British Columbia: strangely like England

So...there's quite a lot to catch up on from my last blog, which documents a time which already seems far more than just five days ago. I'm writing this sitting in a Seattle coffee house, drinking exceptionally good cappucino, surrounded by hot, intellectually bearded men (apologies to the Major at this point, but they are). All around me are my goods and chattels, which have mysteriously expanded over the past few days. The bearded man to my left (mac laptop, ipod, book, fedora next to him on the table, making complicated looking calculations on a piece of paper) just looked over and raised his eyebrows as I pulled off my outermost layer to add to the general chaos.

I've just got off the boat after an overnight stay on Vancouver Island. A solo trip, characterised primarily by my overwhelming exhaustion, brought on by a 6am start and one of the worst nights sleep I've ever had in the stinking fetid hole of a dorm room in the Green Tortoise hostel. Olivia, you see, had skipped town to attend the wedding which was her primary reason for coming out here, and I was left on my tod for a few days.

So, after an afternoon spent in this very cafe, enjoying the atmosphere, the warmth and the men, followed by a whistlestop tour around Seattle's underground and a quick trip to the art gallery, I eventually laid my plans. I would get up early on Saturday morning, tootle down to the docks and try and get on the 7.30am journey to Victoria, returning on Sunday.

Accordingly, I staggered to the ferry port and hopped on.

British Columbia is totally unlike Seattle, and more totally unlike America than I would have expected. Admittedly I was only there for a day. But other than the cars on the right of the road and the dollar currency, it was almost exactly like being back in England. I spoke to the Major on the way over and told him where I was going. "Oh right, what's that like?" he asked. "I'm not entirely sure," I admitted, "but I'm expecting it to be a bit like going to the Isle of Wight."

And I was pretty much right. There was the harbour, filled with sailing boats bobbing perkily in the breeze. There was the imposing grand hotel, the Empress, overlooking the harbour. The weather was about the same as a nice British summer's day: sunny but cool. There were union jacks everywhere (British Columbia, remember). And later on that evening, walking back from the cinema (Robin Hood, moderately ok), it was just like any British high street on a Saturday night. All most peculiar: not entirely unpleasant, but made me realise how little, actually, I miss England.

Anyway, tonight we're off to Portland, and I still have to write about the bears but that will have to wait, as we've got to go and pick up our hire car. Over and out....