Weekend 2: Victoria, British Columbia

Half way across South Dakota on my way out to Washington (about the time my car was about to kick me in the face), I received a call from a good buddy of mine, D.K. (Danny Karbassiyoon). He was aware of my plans to head out to Seattle, and he informed me that he would be doing some scouting work at the FIFA U-20 World Cup held in Victoria, BC within a week of my arrival in Seattle. Excited, we immediately decided to meet up.

When Saturday rolled around, I threw some wrong transmission fluid (heavy oil) into the Goblin, started her up, and rolled the dice. I drove from my house in U-district north to Edmonds, ferried across to Kingston, drove 60 miles to Port Angeles, and hopped on another ferry (this time abandoning the car but keeping the bike) and arrived in Victoria just an hour and a half later.

5 hours from U-District Seattle to Victoria, BC. Have I mentioned how money the NW is?

I spent the remainder of the day exploring places on the bike and talking to nosey locals. I made the mistake of wearing a VT shirt while riding around town, and whenever I stopped there was always a line of people nearly peeing their pants in desperation to ask intrusive questions.

"So, are you a student at Virginia Tech?"

"Like, THE Virginia Tech?"

"Oh, you are???!!! Wow............."

"So, were you there for all that..."

"That's just awful. Awful. I'll never understand it. Never."

Don't get me wrong, the people were incredibly friendly after they peed. It was just... you know... the peeing that made me uncomfortable. I ended up speaking with two fella's for about 4 hours, just hanging out in front of Starbucks (of course). They gave some pointers about where to meet the knock-out girls in town and grab cheap beer/food.

I've got to interject here, in my own story, to mention that there are more beautiful, mid-twenties, single girls in Victoria than any place I have ever been in my life. Of course, this makes no difference to me because: beautiful or not, mid-twenties or not, single or not (recognizing the pattern?)... it makes no difference. I am a baby-girl, with no game, no guts, and certainly no glory.

Back to the story:

No, wait, another interruption: they have these taxes in Canada called "Sin Taxes". In essence, they tax the living HELL out of Alcohol, Cigarettes, and any other "Devil" product, apparently in order to make them suitable for Christian consumption... great. The downside to this? Everything is morbidly expensive. I came to Victoria a rich man ($100 Canadian) and left a hobo (the clothes on my back and a sewing machine that I found on the side of the street... no really, I found a really sweet sewing machine). Seven dollar pints break your neck.

After leaving the dirty-old-Starbucks-men, I headed back into the downtown area to find the places they had suggested for a "true fish and chips dinner that'll take you straight back to the 30's" and some "hotties". Of course, I got crazy mixed up in the streets, far overshot the area I needed to be on (my bike is wicked fast) and ended up asking various people for directions.

Apparently, people in Victoria do not know their own city. The complicated Grid-work ties up their neurons to such an extent that after asking the question of "Excuse me, do you know where _____ street is?" 3 of the first 4 citizens I asked just started to drool, leaving me wishing that I had a camera, and with the lingering question I wonder how long I should wait here for an answer?

Three of the four, I said. That leaves number four. This guy... was a winner.

When I am out to find directions, I don't care who I ask. Old, young, man, woman, toddler, as long as I someone can point me in the right direction, I'm happy. Well, the first few respectable looking people I asked for directions had short circuited, so I rolled up to the most ridiculous looking human being I have ever seen.

Incredibly fat.

Piss-Poor tattoos covering all exposed skin.

Spikey hair.

Leather, leather, everywhere.

Biker right? Kinda. He was riding one of those "Next" bikes you can buy at Wal-Mart (FULL suspension, baby!), slurrrrping down a Starbucks (of course) Frappe, and absolutely JAMMING to Bon Jovi (I know this because he told me no less than 3 times).

"Excuse me. Do you know where ______ street is?"
"What?"
"Do you know where ______ street is?"
"Oh yeah, man, but why the hell do you want to go there??"
"I'm trying to get to _____ to get some real fish and chips and a taste of the 30's."
"That place is still open? Shit man, I thought that place closed down years ago."
"I think it is still open... can you give me some directions."
"Oh man, I'll just take you there."

Annnnd, here we go. We start walking up the street, allowing him to slurp down the 600 calorie "coffee" milkshake. He's huffing and puffing. I'm growing impatient.

"I'm Devon, by the way. I appreciate you taking your time to..."
"WHAT??! Bon Jovi man! You know Bon Jovi?!"
"Yeah, definitely."

"Oh, they rock, man! I mean, not as good as they used to, before I was in prison."

Lovely.

"Oh, you were in prison? That... sucks."
"Yeah, I really missed my old lady. The names Luch (pronounced LOOCH), by the way."
"Oh, I'm Devon. Good to meet you.l"

We carry on for 20 or so minutes, weaving this way and that. He gives me the tour of the bad neighborhood that I should avoid in the dark. He shows me his old high school and reflects on his short time spent there. He advises me to finish high school. I tell him that I will.

We arrive at the Fish and Chips place... it is closed. HUGE Bummer. Luch offers to take me to the bar I had been told about. I agree think that would be a good idea.

We roll along carrying on broken conversation... Luch loves his Bon Jovi, and singing in the middle of his monologues is not uncommon. We arrive, shake hands and say our goodbyes. I walk away, patting each of my pockets to make sure my wallet, cell, keys, etc... are still with me. Of course they were... The reformed Luch would never do that to me. Never, never.

Arriving at the bar, I quickly begin filling my empty stomach with some local micro-brew. Delicious. After a few, I walk into the back room where a band is jamming, and a bunch of people are wearing name tags. I walk in, sit down, and enjoy the show.

Something is wrong though. People keep looking at me in one of two ways:

1.) I am famous. This can't be, because I know me, and I am not famous.
2.) They think they know me, but they are not sure.

Finally, a guy comes up to me, sits down and introduces himself.

"Hi, I'm Mike."
"Hi, I'm Devon."
"So, did you go to Victoria High?"

Ohhh... I get it. I am crashing a high school reunion party.

"Nah man, I'm from the States. I'm just here for the music."
"Oh, great. We were so worried. Everyone here has been wondering who you were, no one could recognize you, and we just didn't want to leave you out. Come over and sit down anyway, if you like."

See what I mean? Truly nice folks, those Victorians.

The rest of the evening and weekend was relatively typical of any vacation to a new place. Danny and I met up at the ultra-posh (based solely on its horrendously snotty, stuck up employees and guests) Marriott Hotel late on Saturday night, crashed, and woke up the next morning to some stellar views of the Olympic range to our south across the water. While he was busy at work, I hopped on the bike and explored the city and dwindling rural sights of Victoria, the best of which was the top of Mt. Douglas that I climbed on the bike and snapped pictures at the top.

Interestingly enough, Canada has a tradition of warming everyone up for the the United States' Independence Day. "Canada Day" takes place on July 1st, and luckily for me and Danny, we were there to celebrate. After raiding the concierge lounge at the hotel, we headed down into the masses of raving-mad Canadians sporting painted faces, Canadian Flags as super-man capes, and beer breath. There we enjoyed quite a fireworks show followed by an obsidian black stout to wrap up the evening.

I left for home the following day after a ridiculous lunch at the noodle bucket. After for saying goodbye to Danny, I picked up my bike and sewing machine and headed over to the ferry. The trip back was chilly and breezy, but unlike the trip over, the clouds had abandoned the Olympic peaks. All that remained was a serrated ridge line backed by a New Mexico-esque blue sky; blindingly blue.

So there it is... Weekend 2: Victoria, British Columbia. It was a quick trip, but it sparked my interest in returning to BC, next time to Vancouver, to see more of the land.

For the record, I had ordered my camera, a Canon S3-IS, earlier in the week, and it wasn't scheduled to arrive until Monday. Therefore, I used disposable cameras to snap pictures when I wasn't using Danny's digital. Well, if you know anything about my relationship with disposable cameras, you know that I tend to fill them with pictures and never get them developed. In this case, I'll do all that is in my power to overcome this procrastination, but for the time being, the pictures from Danny's camera will have to do.... That is, once I actually retrieve them from Danny. So if you've made it this far in the post, first off, congrats, and second, check back later for some shots of my Victoria weekend. They'll be up soon.

For all trips following this weekend, I had a digital camera and a 2 gig memory card, so I hope to give your eyes a rest from reading and just let you see the sites. They're more interesting anyway.

Hasta.