Promising Beginnings?

There is a valid reason to start a journey from Vancouver Island to Vancouver Airport (on the Mainland) one day before scheduled take off of the big flight - getting there is iffy!


Today getting there was indeed half the challenge (9 hours) as compared to the entire fun (24 hours) of flying from Vancouver to my destination Buenos Aires. Lay-overs at various exotic airports included.


And - it is not exactly cheap anymore either. For instance: taxi to the first bus station - $22; bus to downtown Victoria - $12; bus and ferry crossing to the mainland - $35; hotel $100. And I haven't even started the main event yet.


Things got off to a bumpy start, not even considering the bleak aspect marking the entire day, which never emerged from rainy semi darkness. The Greyhound Bus fell into an RCMP radar trap on the Malahat (our little tricky mountain pass on the way to Victoria), which evolved into a minor mechanical inspection covering the entire outside of the bus, whilst the driver emptied his pockets trying to find his driver's license, and the young police officer waved his radar gun towards more unweary potential victims. A little while later, citation pocketed by said speeding driver, we rushed headlong to Victoria at twice the allowed speed to make up for lost time...


Just in time to catch the Pacific Coach bus to transfer from Victoria to Vancouver, which goes via ferry of course.


Except...winds on the Strait of Georgia had risen to gale force strength, causing two ferries to be cancelled and another departure put into question. Weather forecast - conditions deteriorating throughout the day.


Bus dispatcher announceed: 'The bus departs from the depot to the ferry as scheduled, but ferry crossing is doubtful. Passengers can get a refund, remain at the bus depot, or take their chances.' I took my chances, inside a sure-thing bus, instead of a dismal bus station, and hoped for a break in the weather.


It was howling outside. After arriving closer to the ferry docks, one could see nothing but whitecaps, even here in protected waters.


At the ferry terminal, all bus passengers were dismissed until further notice, i.e. until the next not-yet-cancelled ferry. We all trooped off through pouring rain to the Terminal cafeteria, where there was not a seat to be had for love or money, Valentine's Day notwithstanding. Two cancelled ferry loads of people waiting for a positive developments...


More announcements about storms, cancellations, impossibility of docking at the mainland ferry dock blablabla, when - out of the blue, or maybe out of the glimmer of outside darkness - came the happy advice that YES, one ferry would venture out into the storm tossed Strait within a few minutes.


The cafeteria emptied in a stampede, everyone racing back to their cars, buses, trucks etc etc.


And leave we did - the Ferry backing out of it's berth very slowly, whilst the contingent of passengers invaded the ferry cafeteria, buffet, lounge to relax in anticipation of the bumpy ride ahead.


The ungainly vessel inched with agonizing slowness into open water, when the disembodied voice of the First Officer's interrupted the customary safety announcements about life jackets and life boats and all that. 'We are experiencing unforeseen mechanical difficulties, slowing the ship...but, it should be fixed soon.' he said, before the safety annoncement resumed its encouraging instructions about what to do in case of an unlikely emergency.


The Coastal Renaissance (I think that was the name of the ferry) kept backing slowly until she was amongst a bunch of never-seen-before islands, at least not on the usual ferry routes, when suddenly the reverse thrusters sprang into action with great shuddering and pointed the good ship towards the direction we were supposed to head.


'We have resolved our difficulties and will resume speed, but we don't know yet our arrival time at the other side', the First Officer announced. Ok, whatever...


Not the last announcement, though. Just before entering REAL open water came this one: 'Very rough seas, please find a seat, and stay in it until after we are docked at the terminal.'


Ok, being Canadian and ever so obedient, everyone sat and stayed put.


Next announcements: 'Cleaners, please proceed to forward passenger deck 5.' ...somebody forgot to grab a sea sick bag.


When we finally reached the mainland ferry terminal, all bus passengers returned onto the bus parked on deck 2.


But, ashore - an unexpected transfer onto yet another bus - delays and cancellations etc. Everybody out into the rain expecting to reboard parrallell parked replacement bus. Oh, no, not yet - we are blocking traffic....everyone back again onto original bus....


(If this sounds like The Heart of Darkest Africa Tourist Commute, you got the idea!)


Placidly everyone followed instructions liberally and confusingly issued by equally confused bus drivers until we finally (I spare you another load of incredible details) set off direction Vancouver Airport.


The last apologetic announcement from the hard pressed bus driver sums up the day: 'Being so late, we now have hit rush hour, and the tunnel on the way to the airport is down to one lane in our direction'. Well, whatever....


9 hours, home porch to hotel door - not bad. Although I was a little concerned; for a moment I thought I was in a time fugue, taken back by some Einsteinian magic to another time and another continent - how did I get to Asia? The hotel shuttle drove for half an hour past stores, restaurants, offices etc etc with brightly lit Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, Japanes signs - where is English?


Ah, then I remembered it must be Richmond, which looks and feels like a copy cat Kuala Lumpur, or Hong Kong, or Shang Hai.


I registered in a neat, clean, modern hotel La Quinta (how Asian can one get?) in an area innundated with Asian restaurants. Braved the rain once more and turned into one of them which actually spelled out 'Noodle House' in English characters after passing about a dozen others - all chock-a-block with Asian diners.


Ah, the bright lights of an authentic Chinese restaurant did not shed any light on the menu, which was written on little strips of paper hand painted with beautiful Chinese brush work, and suspended over a spotless counter behind which a number of white uniformed cooks manipulated giant woks.


My ignorance of Mandarin, and my even more obvious minority status in this pleasant environment caught the attention of one of the neatly uniformed waitresses: 'Can I help you, do you want to eat in or take out, we only take cash, here is an English menu, here is a table.' and she put me on a table for eight, lazy susan and all. Around me, more large tables - all of them occupied with Asian Canadians delving into the most delectable looking edibles.


A bowl of noodle soup with mushrooms and vegetables arrived in front of me within minutes, washed down with complimentary green tea instead of complimentary tap water - yummy! My $5 tourist adventure in Richmond!


From here on - 24 hours plane-hopping starting with a stop over in snow bound Toronto is a piece of fortune cookie!