dramatic demonstration of the powerful processes of nature...
And a dramatic arrival at the beach, glimpsed first through the serried ranks of trees,
And a dramatic arrival at the beach, glimpsed first through the serried ranks of trees,
then spreading out before us in its full, splendid length.
There was a brisk wind, quite cold, we thought, and marveled at the sight of sunbathers in scant costume--some even braving the waters--and kayakers paddling in the breakers. We found a sheltered spot for our packed lunch--this time, a meat pasty (shredded pork) with a rhubarb sauce, apricots again, and cake with chocolate icing. Very nice. Then strolled back and forth along the beach in search of shells (not many) and attractive pebbles (more than plenty) to add to our pebble souvenir collection back in Southern California.
Feeling somewhat chilly, we headed back up the hill for the car (passing along the way a tired old dog for whom we feared the climb had been too much: he simply collapsed on the path, and we feared his heart might have given out. But happily we saw him again later in the parking area, struggling valiantly, and still alive!) Then back on the road, making one excursion to explore a coastal residential area, arriving back at the hotel in time for a good nap. Slipping off where I could offend no other hotel guests with the evidence of my indulgence, I found a pleasant corner to enjoy Sunday cigar--a Cuban El Rey del Mundo, conveniently purchased yesterday in Victoria--in the company of a good book. (No pictures, please!)
Then... dinner! Another splendid feast
prepared by the chefs at Sooke Harbor House, enjoyed with another spectacular view from the hotel dining room.
As the meal ended, a full moon rose majestically above the bay, and we came to the end of another glorious day.
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