On Call

I’m sitting in the hospital at 2am, and I'm actually pretty happy about that. We have a patient laboring down the hall, and she’s likely to deliver in a few hours. Delivering a baby is one of the more fun (and terrifying) parts of my job, and I don’t want to miss it. So that means I’ll be spending the night in the hospital.

I actually kind of like working nights. Granted, it kills my sleep schedule for the next three days, but it’s still pretty fun. The hospital has kind of a peaceful quiet to it at night, which is a rarity around here. It’s also when residents get to practice being a grown-up doctor. Of course, there are always supervising doctors on call, but they’re not always physically in the building. So it keeps me on my toes and forces me to think on my own. Again, fun but terrifying.

The call schedules for residents used to be brutal. We were essentially on call all day everyday. But 10-15 years ago, the feds started to lean hard on residency programs to start implementing duty hour limits. It seems like common sense, but there is a deeply ingrained culture in our field that new doctors need to see and do as much as possible during residency. There’s some truth to that, but clearly mistakes can be made after a couple of days without any real sleep. But don’t worry, patients. We’re now required to go home after just 28 straight hours in the hospital. Easy peasy.

Of course, a 28 hour stretch is not exactly OSHA compliant*, but it was the compromise between getting lots of experience and letting residents maintain some semblance of humanity.

*Interestingly, there is no such thing as an OSHA-compliant resident work schedule, since medical residency is one of the few hazardous jobs that don’t fall under the agency’s purview. In 2011, OSHA was petitioned by a watchdog group to start overseeing resident work conditions. But they denied the request after input from the American Medical Association and other industry groups. They decided (and probably rightfully so) that medical training is a very unique process, and is best regulated from within. And in defense of my medical overlords, there isn’t much evidence that limiting work hours actually prevents medical errors. Of course, decreasing the hours from unlimited to 28 still leaves plenty of room for fatigue. But the increased handoffs from one doctor to the next are far more likely to cause errors than a sleep deprived resident.

But back to the baby. It’s now 5am and I just delivered a healthy, happy 7-pounder. About a paragraph ago, I got a call from the nurse calmly but firmly requesting my presence. And when a Labor and Delivery nurse says now, she means now. So I ran-walked my way though the hospital to find the familiar tray of delivery tools set up and ready to go. I put on my gown and gloves, and got the patient into position. Many of you know that there is A LOT of biology happening at these deliveries, and the gown and gloves (and occasionally face shield) are critical. I try to not make each laboring mom feel like an ebola patient, but there are few grosser experiences than catching a face full of amniotic fluid. I’ve been lucky so far, but it’s only a matter of time.

I’ve performed about a dozen deliveries, and probably watched twice that amount. But only now am I starting to get comfortable with guiding one human being out of another human being. For my first few deliveries, I felt an increasing panic as the delivery got closer. Seeing the babies head was exciting news for the family, and awful news for me. There’s no turning back now. But I’m finally starting to get a feel for it, and now it’s closer to 50/50 excitement and terror.

This particular baby was probably a 6/10 on the difficulty scale. I had to do a small amount of work to guide the shoulders through the birth canal, but the baby came out without much trouble.

After each delivery, when the baby is safely out and the mother has stopped bleeding, there’s nothing quite like placing a new baby in his or her mom’s arms. And just like that, both she and I have forgotten the trauma of childbirth. But hopefully she’ll wait a year or two for her next one. I’ll probably be back in an hour.

Bienvenidos

I am a doctor.

You all know that, but it's good for me to remind myself that every now and then. Between the adventures at the brewery and the trip to Hawaii, it's easy for me to forget that I have a day job.

I haven't spent much time talking about residency here. And that's for a couple of reasons. First, this is a travel blog, and I shouldn't drift too far from the original purpose. But also because I've barely had time to breathe since starting residency, let along blog about it. That said, this month brings a good excuse to blend the two worlds. I'm spending August down on the US-Mexico border to work as an obstetrician at Nogales' Holy Cross Hospital.

For those of us that grew up in Tucson, you know Nogales as a gateway to debauchery, unrelenting crime, or boundless economic opportunities, depending on where you get your news. The truth, of course, is that Nogales is none of these. At least no more than any other rural southwest town.

Nogales, Arizona is a small border town of about 20,000 people. But just across the line is Nogales, Sonora. On that side, you'll find ten times the population, and dozens of maqilas. Those are the factories that many American companies use to manufacturer their goods using relatively cheap labor and low import tariffs guaranteed by NAFTA and other free trade agreements.

The maquilas, like Ambos Nogales (both Nogales'), have had a turbulent couple of decades. They were initially hailed as an economic revolution that would allow for cheaper US products, more jobs, and higher quality of life in Mexico. However, the facilities turned out to be far less revolutionary--but also far less catastrophic--than the various observers predicted. As China increased its cheap labor output, maquila production slowed. But as transpacific shipping costs increased, North American manufacturing became appealing again. Meanwhile, crime, or more accurately, the perception of crime, has devastated the once-booming tourism industry.

But while the major players tussle back and forth, there are still a quarter million people here that need healthcare either way. And that's my job this month. Holy Cross is a small Critical Access Hospital that provides care for people that have few other options. As the name implies, it's a Catholic Hospital that is part of the same Carondelet network that manages St. Joe's and St. Mary's hospitals in Tucson. I'll be working in the labor and delivery ward, taking care of pregnant moms and their new babies.

I've only been here for 48 hours, but I've already seen some incredible things (and delivered four babies). It's going to be a fun month, and I'll keep the stories coming every few days.

-M

Exploring Hilo

Aimee and I both felt that we could live in Hilo the minute we got off the plane. Within an hour, we were looking for Property. After a day, we were tearing up our plane tickets home.

We spent our first full day on the Big Island exploring our new favorite city. Carol had a few meetings at work that day, so she gave us some tips and sent us loose.

Breakfast was at the Hilo Farmer's Market, which was, amazingly, an actual farmer's market. Most farmer's markets that we've been to really should just be called hipster's markets. The closest thing to fresh produce that you usually find at these things is pickled kale chips being sold by a bearded 20-something. But this one was different. On the Big Island, you can sneeze out an apple seed and come back to a mature tree the next day. Produce grows here without even trying.

That makes the Hilo farmer's market a true collection of actual farmers selling their actual produce. It was amazing.

By the way, those bananas were $2 a bushel. $2!!! You can't buy a pint of beer here for anything less than a car payment, but since most people seem to have an actual banana tree in their backyard, produce at the market was surprisingly cheap.

After breakfast, we headed up along the coastline to the Hawaii Tropical Botanical Garden. We can never go to another botanical garden again. Seriously.

I've never been one to gush about a botanical garden, but here I am. Gushing.

See what I mean? In the 1970s, the garden site was literally a trash dump until a retired botanist stumbled upon the land when looking for somewhere cheap to build a house. He planted a couple of items, cleared out the rusting car parts, and let nature do the rest. Now it is universally considered to be one of the best botanical gardens in the world, and its still run by a private foundation led by the late botanist's wife. Not only is it a can't-miss destination if you go to the Big Island, it's reason enough to go to the Big Island.

Our next stop was the Waipao overlook. It's a beautiful spot overlooking another beautiful spot. This island isn't even trying anymore.

And because every road trip should include a brewery, we made a stop at the Big Island Brewhaus. It's a brewery on the Big Island. There is nothing else that needs to be said about that.

Our next stop was for some dessert. The Big Island had a lot of Portuguese immigration a century ago, and the second most famous import is the malasada (ukuleles hold the top spot). A malasada is essentially a Portuguese donut, which was enough to get our attention. Tex's is the most famous bakery on the island, and for good reason. Delicious.

It's going to be hard to leave this island.

Forwarding address to follow

We set off for Hilo on Tuesday morning, after another wonderful breakfast on Oahu. We already missed the place by the time our plane's wheels left the tarmac. But the funny thing about Hawaii is that you only think each island is your favorite until you visit the next one. They're all incredible. But Hilo was our kind of incredible. The skyline of Oahu's condos and luxury shops gave way to Hilo's foresty green and 70's-era beach vibe.

Hilo is on the windward side of the Big Island (aka Island of Hawaii). This means, as the name implies, that it's on the side of the island that most often faces the wind. The calm but steady trade winds carry a consistent stream of moisture that supports the lush foliage. And by lush, I mean that our host casually planted some papaya seeds six months ago, and the tree was already as tall as I was. The perfect volcanic soil and steady coastal rain support the amazing landscape that defines the city.

And speaking of our host, let me introduce you to Carol Galper!

Dr. Galper was one of my favorite medical school professors and has had a tremendous impact on my career. She was the person that orchestrated my first trip to the Hopi reservation and exposed me to dozens of other great learning opportunities throughout Tucson and the state. And who knows, as I keep falling more in love with Hilo, she may also be responsible for me eventually working at a health center here!

She recently retired from the U of A and bought a house on the Big Island, where she'd been vacationing for years. And I'm here to say that it's as nice as it sounds.

We landed in Hilo late in the afternoon, and had a really nice dinner with Carol and her husband at Pineapples, a local bistro. We stayed up late talking about how amazing the island is, and Carol gave us all kinds of tips on what to do while we're here. Of course, all she really needed to say was go outside, pick a direction, and walk until you see something amazing. We're going to do just fine here.

Paradise

Our next couple of days on Oahu just got better and better. The island didn't change, but it did seem nicer every day that we woke up without our mainland responsibilities.

Sunday morning had a gradual start. A stroll along the waterfront, meandering though the resort shops, a nap on the beach. It was one of those days.

That evening happened to be the annual Pan-Asian parade along Waikiki's main waterfront. Several of Oahu's different Asian communities each built a float and the members hula danced in front of them. It was a little surreal, but a fun little show.

On Monday morning, we toured a ukulele factory. This was actually one of the trip activities that I was most excited about. I picked up the ukulele about a year ago, and it was one of the few things that kept me sane during intern year.

There are three or four major ukulele makers still on the island (most have moved overseas), and Kanile'a was the one that I was most interested in visiting. It's one of the (relatively) newer manufacturers, and they build ukuleles that can hold up in drier climates like Arizona.

Our tour guide actually happened to be the company founder, and he was a great ambassador for the company. He took us through everything from the loading dock that the special Hawaiian Koa wood arrives at to the workspaces of the craftspeople putting on the final glaze.

He even played us a song at the end!

I like this place.

Of course, I walked out of there with a brand new Koa ukulele. Best souvenir ever.

That afternoon, we did a little driving tour along Oahu's famous North Shore. The surf was relatively low, but that area can easily get ten to fifteen foot waves. It's largely credited as the birthplace of modern surfing.

On Monday night, we headed over to the house of an Arizona friend that now lived on Oahu. We peppered him with questions on what it's like to live in paradise, and took very close notes. It was a great way to spend our last night on Oahu, and I'm sure we'll be back.

75 and sunny

First of all, well done, Hawaiian airlines. Our first sign that we were in the right place was the orchids in the gate agents' hair. Aimee was the first of us to notice that and took it as an excellent omen for the trip. But my mind was on more practical matters. This was the first flight that either of us had taken as legit health professionals.

I remember reading in some travel magazine that flight attendants like it when health professionals introduce themselves. That way, they know where to find people if they need help. But it felt a little ostentatious to walk on the plane and say, "Hello, I'm a doctor and I'll be in 12F." So I debated whether or not to say that, and ultimately decided that I might as well say something before the novelty of flying as a doctor wore off. So I got on the plane and spotted a flight attendant. I told him that, yes, I'm a doctor and I'm in 12F. He paused for a second and gave me a look that said something like, "Sir, this is a flight from Phoenix to Oahu. Every third passenger is a doctor. Sit down, hot shot."

With that awkward encounter behind me, I sat down to an otherwise amazing flight. Ukulele music played over the plane's loudspeaker, and as they're quick to point out, Hawaiian Airlines is the last domestic airline that still serves complimentary meals on all flights. And as I'll be quick to point out, they're the only airline that I've been on that pours a free Mai-tai for everyone in coach. Well played.

After the entirely tolerable 6 hour flight, we got lei'd by our friends, Michael and Steven. They live in Tucson, but visit Hawaii several times a year. Steven works on Oahu every couple of months, so they bought a condo that has become their second home. We've been trying to work out a time to join them on the island since we first met a few years ago, and as luck would have it, they could join us for this leg of the trip.

They picked us up at the airport with the aforementioned leis (real flowers, smelled amazing), and brought us back to their condo so that we could change. Hawaii is three hours earlier than Arizona, so the best plan to fight off jet lag is to stay active and awake as long as possible. To help with that, our hosts booked us on an afternoon sail around Waikiki. So considerate.

Now, this was no ordinary boat ride. This was the semi-famous weekly cruise organized by Hula's, Waikiki's favorite gay bar. So needless to say, I was the most out of shape guy on that boat by a mile. That said, I still walked away with a few phone numbers. Aimee took it all in stride, but gently suggested that I wear my wedding ring on our next boat trip.

The cruise was absolutely perfect. The sky was bright blue with just a few wisps of light ocean clouds, and the water was clear enough to see the bottom 40 feet below us. When we got out from the flow of harbor "traffic" (a couple of sailboats and some paddle boarders), the captain cut the engines and let us swim around for a bit. Not surprisingly, the water temperature was perfect, too.

I don't quite remember what was going on in that photo, but if I had to guess, Steve (center) said something characteristically hilarious that had Michael and Aimee in stitches.

After the cruise, we came back into Waikiki to walk around and explore the area. Waikiki is like San Diego minus the hipsters crossed with Las Vegas minus the gambling. There are Gucci stores next to surf shops with street hustlers out front distributing fliers for escorts and gun ranges. It's a funny little place, but we loved every bit of it.

Hold my calls

Let's get something out of the way. Many of our previous trips have been to marginalized countries. Some of them brought insight and meaning about the world we live in. Other trips have had altruistic goals as we worked to better the lives of those around us.

Not this one. This trip is pure vacation.

Aimee just graduated nursing school and passed her license exam. I just finished intern year in the hospital while helping run a brewery. Those two sentences don't come close to capturing the work we put into our heath careers this year, but I'm too traumatized to go into any more detail.

So we decided that there would be no backpacks, no semi-legal border crossings, and no concern about water purity or food safety on this trip. We're going pure beach.

We've been planning this trip for a year, and at 3 AM on the day of the flight, I've finally finished my brewery work. It's time to head up to Phoenix.

See you on Oahu!

What a trip

All was forgiven when the ferry dropped us off in Seattle after lunch. We were back on schedule, and excited to see another city. We only had about 24 hours here, and the highlight was going to be a nice dinner with an aunt of Aimee's who lived in the city. But first we had to make our way downtown.

Washington had just legalized marijuana, and there was some type of Cannabis Convention in town. So Seattle was even more eclectic than usual. But we made our way through the crowd and had some lunch at a great little sushi restaurant. We figured that, while in Seattle, sea food needs to be the focus.

After lunch, we walked down to Pike Place Market.

It needs no introduction, but I did find out that it's the longest running farmer's market in the United States. We dragged our bags through the fishmongers and tourist shops, and finally parked ourselves at a place that had a good happy hour. We had a couple of hours to kill before dinner, and our travel budget was running on fumes.

Aimee's aunt and her husband took us to what was unquestionably the nicest restaurant of the trip. It was the type of sea food restaurant that I probably couldn't have afforded the water at. But, man, it sure was tasty.

It was really nice to meet Aimee's aunt, and we had a wonderful chat about life in the Pacific Northwest. They had to keep reminding me that this was their one day of sunshine for the year, or else I would have moved there tomorrow.

Our hotel was another internet booking that looked a lot better in a 400 x 600 pixel photograph, but it did the trick and it was close to the airport. Plus, the bus ride along the giant Boeing campus was a surprise treat.

It had been a wonderful trip, and we were exhausted. We weren't excited about another vacation coming to and end, but we were looking forward to returning to $0.79 donuts and coffee that tastes as bad as its supposed to. It was good to be home.

No Reservations

After a kayak tour and high tea, the only reasonable next step was a nap. So we took the bus back to the hotel for a quick siesta.

This was our last night in Canada, so we wanted to head back down to the pier for some dinner. But first, we had to make arrangements to get home. We were flying out of Seattle two days later, so we had to make ferry arrangements to get there. We walked down to the ferry terminal, and this one looked a bit different. Until this point, all of the ferries that we took were state run commuter ferries. With the exception of the Anacortes debacle, they cost a few bucks each way, and you could just walk right on, especially if you weren't bringing a car. But the Victoria Clipper was a private operation that billed itself as a vacation charter company. Which, of course, meant that it was going to cost tourist prices. But it was the only game in town, so we bit the bullet, and plunked our $120 down on the ticket counter.

We were a little surprised when the agent didn't take the money. "Do you have a reservation?" 

Get out. A reservation? Come on.

"No, really. The Clipper books out weeks ahead of time."

Sonofabitch.

So with the same disdain as a snooty hostess trying to find you a table, the ticket agent disinterestedly clicked a few things into her computer.

"Hmm. 11:00"  Clack, clack, clack, clack.  "Full."

"5:00"  Clack, clack, clack, clack.  "Full."

"6:45"  Clack, clack, clack, clack.  "Oh, wow. Two seats available."

At that point, I wanted to tell her that we didn't need her stupid ferry, and stomp off. But we actually did need her stupid ferry. Quite a bit, in fact. The 6:45 ferry would get us in at midnight, which would screw up our dinner plans, but it would at least get us to Seattle in time for our flight home. So we bought the tickets and asked about standby. The agent said that standby was possible, but we had to be back here at the ticket counter by 7am the next day to get in line.

Barely getting a ticket, and having to get up at 5 the next day kind of took the fun out of dinner that night. I actually don't even remember where we went, but I'm sure I had a beer, and I'm sure I was cranky. At one point, I considered hiring a sea plane. It was cheaper than you'd think, but more expensive than Aimee would let me get away with.

We woke up super early the next morning, and I was itching to get down to the ferry station. Aimee gets ready really fast, but I was still almost dragging her, half asleep, down to the bus station.  

"It's fine, Myles, we're fine."

Maybe I was trying to stick it to the ferry company, or maybe I was really looking forward to a nice dinner in Seattle, but I was on a mission. I don't think I said a single word on the bus ride down there. But judging by her closed eyes and occasional snore, Aimee didn't mind.

The sun was barely peeking through the fog by the time we approached the ferry terminal. The whole ride down, I had been picturing 20 disheveled travelers in line waiting for a standby seat. But the waiting area was empty! My blood pressure started dropping back down to normal. But just as we turned the corner onto the property, a taxi dropped off a couple in their 50s. Gah! I was convinced that they were also waiting for standby, and they were going to take the only two seats on the 11am ferry. Believe me, I was a real treat to be with that morning. Just ask Aimee.

Over the course of the next hour, about 30 or so people gathered in front of the ferry terminal. My glare may have burned a whole in the head of the guy in front of me, and I probably lost a couple of healthy years during retirement. But I mostly kept it together, at least outwardly.

At 7am, the ferry terminal's doors opened up, and we all walked in with the unmistakable mix of civilized patience and the repressed, untrusting rage of tourists in line at a ticket counter. The couple ahead of us stepped up to the ticket agent, and I almost lost it when they said, "We'd like to buy a ticket for next week."

"What?! Are you crazy?! Do you know what you just did to me?! Next week?!  Woo hoo!"

Even the ticket agent seemed a little surprised. So we walked up next and asked to be on standby for the 11am ferry. This ticket agent was different than the one from yesterday, but she must have taken the same disinterested typing course in ticket agent school.

Clack, clack, clack, clack. "Ok. Here is your standby card. Be back here by 10am. Next."

So now Aimee and I had a couple of early morning hours to kill. The Victoria waterfront is purely made up of tourist operations, so there wasn't much activity that early. A city employee powerwashed the walkway, shopkeepers got ready for the day, and some type of convention was being set up in the parking lot.

This was our view from the bench that we parked ourselves on for the next couple of hours.

Aimee and I, a little delirious from the morning's events, kept paraphrasing Arrested Development.  "There's money in the lemon stand. There's money in the lemon stand.

At 10am, we headed back to the ferry terminal. The waiting area was crazy packed, and there were signs up on the wall apologizing for the tight quarters. They encouraged passengers to call the Victoria Harbor Authority and ask it to expand the Clipper's terminal. Seriously. This was just getting stranger and stranger.

All of the ticketed passengers boarded the ferry, and there were about 20 of us left in waiting area. And then something funny happened. I looked up to see who was around us, and it was like seeing parallel universe versions of Myles and Aimee. Everyone else left in terminal was coupled up, carrying the same types of backpacks, and wearing the same types of cargo pants as we were. They were all different ethnicities and nationalities, but any one of them could have been us. It was like a United Nations meeting for 20-30 somethings that travel light and don't make reservations ahead of time. We're not so different, after all. Maybe I was projecting, or maybe I was still delirious, but it looked like they were all realizing the same thing.

Of course, as soon as the ticket agent gave the manager a stack of standby cards to choose from, we all snapped back to reality. He rifled through the cards, and picked out a few. It was like he was playing goldfish.

He called out, "Some name, Other name, Don't care, Stone, Another person."

We were in! See ya, suckers. Screw the UN, we're getting on that boat.

The Clipper was just as packed as the waiting room, which made me feel far less bad for them getting assigned a crappy terminal in Victoria. But a couple hours later, we were in Seattle, and we couldn't be happier.

Epiloge:

I found this story online a couple months after we got back. He must not have wanted to ride standby, either. Good for him.

Downtown Abbey

Victoria is famous for its high tea. It's a holdover from the colonial days, and there are several places around town that offer the British meal. The most famous of which is the Empress Hotel, which serves daily tea in their lobby. Remember the Empress?

It's the kind of place where I would have had to bring two credit cards just to make sure that I could cover the tab. But thankfully we got a tip from my uncle in Portland about a tea house off the beaten path.

The Point Ellis House was one of the most luxurious Victoria houses in its heyday during the mid 1800s. The residents hosted visiting dignitaries and local big wigs every week. Descendants of the same family actually lived there until the 1970s, and they did an amazing job keeping the house an unchanged snapshot of life in British Colombia.

But here's where it gets interesting. In the late 70s, the family running the house needed to sell the land surrounding it to keep up with the cost of maintaining the facility (it's now owned and run by the city). But in the century and a half since the house was built, the layout of Victoria had changed dramatically. Back then, the river that the house was built on was the center of commerce. Loggers, trappers, and traders all used it to bring their wares into the city. But now, the ocean-facing side of Victoria is where all the action is. International cargo ships are the new hub of commerce, and massive cruise ships drop off tourists every day. The river-facing side of Victoria is now the industrial backbone that keeps the city running. Think waste processing and heavy manufacturing. So the Point Ellis House, in all it's Victorian splendor, is smack in the middle of the ugliest neighborhood in town.  Hence the title of this post. Here's the view from front porch:

Of course, the curators of the home wisely serve tea in the backyard, which is absolutely stunning.

And the meal itself was amazing, too.

All in all, Point Ellis House was a real treat. The history was fascinating, the house and gardens were beautiful, and the food was top notch. The occasional, unmistakable, sounds of a truck full of glass bottles getting dumped into the recycling facility just added to the atmosphere. We enjoyed ourselves quite a bit more than I would have expected for an afternoon tea. It was a real treat.

Three hour tour

It's a good thing we went to bed early, beacuse it's never easy to get up at 7 on vacation. Even if it's for a great cause.

We had been looking forward to today for most of the trip. For Aimee's birthday, I had booked us a kayak tour that went out early that morning. It departed from Fisherman's Wharf, which was where we had the fish and chips the day before, so we were plenty familiar with the area.

We arrived early, so we sipped our coffee on the pier while Brad and Katherine of Kelp Reef set up their shop. Like everyone else in Canada, they were fast friends. As they unpacked the kayaks, they told us about how they made a life out of taking tourists on boating trips around Canada. Not a bad gig.

The Wharf has a few shops right on the pier (like Kelp Reef and yesterday's fish and ships shack), but it also has quite a few homes tied right to it. As in, floating homes tied straight to the dock.

I had never been so close to considering international real estate. $200,000 didn't sound that bad.

The wildlife spotting started even before we got off the pier.

But it didn't take long for Brad and Katherine to get the boats in the water, and we couldn't wait to get in.

Fisherman's Wharf isn't just a name.  It's very much a working pier. We were ducking in and out of fishing boats on our way out to the open water, and that was just the beginning...

We actually had to plan our path and speed to avoid becoming the hood ornament of a sea plane.

That was a completely literal statement. Not one ounce of exaggeration. The Vancouver Harbour Airport, which despite the fact that most of its airplanes are no bigger than a passenger car, is one of the busiest airports in the world. Its runway also happened to be our path out to sea, with sea planes taking off and landing every few minutes. Experienced boaters know to look at the flashing light houses for their cue to enter or exit the harbor. Inexperienced kayakers simply paddle, terrified, as fast as they can across the harbor. Our thin-walled plastic kayaks never felt so thin.

With the sea plane excitement behind us, the rest of the trip was beautiful and serene. There was a ton of sea life, and the currents were pretty calm.

The holy grail of early morning kayak trips is spotting a whale off the coast, but despite a couple of squawks on the radio, we didn't have luck. Apparently, all of the tour boat companies share a radio frequency to tell the others where the good whale-sighting locations are each day. If this is what tourism looks like in a socialist democracy, I'm ok with it. I would have been more ok if we saw a whale, but I'll take a dozen seals and a couple of otters.

Lunch was a picnic provided by Kelp Reef. We all tied up our kayaks to some sturdy floating seaweed and snacked on some pastries and fruit. Classy move, Kelp Reef.

We managed to avoid the sea planes and fishing boats on the way back, and we still had a bit more adventuring planned that day.

Newer England

Aimee was not ready to leave San Juan.

We were having such a nice time on the island that we set our alarm at 6am so that we could see just a bit more of it before we had to leave.  We set an alarm.  On vacation.  While camping.  That’s how much we liked the place.

But we didn't have long before the cab driver picked us up.  It was actually the same driver that took us to the campsite the night before, and we had made arrangements with her to pick us back up that morning.  By that point, we were on a first name basis with Suzie.  We learned that she was one of just a few drivers on the island, and she and her husband made a pretty decent living shuttling tourists from the ferry station to their hotels.  But that day, she kept complaining that her husband didn't fill up their gas tank when he took the van to the mainland.  I took a minute to think about the challenges of living on a tiny island (like getting fuel for your car), but Aimee and Suzie just talked about the challenges of husbands.  I was going to need some more coffee.

We were going to Victoria that day, and we had to pass back though Sidney.  So we made a point to swing back by our favorite bakery in North America.  One last donut stop.

The bus ride from Sidney to Victoria was a testament to public transportation.  The bus was spotless, the driver was friendly (unheard of, I know!), and the entire ride was $2!  Plus, the passengers all knew each other, and chatted the entire way. It was like Cheers on wheels.

We pulled into Victoria a little after lunch, and checked into another hotel I booked online.  But this one turned out to be worlds better than the last.

This is the Empress Hotel.  This is not our hotel.  But it is the centerpiece of a beautiful Victorian city center that reflects the wealth of the area.  The city got its start in the 1800s as a Hudson's Bay Company trading post, and then became a key port during the gold and logging booms.  It later became (and still is) a major base for the Canadian Navy, and is now an important tech hub.  But the main draw of the city remains its waterfront.

All this water (and eating nothing but camp food for the last three days) had me craving some fish and chips.  Barb's Fish and Chips down by the waterfront had one of the best reputations in the city, and it was well deserved.

I was in fried cod heaven.

But as you can see from the photo, it was starting to rain.  That, plus the fact that we had been sleeping in a tent all week, made it pretty easy to justify an early retreat to the hotel.  We watched a bit of soccer on TV, and crashed before the sun was all the way down.  It was wonderful.