Happy Easter readers!
The sun finally puts in an appearance as we board the early morning ferry from Port Angeles to Victoria. More importantly (for me) it’s a nice calm sea as I’m not great on boats.
This one is an elegant beauty. Built in 1959 she’s like a smaller version of one of those classic liners posh people used to use to cruise the Atlantic.
At last we get to see the highest peaks of the Olympic National Park albeit from the ocean but it’s a glorious sight that will live long in the memory.
Victoria is a town I’ve wanted to come to for the best part of 50 years. My mum’s brother moved here from Glasgow in the late ‘60’s and used to beguile us with stories of how beautiful it is. He worked as a printer and would send glossy magazines full of photos of bears, mountains and the great Canadian outdoors.
I don’t want to put too many downers on what large industrial Scottish towns were like back then, but when he landed here he must’ve thought he’d rocked up in paradise.
Victoria is exactly how we envisaged; charming, relaxed and full of handsome civic buildings. Our campsite is right on the waterfront with a boardwalk leading to the city centre allowing us to soak up all that’s good about the place – otters and seals in the harbour, kayakers and paddle-boarders making fools of themselves…
…and noisy boat-planes buzzing back and forth. There’s something wonderfully old fashioned about a boat-plane and they fit right in here.
Yes, we like Victoria a lot.
A couple of folk we’ve met on the trip told us not to miss Victoria’s famous Butchart Gardens.
All very colourful and meticulously maintained but to our eyes somewhat lacking in soul.
It’s certainly a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours but we like our flora a bit more rugged and real these days. Bloody expensive too, which may have tainted our impression of the place.
Back on the road tomorrow where it's free to look at the trees.
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