SAN FRANCISCO - CALIFORNIA ( PART 1 )

5th - 8th April 2011

The Golden Gate Bridge

"If you're going to San Fran Cisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair"...... or so the song goes.
Well I might if I had any; so maybe I should just "be sure to stick some on my head".

Arrived in San Francisco without mishap and straight to the Green Tortoise ( Mk2 ) on Broadway. Again, this Tortoise is handily placed for most of the local attractions and, incidently, is in the middle of the 'red-light' district. I was transferred to a single room in an annex 200yds away. Maybe the Seattle branch had warned them about my snoring.

After a couple of hours kip I returned to GT HQ and got the 'gen' on the ‘killer pool’ and ‘crab racing’ which was due to kick off at 2030hrs. I was there early, poised for action. Twenty of us entered the killer pool competition. Three ‘failures to pot, or foul shots’ and you were out. After four rounds I was out. Pathetic. There were some useful looking pool players present. It was won by an amusing Aussie guy called Shane. He won a beer.

Now for the crab racing. I was not familiar with this. It involved three crabs, of what variety I had not a clue. They were about 3 inches long, or wide, or however you measure crabs. Each wore a coloured patch; red, blue or green. They were penned in a ‘starting gate‘ ( an upturned plastic dish ) in the middle of a circular table about 8 feet in diameter with a finishing line around the perimeter. There was quite a crowd for this. First a series of ‘team races‘. 12 teams of 2 people each. Me and a Mexican guy formed the Houston team. 3 teams competed at a time. Each team drew a colour, and the first past the post won ( a tin of beer ).  We drew blue but were a narrowly beaten half a length by the green crab. This was a period to suss out the ‘form’.The blue and green crabs had both won. The green became famous for running neatly timed waiting races with a great sprint finish, sometimes waiting a bit too long. The blue ran sedately but straight, whereas the red one ran the fastest but, suffering from bad steering or wobbly giros, tended to go in circles and avoided the finishing line! They had to be revived occasionally by a spray of water ( water? ). Then the individual ‘knock-out‘ races. 12 competitors and 3 rounds and the same 3 crabs. It was a sweepstake with an entry fee of $1. I drew the green crab for the first round and blue for the second and they both won. In the  second round both crabs initially refused to start and had to be revived again by a quick squirt. To the final, and I drew blue again! My opponent, a voluble American called Buster, drew red. I was quietly hopeful. No, lets face it, I thought I was onto a racing certainty here. Buster became a little withdrawn. The crowd were getting excited by now, the beer was flowing and I’m sure a few side-bets had taken place. The tension was palpable. Then, to a cheer like the start of the Grand National, we were off; or at least the bloody red one was. Mine stayed rooted to the spot. It damned well refused to start! The red, quite  uncharacteristically, ran the race of it’s life in a bee-line for the finish doing summersaults, claw-springs and flicking ’V’ signs as it went. It won as it liked! Buster, and several in the crowd, went berserk. Me, and my supporters were a little muted. Our blue ‘certainty‘ had rolled up into a ball and may have died for all I know. It might have succumbed to earlier efforts or, perhaps, whatever it was squirted with, or sheer embarrasment. I waited in vain for the Stewards‘ enquiry. My calls for a dope test went unheeded. So Buster and his gang went off to celebrate with their $12 prize-money. I’m not sure that it’s worth writing to the North American Crab Racing Authority.

The Green Tortoise has an interesting smoking policy. I don’t know what the smoking laws are in California but I suspect they are quite draconian ( on paper anyway ). There is a sign which the GT has, by law, to display outside their front ( street ) door which says smoking is strictly prohibited within 20 feet of the door. However, we were told that smoking is permitted in the dining hall-cum-entertainments room after 9.00pm. Those that didn’t like smoking could go somewhere else! I admire the American attitude towards pettyfogging rules and regulations. Disregard them! It’s a bit like the Harley-Davidson easy-riders I saw in the southern states who happily give two fingers to the wearing of crash helmets. Americans do not like to be bossed around by ‘elf and safety’ fanatics and politicians and are prepared to do their own thing, seemingly unmolested by the cops. A refreshing attitude I believe.

The next day I did a bit of exploring on foot. I soon discovered that SFC was considerably more hilly than Seattle with some streets going straight up, or down, a 25 degree incline ( by my estimation ) crossing flat intersections. Wasn’t there a famous Steve McQueen car chase down these streets in some film or other? Cars were parked with front wheels pointed hard into the kerb. I was also reminded that the city is shrouded in fog for most of the year. Luckily I was there in the short period of blue skies and clear weather, although it was a bit chilly ( light sweater temperature )

Fisherman’s Wharf is a focal point for tourists and boasts many tour operators, tacky shops, amusement arcades, old ships moored to piers and lots of seafood restaurants. The restaurants were OK but they were expensive and all had virtually the same seafood menus! I investigated the Union Square shopping area ( boring ) and Chinatown. Chinatown is indeed very Chinese and has some excellent restaurants which were a bargain compared to the American ones. 

Right: A view of a bit of Fishermans Wharf.

    

Left: The Bay Bridge linking the city west to east to Oakland, Berkeley, rail stations and airport. It is much busier and more important than it's more famous neighbour. 

Right and below: Trying to give some impression of the serious slope on some of these streets. The photos belie the severe gradient; I reckon about 25 degrees in places!

Left: An example of the slopey streets up and down which the iconic 'cable'  cars operate. The cable runs on pulleys under the road. 

Right: This steep and wiggly street is at the end of Lombard Street. It is like a slalom course. One especially weak joke from a tour guide was that this is the 2nd most crooked street in the USA; the 1st being Wall Street. Oh, how we laughed!




















Left: an 'entertainer' near Union Square, the main shopping area.

Right: These characters featured in one of those old 'penny in the slot' machines in a most entertaining museum on Fisherman's Wharf of restored and working ( 25c now ) amusements. This lot sang a Barbers' Shop Quartet number, rather well actually......

........which is more than can be said for this old git, left.
He decided to plug in his guitar and sing Rolling Stones songs to a long queue waiting for a cable-car. His singing was quite appalling and every so often he had the nerve to come round the queue holding his hat out! It says a lot for the tolerance of the US public that someone didn't whack him ( or at least unplug him ).
Actually, when I look at this photo carefully, I notice a striking resemblance to my old mate Gary D, with a false moustache. Maybe he has fallen on hard times. Are you there Gary?!

Right: And always the Sedgeway tours. I saw a record line of an 18 person tour.












I booked a tour to Alcatraz for the next day.
I’m sure everybody knows something about Alcatraz. It was closed as a prison in 1963. Alphonse Capone  was a visitor there for a couple of years. Thanks to an excellent audio tour of the prison, and briefings on the rest of the island and it’s history, I now know a lot more about the place. I even bought a hat there. Before it was a federal penitentiary it had been a military fort. I hadn’t realised that in 1969 it was occupied by ‘Native Americans’ who called themselves the ‘Indians of All Tribes’ as a protest about their treatment, or something, and wanted to buy the place for $24 or whatever it was that the Dutch settlers bought Manhattan Island off the Indians for. They stayed for 19 months before they got bored and hungry and left.






Left: Approaching Alcatraz Island. It was so called from an adaptation of the Spanish name 'La Isla de los Alcatraces'... The Island of the Seabirds. Still lots there and plenty of bird shit to remind you.

Right: The showers which the prisoners used after being admitted and then once a week thereafter. Luxury.






















Left: One of three cell block passageways. The inside of the building has been left more or less exactly as it was when the last prisoner walked out in 1963.

























Right: A look inside one of the cells. They were all identical. Not bad, and I've certainly lived in worse....not locked in of course! Reminded me of the Junior Officers' Block in Fallingbostel, without the thunderflashes and poisonous coke stoves.
















Left: This graffiti is, we were told, a remnant of the Indian occupation in 1969. It is not intended as an invitation












Right: Self explanatory. I can think of a few places that might benefit from this fairly relaxed routine. Take away the 'inmate counting' and there wasn't much to trouble you.
Apparently, according to the 'guide', the food was both good and plentiful. No TV though.

Next up was a trip, in a roofless red bus, to the Golden Gate Bridge and lunch in the charming, and impossibly wealthy, township of Sausalito which is a few miles further north, on the Marin County side of the bridge. A ‘quite’ interesting commentary told us that the bridge was built for $35m, and was under budget, in 1936 ( I think ). It is 1.7 miles long. It was originally coloured orange due to an undercoat of anti-rust sealant and due to be painted a normal grey bridge colour. The locals liked the orange look, so it has stayed orange. Also, on average, 1 person a month jumps off it and, at 240 feet above the water, tends not to survive. Those that do are arrested and jailed. Sausalito was pleasant. Otis Reading wrote the song ‘Sitting on the Dock of the Bay’ there. As always our commentator waxed lyrical about how much all the smart houses are worth, and what film stars lived in some of them. Yawn.








Right: A more traditional pic of the blasted Bridge. The place is called The Golden Gate not because of the bridge, it was called that before the bridge was built, but because for most of the year the hills are a parched golden colour and it is the gateway to the port.


















......and another view.

Right: A monument to the US Marines on the northern side of the bridge. We were debussed here for a pit-stop and to take photos. There is an ex-military base at the bottom of the hill, now an expensive holiday resort.










Left: An extraordinary array of Ferraris at this pit-stop. There were 14 of them. It must have been some sort of club, or a very wealthy family outing.








We returned after a good lunch in Sausalito in a different bus with the most intensely irritating driver/guide. He told us that he was called John T.  He was fat, unamusing, shouted non-stop and was very pleased with himself. He started by giving us lots of warnings as to what we could'nt do. He was on serious auto-gabble with a tediously well rehearsed 'commentary' including feeble jokes of which only he can have been proud amid plugs for local restaurants. He only interrupted his ghastly monologue to berate passengers for daring to put their elbows over the side, or try to stand up. At several points he shouted for people to stop talking because it was rude not to listen to his commentary! He did not pause to draw breath. I've never heard anything so awful. The  passengers on the bus sat in stunned silence. As we re-crossed the bridge I don't think I can have been the only one to think that he should be the monthly man to take a leap. When we finally stopped, this imbecile said he prided himself on his excellent and professional guided tour and gratuities and tips would be much appreciated. My tip was not appreciated ( shut the f..k up ) and it was 30 minutes before my ears stopped ringing.
I have time to kill.......there will be a Part 2 from San Francisco 'cos there was plenty to see and do there.

AMTRAK. SEATTLE TO SAN FRANCISCO

4th - 5th April 2011

Double-decker Amtrac at rainy Seattle

Peep-peep "all aboard" for the Coast Starlight, the 0945hrs Amtrak train from Seattle to San Francisco. It was delayed 30 mins because it had to be 'fixed', and Seattle station is not a great place to be delayed at. Not even anywhere to buy a cup of coffee. They also made tannoy announcements, probably quite relevant ones in our case concerning revised departure times, but due to the quality of the speakers or acoustics nobody, not even the locals, could understand a word of them. Anyway, off we went at about 1015hrs for the 23 hour journey. I was slumming it in 'coach' class for this trip, ie not forking out for the sleeper car which gives you extra perks ( a bed, free meals, wi-fi and use of the luxurious Parlour Car ). As it was, this Amtrak iron horse is in a different class to the east coast models. The Chinese navvies who laid the line here must have been paid more, or drank less because, it was a flat and smooth ride. I was told that the rolling-stock was 1950s vintage ( same as the VIA trains ). It was solidly built, well refurbished and with better suspension, and this train had two decks. The top deck was seating with a lounge car and dining cars and the bottom, some seating plus a bar/cafe car, all the 'rest-rooms' and even an 'amusements' car with a small cinema and electronic game consoles. The reclining seats, as always, were spacious. To give you an idea; if the seat-back was in the upright position and I stretched out my legs, my feet did not touch the seat in front. A far cry from cattle-class on Brit railways or, as they say here, a whole different ball game.



Left: The lounge car; good views and downstairs to the bar and cafe.

  


Right: Dining car. You had to book a sitting and the conductor then called you over the intercom when your table was ready. Quite civilised. No queuing or waiting.

Left: This was the 'parlour car' for use by the sleeper ( 1st class ) passengers. I was rudely reminded by the first stroppy and unhelpful member of any staff that I have met so far in all of North America, that I was NOT ALLOWED in here. I said I just wanted to have a look. She ( for she was a bossy and unpleasant young woman ) tried to make life difficult. Luckily a more senior chap came along and pleasantly told me to go ahead. I gave two fingers to Miss Stroppy which hopefully annoyed her.  



It was an interesting journey. From rainy Seattle we passed Boeing Field ( where Boeing tests and delivers aircraft ) down low lying ground via Tacoma, Centralia, Kelso-Longview and across the state boundary into Oregon at Portland. From here the terrain started to get hilly and wooded and then became mountainous through Salem, Albany and Eugene up to Chemult and Klamath Falls. We hit the snow-line at some point and there were mountains on either side going up to 14,000 ft. It was dramatic scenery. The sky was grey and it all looked very cold and, unfortunately by this stage it was getting dark so no pics worth taking.
As always on Amtrak, there were sensible and audible announcements ( thankfully no 'elf and safety rubbish ) giving information which was timely, useful and often amusing. They have a way of talking to passengers as rational human beings rather than 'cargo'. For example... "we encourage everyone to make full use of the bar facilities on board, however please be reminded that if anyone behaves in a drunken fashion or becomes in any way a nuisance to fellow passengers, their trip will end at the next station!" Also......" Please do not smoke in any part of this train, however for those passengers who enjoy a stogie you are welcome to get off for a smoke break at Eugene, but don't go too far away. If you miss the train there it's a $300 cab ride to join us again at Chemult, and there's always one!" It would be inconceivable for drunken rowdy yobs to annoy fellow passengers on these trains. Mobile phones are not permitted to be used in the dining cars. It is a civilised and pleasant environment with smart and helpful staff, apart from Miss Stroppy who rather let the side down.



Right: I was in the rear coach. They normally have a window at the back which allows you to see behind. I think this was going over a river bridge south of Portland, Oregon.









I had a reasonable sleep ( in no worse comfort than business class on Vietnam Airlines, which, I appreciate, may not say a lot ) and woke up with a slightly stiff neck just before we reached Sacramento, California. There were now blue skies and palm trees and we were back at sea level, so quite a climate change. Interestingly, there is no rail station in San Francisco so I got off at a place called Emeryville at 0845hrs where we were put onto a bus and driven for 30 mins, over the Bay Bridge to the Ferry Building in town.




Left: Blue skies on arrival at Emeryville, Ca.










There is another, indeed the only other, Green Tortoise in San Francisco into which I had already booked. I was looking forward to it. According to Miss Nosering in Seattle they were due to have a 'Killer Pool' and 'Crab Racing' night on the night I arrived. I was  quivering with anticipation...............!

SEATTLE - WASHINGTON

31st March - 4th April

Space Needle, Seattle

My trip from Victoria to Seattle was apparently awesome, or 'aaarsum' in the local vernacular, according to some local I met later that evening.  Actually it wasn't; it was a perfectly comfortable and efficient sail on a speedy catamaran, the Victoria Clipper, with a good bar/cafe service and it took 2hrs 40mins. I have noticed, particularly in western Canada, and north-west America that everything is 'aaarsum'. They lazily use this word to cover what we might imply by saying 'OK', or  'jolly good', or 'oh really' or an ironic 'how interesting' . It is the knee-jerk response to any statement of fact or intention.
When asked where I come from and say "England", the response was invariably "aaarsum!". "What did you do today?" answer " I went on a city tour", comment "aaarsum!". "I'm just going to the lavatory"......."aaarsum!" Why do I find this irritating?
I hadn't a clue what to expect of Seattle. All I remembered about the place was that Boeing and Bill Gates' Microsoft have their HQs there. The first thing I realised was that the city is surrounded by water and built around a steep hill. The taxi from quayside to accommodation ( the Green Tortoise, and more about that place later ) had a steep climb to negotiate. Someone must do good business selling brakes and clutches.

Left: The speedy Victoria Clipper.












I booked myself onto a city tour for the next morning. At 0915hrs, prompt, a 30 seater coach rocks up with a driver, wearing a cowboy hat, called Moviere ( call me Mov ). That was it! Just me and Mov. He was a rather serious young man and asked me what I wanted to see. How was I to know! I thought he was supposed to tell me. I wish there had been some others there. Off we set and he told me that Seattle got it's name from a misspelling of the local Native American ( that's the American PC version of Indian ) chief's name. I suspected he was a bit 'PC' himself so I tested him by saying that in England we call Native Americans 'redskins'. He nearly fainted. So I think we established a mutual suspicion of each other. OK, he took me on a 1.5 hour, rather serious, tour. I learnt that Starbucks was started here and they have 416 outlets in the city. I was shown the enormous fishing fleet presently in harbour and from where the salmon and crabbing boats go off to Alaska in the summer and autumn. The crab fishing in the Bering Sea is particularly arduous and dangerous ( and presumably profitable ). I was given lots of background gen on the city and many of it's buildings. I won't bore you with it.
I was shown the locks on the canal connecting Lake Union to the sea at Puget Sound. I told him I lived next to a lock in London but that didn't stop him giving me a blow by blow account of how it worked. Also the salmon ladder. I told him I had seen one in action at Dunkeld. He had a script and he was damned well going to stick to it.
I asked him what he did for a hobby. He said he read lots of books and was due to start to a course in Human Sciences ( whatever that is ) at Washington University. He informed me that it rained on average  250 days of the year in Seattle ( ie not as much as Ireland ). It was indeed raining on our little tour. I felt well briefed and orientated and ready to sally forth on foot. He was due to do another tour in the afternoon and I hope he got a better audience.




Left: The fleet of salmon and crab fishing boats waiting in harbour. They set sail up the 'inner passage' to Alaska in June. The memorial is for those sailors who have been 'lost at sea' on these ventures and there have been many

Right: The Fremont Troll. Under the Fremont road bridge ( trolls like living under bridges as you know ). This was 'installed' after a competition and was only meant to be temporary, but the people liked it and it stayed.









Left: Another amusing statue. People waiting at a bus stop.









As mentioned earlier, I booked into a sort of backpackers' hostel called The Green Tortoise. A girl on the Victoria Clipper told me about it. A private, ie single, room cost $60 per night although they said they didn't have any currently available. It was $30 or less if you shared a room. I told the charming be-noseringed receptionist that I could not possibly share a room because it was very dangerous. When she asked why I said that I had been told ( by a most unreliable source, I hasten to add ) that when I slept I often sounded like a manic starving pig at feeding time and that I had previously driven a fellow room-mate to attempt to murder me. They kindly put me in a room for four by myself ( $60 ). It turned out to be a fantastic place and great fun. It was in a prestigious location next to the touristy Pike Street Market. It was clean, safe and had a most interesting and delightful collection of guests and extremely helpful staff. They had wi-fi throughout, free cook-your-own breakfast, unlimited coffee etc all day, free curry suppers on 4 nights a week and, importantly, unrivalled knowledge and literature on travelling just about anywhere. They also organised 'adventure tours' but normally for people about 35 years younger than me. It was great value and, for what it's worth, I strongly recommend the place . I suppose you can look it up on the internet.

Seattle famously hosted the International Fair in 1962. It already had it's Space Needle tower and it built a park containing many state-of-the-art exhibits and museums called the Seattle Centre around it, with a mono-rail to connect it to the city centre. It was all cutting-edge stuff at the time. I felt obliged to go up the Space Needle. Good views after a bit of a queue.




Right: A view from the Space Needle looking south over the city centre and quayside.

Left: A part of the Seattle Centre. These weird buildings house the museums of music and sci-fi. They were designed for the 1962 International Fair  by the chap ( Frank Gehry? ) who designed the equally weird Guggenheim museum in Bilbao.

Right: In the music museum, the Guitar Tree. The museum featured pop music historical items and an 'inter-active' make your own pop music centre, plus a Jimmy Hendrix exhibition.
Wow. How cool is that?















Left:...........and a special Battlestar Galactica display. All the old models, costumes and props from the various TV and film series. I don't remember watching it.

Right: The driver's eye view from the mono-rail train. It only runs from the City centre to the Seattle Centre, a 1min 90secs journey.

Left: I was lucky enough to visit the Centre on 'International Pillow-Fighting Day' ( 2nd April ). It had completely escaped my attention.











Right: They seemed to enjoy their mass pillow-fight. All very good humoured. In England it would probably have involved drunken football fans and anarchists with the attendant riot squad and ambulances.








The 'downtown' area, especially along the quayside ( Elliott Bay ) was most jolly with lots of quaint bars, a 'farmers market', restaurants and shops, some very expensive ones, plus 'entertainers' who mostly did musical things, although one chap had a remarkably talented and amusing parrot which did alarming tricks. In general it was a pleasant city with lots of entertainment for us tourists.







 Left and below: Various 'Artistes' around the Pike Street Market. The musicians were rather good.

........although what this bloke, left, was trying to achieve rather escaped me. It may have been an undercover policeman keeping an eye on things. I did actually go up to him and commend him on his dress sense.










The high spot for me was undoubtedly 'Riding the Ducks'. Perhaps I'm the last person in the world to experience this. The concept is simple; it is a guided tour in an amphibious vehicle, the 1942 built military DUKW. It has, however, become not so much just a tour as a 'Tour de Force', a 'Mad Performance Comique' and amusing, indeed I thought hysterically funny, for both children and adults. We were encouraged to buy 'quackers', yellow duck beak shaped things that quacked when you blew them. Our driver/compere/guide, dressed in 'ship's' uniform introduced himself, loudly, as Captain 'Tristan Shout'. He was wild. He gave a guided tour, but it involved 'relevant' rock music, him changing hats to suit the locale, he sang, he danced in his seat ( hands rarely on the steering wheel because he was 'hand-jiving' energetically ), he told appalling jokes, he ordered us to wave at bemused pedestrians and when to blow our quackers, which we did in unison. We drove around the streets and sailed through Lake Union. It could not possibly happen in the UK ( or Canada for that matter ). PC Plod would take one look and immediately arrest the driver for an aggravated case of ' dangerous driving' and possibly ' wilful intent to kill members of the public'. The UK 'Elf 'n' Safety Gestapo would never in a month of Sundays allow this cronky-looking old vehicle to sail into a choppy lake with 30 giggling passengers on board. Anyway, they can and do here. Another example of American enterprise and fun and stuff the spoil-sports ( although I am sure Capt Shout knew exactly what he was about and the thing was entirely safe ). It was indeed 'aaarsum'.




Right: The 'Duck'. They must have had about 10 of them and they appeared always to be full up and were obviously very popular.

Left: Some Duck Riders getting in a bit of quacking practice before the off. Around the start point there was just a faint reminiscence of those blasted Vuvuzelas!

Right: Difficult to capture the whackiness of all this. Rear view of the irrepressible Capt Tristan Shout..........

.......and him moving seamlessly into nautical mode.

Right: A fellow vessel moving along-side.














Left: A float-plane just about to take off, crossing our bows. I have no idea who had right of way over whom or who was controlling all this! It seemed to work without mishap.













Right: Not much margin for error if these planes have an engine problem.







OK, packing my bags and moving on. The girl in the Green Tortoise even helped me carry my stuff down several flights of stairs ( no lifts ). I think she probably thought that I was too geriatric to manage myself and I suppose I did rather increase the average age of the clientele. She was probably also grateful that no murders had taken place on her watch. I gave her a little snort as I left.

  As a post-script, I am going to try to attach a 'video clip' of the crazy Capt Tristan Shout. It works at this end but, if my previous attempt at these clips is anything to go by, it won't work when 'posted'. It is an experiment. If anyone can offer assistance it would be appreciated. Maybe these blog things do not accept video clips.

VANCOUVER ISLAND - BRITISH COLUMBIA

28th - 31st March 2011

Parliament Building, Victoria, British Columbia

From Vancouver City to Vancouver Island by ferry. It was a 35 min bus ride to the ferry port, a 1.5 hour ( Ro-Ro ) ferry crossing and a further 40 mins to Victoria, the Capital City of British Columbia. I was eating a rather overpriced and not very good lunch on the ferry and passing some small islands, trying to read my book, when there was a crashingly loud announcement from 'The Captain' which, being in Canadian, I only partially understood. I heard the words "killer whales" and everybody got up and ran to one side of the ship. "Bloody hell", I thought, "these things must be dangerous". I packed up quick and joined them wondering where the life-jackets were stored. I was told to calm down because this, apparently, is a normal happening to look at some large black and white fish ( Orcas or whatever ). Phew! Nobody saw any sign of them anyway. I imagined the Captain was just having a bit of fun; we would soon hear "killer whales" on the other side, no doubt. I subsequently learnt that 'whale watching' is a popular tourist activity in these parts.
Victoria is a pleasant town ( hardly a city ) with a deliberately British feel to it. The weather was mild and there was even drizzle for most of the time to make me feel at home. It has a picturesque harbour and lots of pubs ( yes, including a large Irish one with live and loud music ) and restaurants and a pretty park. A little bit like a clean version of Bournemouth perhaps, without the drunks. It is the capital of BC due to the fact that it was the first place colonised on the west coast of Canada, in the mid-19th century. Messrs Cook and Vancouver had a bit to do with it. There were/are many Indian ( called 'First Nation Peoples' by the politically correct Canadians ) throughout the area. This part of the Indian nation specialised in totem poles. There are thousands of them, all over the place!
My first night there I met up with the daughter of a cousin of mine ( thanks Nadine ) and her friends and we had a jolly good drink with fish and chips in a 'Scottish' pub. Almost felt like Blighty.




Left: The Empress Hotel, between the harbour and Parliament buildings. It is very luxurious and famous for it's 'British Afternoon Tea' which is vastly expensive and which nobody in Britain does any more.










Right: I caught 'Her Majesty' paying a fleeting visit to meet a couple of her 'First Nation Peoples' friends for a quick drink in the Empress Hotel. Maybe she was dishing out invites for The Wedding, which is a popular topic of conversation here.

Left: A selection of some of the ubiquitous totem poles. I suppose they were popular because of the availability of large trees on the Island. 

Talking of which, the logging industry in BC, and Vancouver Island in particular, is vast, although not as big as it was. It is difficult to describe the enormous scale of forestry, mainly Douglas Fir, Cedar and Pine, in the area. I guess that about 2/3 of the Island is forested and very hilly or mountainous. The Island is about 350 miles long by 120 miles wide ( not much smaller than England ), and unspoilt with masses of space. The total population of the Island is about 1 million.





Right: Runway conditions: wet.wet.wet. A bustling float-plane commuter service operates between the Island and mainland Vancouver, and Seattle.








The tourist season had not yet started, although I found several places advertising the, yawn, 'whale watching' cruises. These involve a 3 hour trip ( $99 ) in a semi-rigid boat getting thoroughly wet with, at this time of year, a 50:50 chance of seeing a pesky Orca or Humpback whale and maybe a 60:40 chance of getting seasick. No thanks! Why not stay at home in comfort and watch the goldfish through a magnifying glass? Also other trips on offer; 'bear watching' Grizzlies, despite the fact that they were mostly still in hibernation ( best place for them if you ask me ), or perhaps a 30 min flight around the local area ( $130 ) in a float-plane assuming that at least 3 other people turned up. So I resisted the temptation. I did not notice any 'Mounty watching' trips. They probably, wisely, don't like being gawped at by tourists.
There were, however, what looked like some excellent salmon fishing trips on offer, but not at this time of year. I subsequently discovered, from the people I was staying with, that there are fantastic outdoor things to see and do in the area but, as always, it is best to take advice from them that know rather than the money motivated tour operators.
I was going to travel about 50 miles north by train to the town of Duncan, to visit my cousin and her husband ( P and J ). Unfortunately the train was not operating due to track maintenance, so I went by a bus replacement. As it turned out it was a more speedy service. I first went all the way up to a place called Quanticum Beach and stayed there for lunch. The place is in a 1950s British time-warp! Very old fashioned but utterly charming.  The countryside was spectacularly beautiful; lakes, rivers and wooded hills.



Left: Victoria Central Station. Not quite on the scale of the Grand Union in NY........and the train wasn't running anyway.















Right: .........and a similar model in Quanticum Beach.
















Left: This was at the station in Duncan ( pop. 5,000 approx ) which, I was informed, had no less than 180 totem poles in town







I was generously entertained by P and J and taken on a local tour by J, who is retired from the logging/forestry industry. He will have to pass as my token 'lumberjack' although, sadly, he was not properly dressed in the correct lumberjacket. I was shown some majestic lakes and rivers where fish abound ( and told of some spectacular salmon fishing elsewhere ) and given a fair insight into the trees and machines and techniques of the logging industry. I learnt that they gave up floating the logs down the rivers, leaping from tree to tree ( as per M Python & Co ), a long time ago. How disappointing. I was also driven through a 'First Nation People's' ( Indian to you and me ) reservation. It is a bit sad. They are given many tax-breaks ( including the running of casinos ) and grants and other financial assistance by the government but choose, it seems, to live on these 'reservations' in abject squalor in what looked to me like rat infested junk yards where alcohol and drug abuse is rife. There must be notable exceptions, but the majority do not seem to wish to assimilate into the 1st world. I also noted ( as I did in Winnipeg ) a barely concealed antipathy towards these people.
I was taken, voluntarily, to the local police station. I was determined to track down a Mounty ( 'the Man always gets his Mounty' is my motto ). When we got there I was told that only the previous day a troop of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had been 'on parade' in full dress at some civic function in town. Nobody had warned me!
To make amends, and probably just to get rid of me, they wheeled out a Mounty in 'working' dress. He was called Craig and was most charming.  I think he said he had just been on a holiday in Edinburgh.



Left: One of the old steam engines that transported the logs. They did not go fast but could climb serious gradients.













Right: Craig, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in working dress. So, I now have my genuine Mounty photo.............










......although I would have preferred something a bit more like this.















.............but not like this!















I spent an afternoon in the museum in Victoria. It was quite smart and held some interesting bits and pieces. Bizarrely, the central exhibit in the entrance foyer was the Yellow Rolls-Royce which had belonged to John Lennon in the 60s ( his 'Yellow Submarine' with a double bed in the back ). As you can imagine there was quite a large section devoted to the Indians, sorry 'First Nation Peoples', although not so dramatic as that in the ROM in Toronto, and another plethora of effing totem poles. By now I was getting a tad bored of totem poles.




Left: John Lennon's old Roller. He had remarkably good taste didn't he?. Not sure what it is that is jumping up and down on the bonnet.













      Right: A genuine Indian ( of the Bombay tribe ) guiding us up the escalator.











Left: Indigenous Canadian animals. It saved me going on an 'animal watching' tour.












 Right: At last, a beaver. I do not know why it was holding a label. Must be the price tag on it's coat.

Left: A Grizzly, thoroughly hibernated. Much the best way to see them I think.
















Right: A woolly mammoth. I took this photo because it was there, and you don't see many of them around nowadays.













Left: A rather amusing statue by the harbour in Victoria called  'The Homecoming'.












Right: ...and a fond farewell to P and J and Mr Nemo in Duncan. They were just making sure I left the property.









So, I just about got my pics of the Mounty, lumberjack, sledge with husky, beaver, snowshoe and canoe. I was quite impressed by Canada and the Canadians. They are a civilised lot but, for better or for worse, without the eccentricities of the Americans ( or Brits for that matter ).

I was now heading back to the land of Uncle Sam and perhaps to re-kindle my relationship with jolly old Amtrac. ...............onwards and downwards.