O, Canada

A ferry ride aboard the Coho to Victoria. So calm I didn’t realize we were underway. We also didn’t realize it was September 11, until the ferry agent mentioned the ship would be stopping for a moment of silence at 8:50 AM. Everyone was given a carnation as we boarded, to throw into the water during the silence. Very touching.

A little over an hour later, and we were on Canadian soil. What a beautiful city, but rather than stroll casually around, we hightailed it over to the tour buses parked in front of the Empress Hotel to get our tickets to visit Butchart Gardens, or as the guide said several times, the World Famous Butchart Gardens.


After making a fortune in the early 1900’s, owning a limestone quarry used in their cement factory, the Butcharts had wagon loads of topsoil brought in to create the gardens. 55 acres of beautiful flowering plants. Lots and lots of color. Petunias, begonias, daisies, hydrangeas, etc. A wall of dahlias with some blooms as big as dinner plates, others so full of petals they looked like decorated softballs. A rose garden with hundreds of hybrids, including one from pre-1858. These were all labeled, unlike the rest of the plantings. A formal Italian garden with a perfect lawn. After a while, my eyes were singed from all the color. Fortunately, the Butcharts had traveled to Japan, so Mrs. B hired a Japanese designer to create a garden full of trees and shade. The green oasis was a relief after all the brightness in the rest of the garden. Two totems carved by a local artist stood near the concert lawn. I particularly liked the one with an otter holding a clam.

I had hoped to have afternoon tea in the Dining Room, but without reservations, we were put on the waitlist, likely getting a table after 2:00. We consoled ourselves with an ice cream cone (mine wild honey with lavender, Grant’s salted caramel). By the time I got the text that our table was ready, we’d decided to take the 2:00 bus back to town and catch the 3:00 ferry back to Port Angeles.

Even on the way back, we still couldn’t see the Olympic mountains. Our guide attributed it to smoke from forest fires in eastern Washington state. I hadn’t smelled smoke, so I assumed it was misty haze.

Dinner at Spruce, with fried chicken for me, hamburger for Grant. I thought we’d be eating lots of salmon and seafood, but the Olympic Peninsular seems not food oriented. 

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