Canada was so close. It had been almost four years since I had lasted visited my country of birth, so I figured it was high-time to cross the border and enjoy a butter tart or Nanaimo bar.
I left Clarence the teardrop trailer with a babysitter and hopped on a ferry to take me across the strait to Victoria, a very architecturally pretty city. With the Olympic peninsula behind me, I looked forward to a weekend dedicated to getting caught up with my ensemble of childhood friends. I couldn’t wait to reminisce, laugh, and relax with some ladies who have known me since I was a wee child in corduroy pants and Velcro sneakers.
British Columbia is an absolutely beautiful province. It’s landscape is very different from Ontario, where I grew up, but the general Canadian-ness was still the same. People said “sore-y” when accidentally bumped into, just like I fondly remember.
The gals and I hung out at Mystic Beach one day, reveling in the sunshine and gorgeous backdrop of evergreen trees. A mini-waterfall sprayed behind us, while the ocean waves crashed in a soothing rhythm. We talked for hours, enjoying being outside and getting reacquainted with the happenings in each of our lives.
One evening, I saw bioluminescent bacteria trickling around the shore of an inlet. I placed my hand in the water, swished it around, and watched green lights sparkling about. It was special – something I thought only happened in remote, exotic places in the world.
When I return to the good ol’ U.S. of A., I’ll be on the final leg of my journey. With 2,927 miles separating me and home, I’m eager to begin my final push east.
So long Motherland.
So long Pacific Coast.
Hello to the last handful of parks.