Welcome to Alberta...

... the province of my birth. The province of contrasts like the uber high Rocky Mountains to the west and the absolutely flat prairies to the east. The province where its easy to cycle, hike, drive, camp, see wildlife like bears and wolves and cougars and elk and moose, swim, raft in rapids, raft in slow-moving rivers, rock climb, glacier walk, dodge rattlesnakes, find really good beer, ... etc. The province known for its AAA Alberta beef and thus in which I am somewhat of an anomaly for being a vegetarian. The province of real cowboys and amongst two big cities. The province of wealthy oil giants about which many people hold various opinions and about which I'll withhold from publishing mine for now.

I entered into Jasper, and just so you don't have to take only my word for it, here's what the Lonely Planet has to say about it:

“Its hard to describe Jasper and not sound like you are either on the payroll of the tourist board or over-exaggerating. But its all true: icy glaciers tumble down towering rocky peaks and melt to form wild white water-choked rivers that cut through pine-filled valleys.”

Fortunately, we are here. Unfortunately, we managed to arrive here during the August Long Weekend, when everyone else from Calgary and Edmonton are also here. Fortunately, we have a cheap but ugly spot in a field to park and sleep tonight. Unfortunately, we have nothing for tomorrow night and the prospects look best at a truck stop or parking lot somewhere between here and Banff, and in which we've been warned we'll likely be kicked out of, probably in the middle of the night. So, we may head out of the park into Canmore, or near Red Deer, or Kananaskis to try our luck.

And finally, just to end on a positive note: Very Fortunately, we have booked a walk on the Columbia Icefields' Athabasca Glacier tomorrow morning. You can bet I'll blog that one.

PS: Happy Birthday Jacob, my brother, have a fantastic day and I can't wait to see you soon!! xo

Lingering in BC for one last laugh

I've noticed that as I get older I get more emotional about random things. When we left Valemount to spend one last night in BC at Mount Robson, the highest point of the Canadian Rockies, I got hit by two all in one go.

Just as we turned off highway 5 onto highway 16, entering the Rockies, we rounded a corner where there was a rest area. While we weren't particularly in need of rest, as we'd only been driving about half an hour, we needed to see what the rest area was pointing out.

This is where the crazy old lady emotions kicked in.

There was Mt. Terry Fox, with information boards about his triumph and tragedy in 1980-81, and the legacy of Terry Fox runs that he inspired across Canada for cancer research ever since. Choking feeling in the back of my throat and a few tears.

Then we got back in the van, drove about 24 seconds further down the road and around the corner again to greet full on ahead Mt. Robson. In all its magnificence, standing higher than any visible point, sans trees, and I absolutely yelped and laughed with joy at the sight of it looming up ahead and at being in the Rockies again. Home. Nice.

On the road across BC photo album link

On the road in BC

On the road across BC

Driving through the interior of BC has been a brutally HOT experience. For those of you perhaps more familiar with Canada's wider known reputation as a cold country, this statement may come as a bit of a paradox. But trust me, no matter where in the world you are, 38 degrees celsius is pretty damned hot.

The drive took us from Whistler through Lilooet, best known to generations of Canadians older than me by Ma Murray, a spitfire newspaper woman who was regularly featured on some of Canada's biggest nationwide debates. We camped at a FREE spot owned by BC Hydro called Seton Lake, just on the outskirts of Lilooet, and sat around wilting in the stifflingly dry heat. Cold beer helped, but the swim in the lake turned out to be the best way to cool off. The lake was so unbelievably clear you could see to the bottom without the help of a snorkel mask if you didn't ripple the surface by thrashing around too much. Such a treat to swim in such beautiful water.

One thing we noticed as we carried on driving to Kamloops was how dry and desertous the mountains there seemed to be. But despite the dry terrain, water is still abundant throughout the landscape; rivers and lakes of the most glorious size and clearness.

The heat mixed with the dry landscape meant frequent signs along the highway and notices at campsites reminding us not to start a campfire; there is a ban all through BC at the moment thanks to the extreme forest fire hazard conditions and the many forest fires we witnessed already burning away. At the top of Whistler, even, on a paved beer patio, the guy at the table next to us was told he couldn't smoke a cigarette outdoors because of the ban.

When we woke up in our gratis little spot in Seton Lake, the air was thick with dispersed smoke from three distinct fires we could see burning. All day and all night the helicopters were flying back and forth overhead with buckets of water in an attempt to douse the fires before they wiped out entire mountainsides. An area warden came to let us know that a very large male black bear was in the area of the campsite and panicking from the fires, so if we were to see him to get in our van and stay there until he passed by. I kind of hoped to see him before we left, but we didn't.

The evening in Kamloops was spent reconnecting over too many drinks with my cousin, Brendan, and some of his friends. It was a helluva fun night, and we drove away the next day a bit tired but in the mood to drive. Thanks, Brendan! I hope you passed your exam the next morning.

The Yellowhead highway is a pretty, smooth little road that runs north from Kamloops to Jasper. The landscape changed from dry and hilly to lush and mountainous as we drove further northwards. It was a longish drive, about 5 hours, but I put the van in cruise control, turned on some music, and just sat back and steered and watched the scenery go by. After a quiet night spent at Valemount, a wee town at the north end of the Yellowhead in a valley surrounded by, you guessed it, mountains, and where I also managed to find some nicely paved back roads to take Betty the Road Bike out on for an hour, we are ready to hit Jasper.

There are so many other parts of BC out there to explore, particularly further south in the Okanagan with its wineries, orchards and lakes, and the Kootenays with its quaint artsy towns and outdoor playgrounds, but I've spent several summers and winters in these areas over my life,and I feel not only familiar but at home in them, so I figured I'd use this trip to see another part of this massive province. I still haven't seen it all, but I'm satisfied for now. And that about wraps it up for BC; 1/10 of the journey crossed.

Whistler Pictures (click on photo to link to album)

Whistler July 09

Toads of the Short Forest

Spending Friday to Sunday in Whistler was like being on the receiving end of a series of sweet little presents.

The terrain itself was the first. The mountains of Whistler and Blackcombe, with the coastal range surrounding them, are truly stunning. The ski trails stood out as if a lawnmower had driven its way up and down the mountains, marking out long lanes of green amongst the darker green treed areas. I want to ski on them. For a month. At least. I think I'll return in March (after the Olympics) to do just that. One of the locals told me that if you stay for a longer period and are lugging your own accommodations with you, many landowners will allow you to park your RV on their land. Perfect!

One day we went up the mountain on the gondola for a mere 44 dollar scenic tour, and while I'd like to say the view from the top of the mountain was worth every cent, in actual fact I think the view should be free because its just so spectacularly natural that nobody should have to pay to see it. But it was worth not having to trek up the mountain ourselves in order to view it. Plus, we took the newly built, highly impressive Peak 2 Peak gondola from Whistler to Blackcombe mountains. Some of the gondolas had glass bottoms to view the valley way way way down below. Its the longest and highest in the world, so Whistler claims, and I wouldn't want to be on there if I were afraid of heights. Luckily for me, I'm not, so I thoroughly enjoyed the ride and the views: two more little presents.

The day that I happened to go up the mountain was the one Saturday featuring an event called “Chill on the Hill”, which included snowboarders and skiers on fake snow showing their stunts. Over 30c on the top of the hill, an absolute escape from the nearly 40c in the valley below, the snow was kind of bizarre under my sandaled foot. Two beers into the afternoon, though, it somehow took on a sense of normality when looking out at icy glaciers covering nearby mountaintops. When seasons meet like that, how can it not be a gift?

For my 44 dollars I also got to see a free concert from a band that I quite like at the moment, The Stills out of Montreal. They were playing at the top of the hill, and that's where Tara and I met up with Carolynn again, also in Whistler for the weekend with some of her Vancouver friends. The concert, Tara's always fun company, and a few extra days with Carolynn were presents number five, six and seven.

Of course, no summer trip to Whistler would be complete without mountain biking. I have my beautiful road bike, the recently christened “Betty”, in the van, but she could only take me on Whistler's paved paths and town roads. So Tara and I rented mountain bikes for an afternoon and tooted around on the trails around Whistler. We avoided the advanced ones, but easily traversed around on the “green” runs, and had so much fun on the single track trails like my favourite (though not Tara's) the “Toads off the Short Forest”. “Gee, I forgot my pants!” was also a mildly challenging trail, to say nothing of the brilliance behind the trails' names.

I had forgotten how different mountain biking is from road biking. And how fun! Bumpy, jerky, on gravelly or dirt paths, dodging or bumping over rocks and tree roots, manoevering slowly along and up and down and around paths in the forest without trying to slam into the trees, pulling up with your arms, standing up to gain balance, gripping the breaks while bouncing downhill, sticking out a foot here and there to avoid tipping over.

The afternoon of mountain biking made me realise that I probably need to add a new addition to the contents of my van while making my way around North America: a (cheap, Canadian tire – style will do) mountain bike. Present number eight.

Sea to Sky Highway

I had to tear myself away from the west coast. It was blissful being there because of the scenery, the weather, the people. But I had to get away eventually, I've got a big country to cross, so last Thursday seemed like a good day.

On Wednesday (July 22), Tara arrived at Vancouver airport. I drove up to the arrival pick up zone at the airport and saw her laughing at the sight of me driving up in the van. That's how she and Carolynn met each other, and we proceeded to spend our last night out for dinner, too much wine, watching round one of the Vancouver fireworks on English Bay, and staying one last night chez Carolynn.

We woke up the next morning and packed our stuff, including delicious vegetables like zuccini and summer squash from the Bowen Island Beaty garden and ourselves with hangovers into the van to take us slowly and windingly away from the coast.

Highway 99, better known as the Sea to Sky Highway, will be marvelous once its finished being under construction in Vancouver-Whistler's attempt to show the world in February just how awesome they are. We stopped a few times along the winding road to admire the coast mountains, small towns and lingering sea views.

It was a hot day, and at one point, once we were definitely beyond the sea and well on our way into the mountains, we came upon a clear little lake that appeared to have a day picnic spot attached and children swimming in. Tara said “Oh! I'd love to swiiiim!” and I said, “well, we can, do you want to?” and she said “umm” and I said “tell me now” and she said “Yes!” just as we were coming up to the turn off so I indicated, slowed down, and turned. How great it is when you can pull into a parking lot, jump into the back of your house, change into your bathing suit, go for a swim in a stupendously clear and green and midly cool mountain lake, jump back into the home, dry off, change, have a quick snack, refresh the water bottle, and then pull back out onto the highway for the remainder of the journey. Refreshed and feeling a bit more alive than you did before you stopped. Sure, you could do the stop and swim part in any old car, but when you are driving your home, it just seems better. Like you are at your cottage. Like you are on holiday, and still moving to the next holiday. Which is, after all, what I am doing.

Bowen Island Pictures

Bowen Island

How to have a glorious holiday on Bowen Island.

Bowen Island is a short 20-25 minute ferry from Horeshoe Bay, just north of Vancouver. Its a little island with some full time residents and a lot of Vancouverites with cabins. My friend Carolynn's family, the Beatys, have a cottage here that is on the southwest tip facing Vancouver Island. The little red cottage sits on a hill looking out over Tunstall bay and nestled within over a hundred acres of forest. They bought this place in the mid-90s from the Wonder family, two sisters who sold it to the Beatys on the condition that they wouldn't subdivide it and develop it like many others wanted to. They had no intention other than to enjoy its natural beauty and offer an idyllic space for their family to spend as much time as possible whenever they tire of Vancouver's pace. Because they bought the land from the Wonder family, its still known as Wonderland, and I can see why Carolynn says that this is her favourite place to be.

As a nearly essential stop on my trip, and for what feels truly like a holiday, I came to spend my last few days on the west coast with Carolynn and some of her family. And here's how we were able to live the lives of ladies of leisure on holiday:

1.We made some impressive deals with the weather gods to ensure several days in a row of hot, sunny, perfectly summery weather – hovering around 30c. Lovely. A light breeze coming in off the ocean was also always welcome.

2.We went to bed early (before midnight anyway) and slept long and deep and late.

3.Cycled the hills and curves of Bowen's one main road and few side roads. The cycle into Snug cove on the opposite end of the island took us about 19 minutes there and 23 minutes back – its more uphill on the way back. There are some killer inclines tucked around the island though – I passed a sign today that said 14% grade – but its good to remember that what goes up here will go down. Especially since wel had to go back the way we came as there are no loops on the island, just a lot of back and forth. After a few of these back and forths and up and downs, we stopped for a soy cappuccino and bran-fruit muffin at one of the (at least three, from what I've surveyed first hand so far) trendy cafes in snug cove where we caught up on the news in the Vancouver Sun and regained some strength for the cycle back across (and around and up and down) the island back to Beaty's Wonderland. My fastest going downhill so far here is 56.5 kms – 16.5 kms over the speedlimit of 40.

4.After a few days of cycling, we substituted the above description for a hike across (and up and down) the forested hills of Bowen (including the cafe stop in Snug cove). We wouldn't bump into bears here, just the ever-present deer; while jumpy when you pass them on in a noisy vehicle, passing by a deer on foot or bike usually just evokes a steady, curious stare from them as you mosey on quietly by. I usually say good morning or afternoon to them as I pass by, just to watch their ears twitch a bit.

5.Every day we swam in the bay. Its best when the tide is in. No, its not too cold. Really. The first dip is, of course, refreshing, and then we just swam at our own pace out to the little island of rock in the middle of the bay and back again. We stopped at the island of rock for a while, or on the floating dock halfway between the two.

6.We convinced Ross, Carolynn's dad, to take us for a spin on the boat. Lumina is equipped with a motor, leather seats, a stereo, and a Canadian flag. Its a great way to see Bowen and all the other islands in the Howe Sound fjord adjacent to Vancouver. I just wish we could take it for a spin along Amsterdam's canals. Alternatively, what I think I'm about to do now, we'll nestle into a sea kayak and work those arms to balance out the hiking and cycling.

7.Lolled around in the sun and the shade and a mixture of both reading. A perfect place to see how many books you can get through in the days that you spend here. I've been here two and half days and I'm halfway through my second book. Carolynn's on her third.

8.Admired the Beatys's garden. Raspberries, rhubarb, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, beets, beans, peas, broccoli and peanuts... and the neighbour is trying his hand at wine grapes. We used whatever of these fresh ingredients mixed with those acquired the usual way in the store to make some absolutely delicious salads.

9.Ate the salads with fresh Salmon. Luckily for us during our stay this week, Ross returned from a fishing trip with a salmon that he'd caught that day. It is the way that food should be eaten: “Beaty-beet” salad; rosemary infused salmon; bean and broccoli crudites; simple, fresh butter lettuce salad with peas; rhubarb, raspberry and lavender galettes for dessert ... a true Hunter-Gatherer way of eating that any foody would fall in love with.

10.Drank a glass of wine or beer whenever we felt like it, and almost strictly local flavours from Okanagan vineyards and BC breweries. A beautiful way we spent a couple of evenings was to take a bottle down to the dock on the tip of land that jets out just beyond the cottage. As the sun set, we sipped while reading and admiring the warm, golden-buttery way the setting sun lights up the coast of the bay, looking out for seals and chatting with the curious geese family who live in the bay and hopped up onto the rock to see if we had any food to share. We've been lolling about in a Canadian version of paradise and could have a drink whenever the taste for it struck us, but with no need to overdue it because this is no place for hangovers. In a book that I finished reading yesterday, Journey by Midnight by the Hungarian Antal Szerb, the narrator returned to the following translation a couple of times and it stuck out for me: “Foied vinom pipafo, cra carefo. = Enjoy the wine today, tomorrow there will be none.” Thankfully here on Bowen, on holiday, we can enjoy the wine both today and tomorrow. Therefore, no need to consume it all today.

11.Carolynn advised, “don't scratch the many mosquito bites you're sure to get during the evening; scratching will only make the itch worse.” The mosquitoes in Canada are dumb and slow, so you can swat and kill quite a lot in the course of one evening. They do prefer to come out when the sun starts to set, but no matter how good you are at squashing them, there will always be quite a lot that will get you without you noticing – until the next morning and you start to scratch. So we left our doors closed in the evening to avoid having one of those middle-of-the-night or early-morning battles with the one or two insistent buggers who invade your bedroom while you sleep and dive bomb their annoying way down to your forehead. At least we've got screens on the windows, a Canadian homebuilding trend that I wish they would adopt in Europe.

12.Sleeping in Uncle Ben's cabin*, I also wanted to keep the doors closed at night when I was inside with the lights on. That way I ended up hearing the inevitable knocking and banging on the window of the army of moths, ranging from small to enormous, wanting to get in to the light. Last night while I was reading in bed, I tuned out the knocking and banging until I heard what sounded distnictly like an electric motor zooming to life and carving a path around and around inside my little room. The zoom went around and around and around, and when I looked I saw one of the enormous moths, roughly the size of a small hummingbird, circling under the light. It then began to bonk its head wildly into the light and against the ceiling, driving itself wilder and wilder, until it finally ricocheted against the ceiling and thudded firmly, and suddenly quietly, on the top bunk. I took that opportunity to scoop it up with the dustpan and broom in the room and quickly toss it out the door before any others could enter so that it wouldn't keep me awake in its zany nighttime flight. All of which leads me to recommend (and the same is true for a moth anywhere) to wait to catch it and toss it out until the poor thing has nearly knocked itself out and landed somewhere, because trying to catch a frantic gigantic moth is like... well, like trying to catch a frantic gigantic moth. Probably a better way to deal with the moth is to turn off the lights and let it find its way out, as Trish wisely recommends.

*(Uncle Ben's cabin is a little cabin next to the main one where the Wonder sisters's Uncle Dan lived. Its actually called Uncle Dan's cabin and its where I am lodging, but for some reason I keep referring to it as Uncle Ben's).

13.Finally, we took a lot of time to sit and notice the view, talk with those who are also here, take photographs so I, at least, wouldn't forget it, and just chill.

14.We'll repeat in any order that suits us tomorrow.

Thanks Carolynn and family for a totally relaxing almost-week spent at Wonderland.

I started this morning at Mile Zero. With monuments to great Canadians like Terry Fox and Steve Fonyo who much more admirally traversed the country than how I will, I couldn't help but feel a tremour of excitement at the idea that today I'd be off on my own (for a while, at least).

The past three mornings in Victoria have all started out simiarly: a bike ride exploring some of Victoria's bike paths. The first morning, dying for a bit of exercise and waking up to the bright, warm sun, I took off up the Lochside trail, which winds north from Victoria into Saanich. I took a couple of wrong turns, some by my usual mistake, others on purpose (I veered off whenever faced with a long stretch of gravel road, which my bikes slim tires don't generally appreciate). These sidetracks took me up and down hills, around curves and stylish neighbourhoods and helped me get a better feel for the area. I find by driving through a place, you get somewhere; by cycling or walking through, you get to know that somewhere.

The second morning I went with my mom's friend, Cheryl, along the Galloping Goose trail. The Galloping Goose used to be a passenger railway that stretched along the south part of the island from Victoria to Sooke (and maybe a bit beyond). In the good old British tradition that is evident all over Victoria, even today probably more so than in most other Canadian cities, it was used for those classy Victorians of earlier times to get away for a weekend in the country. How civilized. It is now a galloping bike trail, mostly smoothly paved and well marked.

Yesterday afternoon my uncle took me a bit farther afield to some of his old haunts on the newer highway between Victoria and Sooke. After a stopover to tour the grounds of the UWC of the Pacific – Pearson College, as its more commonly referred to as here – we drove his fast little Miata around the winding curves of the predictably gorgeous drive. At one point after one of my “its so beautiful” exclamations, he said something like, “yea, just think, after this year is out you might be sick of beautiful scenery”. Touche. We stopped for a classy lunch at the Sooke A&W (um, yea, not the greatest selection for a vegetarian, but onion rings did the trick), and then we carried on down the (long and winding) road to China Beach, where he used to go with his friends in high school and smoke dope. I'm glad we had all our faculties about us yesterday, though, as it was a lovely walk through a towering forest to a sandy beach on the tip of the island with a view across the water at Washington's Olympic mountains. And a car somehow dumped halfway down the hill, hiding for who knows how long in the forest.

This morning, my last one on the island, I thought I'd be different and do a bit of exercise at the Y. I cycled over there, parked my bike, only to discover that 15 minutes after my arrival there was a fire drill scheduled to take place that would take about 45 minutes. Somewhat disgruntled, I did about 14 minutes of fast weights and situps, Ivar-style for those of you who know what that means, and then got back on my bike. As I cycled off towards the main harbour to try out the third major cycle path on the map, the Seaside route, I heard the fire drill alarm go off. Instead of being stuck in that conundrum, I enjoyed a fantastic early morning cycle along the coast.

Which turned out better for me in the long run, as I cycled right past the Mile Zero marker and was able to flag down a tourist from a nearby tourist bus and ask her to take the the picture that officially begins my journey. Everything works out as it does for a reason, they say. Not to mention that three mornings in a row, and I never tire of the awesome feeling of riding a bike.

I even got an escort out of town; I followed my uncle's car through Victoria and he got me safely on the road to the ferries. I pulled up to the ticket gate a mere 5 minutes before it was scheduled to sail, barely making it on board. This seems to be my pattern rather than the exception, though; out of the past four ferry crossings I've taken in the past two weeks, only for one of them did I have time to sit and wait.

Two weeks ago I arrived back in Canada, at Vancouver airport, where the immigration officer who stamped my passport actually almost smiled and said “welcome home”. My dad got my van here for me, and spent most of the two weeks teaching me everything I need to know to run it and live in it, not to mention how cool it was to travel with him for a week of it around the island. My mom had it fully kitted out so that I didn't need to do it myself. I was able to visit my Grandma, Uncle Pat, and his girlfriend, Wendy. And as they guided me out of the city today and we said our goodbyes, I meant it when I said it had been a perfect way to start this adventure. Love to you all!

I sit now on the ferry, looking out across the Pacific and the surrounding islands and mainland on my way to Vancouver. And I have to say it again, just one last time: I love this part of Canada, its just so damned beautiful.

The view from the van, where we're camping tonight: Seymour Narrows, "Ripple Rock", BC

The turbulent history of this tranquil spot:

From CBC.ca archives:

B.C.'s deadly Ripple Rock blown up

Broadcast Date: April 5, 1958

In the late 1700s, Captain George Vancouver called the channel at British Columbia's Seymour Narrows, "one of the vilest stretches of water in the world." Its deadliest feature: the twin peaks of Ripple Rock, lurking just below the surface of the swirling water. "Old Rip" had menaced shipping for centuries, sinking or damaging 119 vessels and claiming almost as many lives. But on April 5, 1958, the world's largest non-nuclear peacetime explosion pulled Ripple Rock's teeth forever.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVQOvKh3IWY

Huge bald eagle spotting

Pictures of the North of Vancouver Island

North part of Vancouver Island

The North part of Vancouver Island

When dad told me that Vancouver Island was bigger than the entire country of the Netherlands, I believed him, but couldn't imagine it. I am definitely one of those people who needs to see and experience it myself in order to fully grasp it. Now that I am writing this from a campsite in the astoundingly quiet and natural Strathcona Provincial Park in the middle of the island, about halfway up from the southern tip of Victoria where I started a few days ago, I can confidently say that I grasp it. There are vast mountains and lakes, ancient trees of genormous sizes, forests where campers like us roam through and spend the night or week, and, after 9 years of living in Europe, I get the feeling that I'm travelling around a small European country rather than the biggest of the many islands on the westernmost tip of Canada. And without checking the stats, I can confirm that its bigger than the Netherlands.

Just another reminder about the enormity of this country.

You'll see some pictures that I took yesterday evening during a walk along the beach in Black Creek. The view across the water was of the coastal mountains of the mainland, and the feeling on the beach was so relaxed I think I decided it was where I would retire. If I make it that far and this stretch of land retains the feeling it has now so many years into the future. Hmmm. My parents, however, are now entering that stage of their lives and dad's feeling mirrored mine; he even went so far as to google the coastal property for sale when we returned to the campsite – “just out of curiosity”.

I've had several lessons from my dad in the past few days about how to operate the various features of my new home. I'll try to describe them here, so you have a sense of the demands of my new lifestyle (don't worry, I don't think I fully have a sense yet myself of what I've committed to for the next year, but here goes anyway eh).

The van has a toilet. I wanted this because a year of public toilets and peeing in the bush might get tiresome. Once I've done my business, the toilet flushes into a holding tank with water from either the hose attached if I am at an RV site with connections, or from the fresh water tank on the other side of the van if not. Its a pretty big tank – apparently it will hold up to a week's worth of waste, for want of a better word, before it really needs to be dumped.

yesterday I got to dump it. Apart from being a bit icky, I think I'll be able to survive the procedure. Basically the first thing I do is find a dump station. My grandma, who spent the better part of 10 years travelling to nearly every corner of North America with my grandpa, imparted some words of wisdom before I left Victoria, and among them was that I would be “constantly on the lookout for a dump station.” Once I've found one and I'm parked with the toilet valves within reaching distance of the hole in the ground (with a lid to cover the smell) that is the dump station, which I assume tunnels directly to a sewage system. I don my heavy duty plastic gloves and take out the tubes. I attach a clear plastic dohicky to the spout, an acordian tube to the dohicky with the other end into the hole in the ground, attach a water hose to another spout directly above it, and then open the hatch. Literally. The clear attachment ensures that I can see all the piss and shit and water dumping out from my holding tank and into the hole in the ground. When its empty, I flush it with water, giving the tank an enema to make sure its clear and ready for more. Then I repeat the procedure with the second holding tank, the “grey water”, which is a relief in comparison as its only water from the sink and shower. Much less icky.

At least I don't have to pay city taxes anymore to flush away my waste into blissful ignorance.

When I am at a full service RV campsite, I can pull a plug out of a door in the side of the van and plug it in to get electricity, so that everything inside, from the stove and oven to the lights to the fridge, will work. Otherwise, as I'll experience tonight here in Strathcona “bare-bones” camping site, it draws off an auxillary battery which apparently doesn't touch the main battery needed to get the engine of the truck running. There's also a fresh water hose that I can attach at a full site for fresh running water, and a generator.

Then there's the propane tank, which will keep the fridge running when the van is unplugged, and the gas tank. Dad assures me that as long as I've got gas in the tank, the van's various options will run; its apparently foolproof. I've been know to be a bit of a fool over the years, so I guess we'll see eh.

It all sounds so complicated, and the environmentalist in me reacts instinctively to the usage of such fuels as gas and propane. But then again, this isn't exactly a smartcar that I'm driving around the country, and thank goodness for that. I'd get rather cramped in one of those, I imagine. I've already done quite well in operating this machine, so I think I'll get the hang of it.

We drove inland yesterday from Campbell River about 40kms, and it was, for the most part, a stunning drive. Before we left Campbell River, I went into the BCLiquor store to stock up on essentials like beer and wine, and dad waited in the van. The radio told him then to make a stop at beautiful Elk Falls along the very highway we were already headed down, so we took that advice and stopped. After a few wrong turns we found the right one, and were pretty glad we did. The falls and the walk through the forest leading to it were a perfect bit of evidence of the natural kind of beauty this country is famous for.

My only point of concern while driving this otherwise fantastic stretch of land were the trees. I wish I could say they stretched on endlessly, but in fact they came in choppy bunches along the side of the road. For over 35kms before entering the protected provincial park land, there were section after section of land that had been clear-cutted, leaving ugly, uncared for dead stumps to litter the grass. And only a little replanting. I remembered watching the BBC Planet Earth series episode on forests and their claim that much of the earth's oxygen comes from Canada's vast boreal forests. I know that what I saw yesterday is merely a smidgeon in the grand scope of Canada's forests, but its an ugly relic from the past ways of logging that, if continues unchecked, could be disastrous for not only Canada but our world.

***

We stayed 1-day and 1-night in the wilds of Strathcona Park; without any RV hook ups, let alone electricity, wireless internet or mobile phone access, dad and I were cut off from civilization (apart from camping neighbours). We BBQ'd our dinner, drank some beer and wine, and stubbornly struggled with wet firewood to get it blazing just before getting tired enough to declare the day over. Following our unplugged night it the provincial park, we jumped back into the van and retraced our way back through the winding roads to continue heading north along the highway. Along this 250-ish km drive, for which you will see pictures, there were several things that I stored in the back of my head to make note of.

I'll start with the trees, since I finished with them yesterday. North of the town of Campbell River a.k.a. Halfway up the Island, the forests continue on at a staggering length. The view from the van was kilometre after unbelievable kilometre after hundreds more kilometres of mostly pine and birch forest surrounded by pristine moutains and lakes. Despite not wanting to sound like a tourist brochure, I wish I could say the forest was totally untouched, but not so. Still mostly wild and untamed and pretty damned humbling, we could still see identical sections of clear-cut forest to yesterday's drive every few minutes along today's highway, but many of them up north here were replanted, to my relief. In the pictures, you'll see young forest growing right up against older forest.

This northern half of the island is mostly wild nature with a few odd human settlements dotted along the coast and evidence of logging companies along the one highway that goes this way. While forest and small communities exist in the southern part of the island, there's a tame-dness to the southern ones that I don't feel as much here. Here, up north, I feel like I'm in entering a bit of the true Canadian back-of-beyond.

When we finally pulled into Port McNeill, 350-ish kms north of Victoria and not yet at the end of the island, we pulled into the Petro Canada gas station for a break. Dad received several urgent text messages to call home. To back this story up and fill you all in, he and mom have been trying to sell the house I grew up in; Murphy's Law ensured that they got the offer on it that they were looking for on the one and only day that he was, in his own words, “incommunicado” (not sure if that's actually a word, but in his vocabulary, it translates roughly to “completely out of any range of communication”). Anyway, he called mom and the real estate agent in Calgary where they are selling the house, and we wound up driving somewhat frantically through the little town in search of a fax machine to receive the contract to sign and fax back. We found it, and on our excited way, a strange noise in the front tires as well.

All of which leads me to comment on customer service here in the north part of the island: the lady at the Port McNeill harbour visitor's centre let us use her phone – long distance -, fax machine and computer with internet free of charge; and all with a smile that seemed really genuine. While waiting for the fax, we visited the tire centre to check out the squeal coming from the front left tire, and same story: they checked and torqued each tire, ensured the brakes were ok, and sent us on our way Free Of Charge and with wide smiles on their faces. Yeesh.

So now its all done; the house is sold, the van is driving well (but still emitting a squeal when I brake, which I will defer to the wisdom of the boys at the friendly tireshop and ignore), and we are happily hooked up in a full-service RV site just north of Port McNeill, dinner, wine, electricity and all.

Most interestingly today, during our wait for the fax, I watched the weather change rather dramatically; it started off a beautiful sunny day, and then I watched as a mist moseyed its way in from the water and engulfed this part of the island. I write this now from inside a van inside a cloud surrounded by hundreds of kilometres of forest and ocean, listening to the fog-horn blowing its regular 3-beep warning at 1 minute intervals to ships who can't see the lighthouse for the fog.

Mixed with the sound of the waves crashing into shore and pretty much nothing else, its not a bad way to drift off to sleep. Hope the cougars that have been recently spotted in the area let us sleep tonight and show up tomorrow when I'm taking a walk with my camera!

Link to pictures: Victoria-Chemainus-Black Creek

Victoria - Chemainus

1st day driving!

One of the standing jokes my father makes, and has made ever since I began to learn to drive at age 15, was “well, I hope you'll be able to reach the pedals!”. To which, as you can probably imagine, I usually rolled my eyes about or ignored. Until yesterday.

Yesterday was my first day driving my “van”. Its big-ish, so a bit awkward at first to manoever. Corners need to be calculated slightly more widely than in a regular car, shoulder-checking is somewhat challenging; and then there's reversing - I've got a whole new respect for backing up now.

But the funny part was that finally after 22 years of making it, dad's joke came true. I realized while I was about halfway through the drive that my right leg was getting cramped. When I mentioned it to dad, he said something like “well, why don't you just rest your foot on the floor?” to which I had to reply something like “because my feet don't reach”. Yes, yes, haha. I had the seat pushed all the way forward, and it doesn't adjust up or down and even if it did I wouldn't be able to adjust it down because if I did I wouldn't be able to see over the steering wheel. Haha, go on, keep laughing. But like any well-adjusted short person, I came up with a solution; I took one of the pillows from the extra bed above my driving head, put it at the small of my back and it was enough to push me forward so that my feet could touch both the ground and the gas pedal. From here on in, its driving bliss. Hah!

The trip began when dad and I left Victoria around 10:30 in the morning, and in the first half hour or so I drove fairly cautiously. One might say uncharacteristically so. While I boasted that I'd driven our school van from Paris back to Amsterdam in a freak snowstorm back in November with seven of my colleagues after a weekend there to see Tracy Chapman play, and more recently the same van filled with biking friends and bikes back from Luxembourg, thinking that this was decent practice for driving this “van”, I quickly realized (but didn't admit too loudly) that this home-on-wheels would be a bit more awkward.

But. I managed to figure out how it handled, and after that first half our of trepidation behind the wheel, I got it sorted out and continued to drive it northwards up the meandering coastline highways from Victoria for the next several hours.

The drive took us through beautiful coast scenery – of course – and several quaint towns and substantial cities. We stopped at a few places including a Pioneer themed log cabin restauarant for breakfast, and the town of Chemainus. Chemainus, population 4500ish, was a town that thrived on its sawmill industry up until the 1980s, and is now well-known around these parts for how it has taken street art to a new level: the town buildings are covered in fantastic murals, mostly depicting the town's history. Once we finally found a spot to park the van (can't exactly slip it into the only free spot between cars in a parking lot) dad and I took a walk around the town and took all the pictures that you'll hopefully be able to access in an album I will hopefully be able to (eventually) post here. Chemainus has a Wednesday market, and it was Wednesday, so we were able to buy the lettuce and cucumbers we needed for salad for dinner. And we found the Dutch bakery in town, of course; somehow dad and I have magnets in our noses for finding out the Dutch wherever we go.

So I am writing this from our camping spot in Black Creek, about halfway up Vancouver Island, where I'm having trouble getting an internet connection. Apparently recent thunderstorms knocked the wireless connection at the campsite out of whack (and who would've thought, anyway, that there'd be wireless access now while camping! Not sure if I love that idea or not). It rained much of the time while we were driving, but the sun is now out and I'm feeling a bike ride coming on. Not a bad first day on the road. Enjoy the pictures!

Pictures from my first week with my family in Victoria

New Album 7/6/09 10:11 PM

When a good number of Canadians take a year off, they book themselves a flight to a far-away destination, buy a sturdy backpack from MEC, stock up on Canadian flag iron-ons and pins, and take off for an exotic adventure armed with train passes, Lonely Planets and traveller’s cheques. Certainly not everyone gets around to doing it but they at least dream about it, and maybe even go so far as to check the LP guide to Farawayistan out from the library. I remember what that was like.

But I’ve always liked to do things my own way; which is why I’ve decided that with my year off, which started a few weeks ago, I’d go against this trend and travel across Canada. Having been away from Canada for 12 years, which equals most of my adult life excluding the university years (which don’t really count as “adult” life anyway), I decided I needed to reconnect with Canada. And on a big scale. It’s a big country, and I realized it might take some time. I’ve never been one to rush through any place that I visit; 12 European countries in a blurry 10 days isn’t my idea of travel. 13 years into my teaching career seems like a good time to take a break from it, and when I was granted a year’s leave of absence from my school in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, I knew it was a great time to come home again. And find out what it is that makes Canada, Canada.

As an expat, I am constantly asked about where I come from. What kind of food do we eat in Canada? Is it really really cold all the time there? Does every Canadian speak both English and French? And I get to hear the way people from other parts of the world perceive all things Canadian (which, I’ve noticed, is usually complimentary): such nice, friendly people; mind-boggling, wildly natural land; common sense attitude towards social institutions.
The thing is, with such an enormous piece of land, I’ve always had this niggling worry that it is maybe a bit presumptuous of me to speak on behalf of all of Canada. Although among all the Canadians I’ve met during my various adventures overseas, there is something there that smacks of Canada in all of us. It’s elusive and sometimes hard to define, but its there. One thing we all share that’s very obvious, though, is our pride in this grand northern land, no matter which part of it we come from.

So, my goal for the next several months is to mosey my way across the country, starting in Victoria BC on the west coast and finishing up in Halifax, NS on the east coast.
When I first conceived of this idea, there was, like any trip, a considerable amount of dreaming involved. I did buy the Lonely Planet to Canada (which, it turns out, is more than just a humorous read, but at times even insightful). I envisioned myself putting around in an old VW van. I figured if I started out early in July – about now - I’d give myself until Christmas to reach the other coast. I even worked in a wee jaunt up north to Dawson City, Yukon.

Then a few realities set in: the first was the comfort afforded from the classic VW hippie van. I love them. I truly do. But the idea of living in one for an entire year was something that I had to think twice about. If I had taken this trip on right out of university, at a time when I didn’t know any better about comfortable living, I would have done it without a second thought. But after having lived in my own cozy apartment(s) around the world for the past decade, I realized that a proper bed, a toilet and even a little kitchen might be a really nice way to spend the year on the road. So I searched for a small RV which my parents found for me in Calgary, and which I am stubornly referring to as my “van” and will do so throughout this blog. It was a decision that I made with some reluctance, mostly having to do with giving up the romantic idea of “travelling across the country in a van”. In my 24-foot “van”, though, I will still be able to make like a snail, bringing my house with me, and live a simple nomadic life for the year. And I am already in like with my new home.

The second reality check was the impending Canadian winter. If you’ve ever lived through a truly Canadian winter, you’re probably likely never to forget it, however I guess it’s been a long time since I’ve done that and my mind was foggy with wimpy European comparisons. In talking to my dad, I grudgingly had to admit that following the advice of RV owners across Canada – “head south before the snow flies!” – was probably smart. Apparently in “vans” like mine, in which I’ll be carrying water, I’ll need to leave the freezing zone before it hits. So, I’ve given myself a new goal to reach the east coast; my birthday is October 21, and I plan to celebrate it in Halifax. Shortly thereafter, I’ll duck south across the border for the winter. Keep your fingers crossed that the fall frost doesn’t cause havoc with my water.

Naturally, this shortened travel time strikes the Yukon tour off the itinerary. For now. I’ll get there eventually. I’m placated knowing that coast-to-coast across Canada is quite an impressive undertaking in itself. So I’ll save my really northern adventure for another time when I’ve got time to spend, and enjoy the provinces that I will pass through.
So I want to start this blog off as honestly as I can. Basically I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a blogger, nor am I particularly technically capable. I’ll blunder my way through it, though, and try to add stories and pictures whenever I can. Consider this my travel journal and an invite to you to share it with me. Please write a comment whenever something I’ve said or done or posted strikes you, and suggestions for those corners of Canada that you are most familiar with are always welcome.

I hope, through this blog, to entertain, to encourage, and to provide the escape through vicarious travelling to all of you who know me and are waving your hands in wishing me well as I drive off.