Day 1 – To Victoria
Breton
Landing in Victoria I got that bittersweet feeling I always get when I come out to the west coast… The island was where I lived for seven years…and only caught one salmon. It’s where I hiked the West Coast Trail…and blew both knees. Where we started Pangaea…and I almost married Carolyn. Ok, maybe more bitter than sweet… Lacking the decadent influence of Mark, I caught the airport shuttle bus to The Empress. Something told me that was probably the last financially responsible thing I’d do all weekend…
Things really started looking up as I was checking in to the Empress. I was standing at the registration desk when a gorgeous twenty somethingish with long reddish brown hair rushed up and threw her arms around me. Man, I knew the Guzzi jacket worked for me but this was awesome! With cheerleader fantasies dancing in my right brain and plausible excuses to Mark formulating in my left brain, I pulled away to find this stunning representation of womanhood was actually my formerly blonde daughter, Sandra, with her hair newly dyed. Sigh… What is it with daughters and hair coloring!?! It’s like being back playing Barbies with my sisters where I got to be Ken and just stand there while they went back and forth for new outfits. (hmmm, probably a little too much information there…)
Breton’s fantasy? Nope. His daughter.
Sandra and I hung out until Mark arrived and then we all headed off to pick up the bikes. No stylish biker entrances this time; the “rental place” was actually a trailer of bikes sitting in a parking lot on the waterfront. Just the kind of place you want to hand your Amex card over to and say “have a nice weekend”! Bikes rented, we jumped on for a quick ride up the Saanich Peninsula, me on a Honda VFR800 and Mark & Sandra on a Honda ST1300. I’d say it was a warm up ride but it was dark and cold by the time we got back and we were all freezing. The only reasonable solution to this was to drop Sandra off and head to the Bengal Lounge for martinis and din-din! Pleasantly entrenched in wingback leather chairs and embolden by a couple very dry martinis, we proceeded to chat up Jennifer, our rather adorable hostess with an easy laugh and an extensive knowledge of fine wines. For the next couple hours, things looked very promising. Well, right up to the point where she started telling us about her husband. Wow, you could see the fireball all the way from Sidney. Alas, I may have gone to bed alone but we did end up with a great recommendation on a burger stand in Port Alberni and Mark got to spend $500 on a case of wine that they will store in the Empress wine cellar awaiting his return.
If I just give it a push, it should start no problem.
Mark
Lacking the fiscal prudence of Breton, I jumped in the first cab I saw and said, ‘Take me to the Empress.’ You never really get over the pleasure of saying things like that. The ride that evening was short, choppy and cold. I hear that Breton has also had relationships like that.
Far more entertaining by far was our evening spent ensconced (I’m pretty sure that’s the word that Breton was looking for) in the Bengal Lounge of the Empress. Tended to in part by the very lovely and entertaining manager, Jennifer Woppenkamp, aka Princess JWo. (never mind how I know that; I just do).
This is what ensconced actually means.
Things I discovered this evening include the fact that I can be a shameless flirt when such faculties are exercised in service to another (specifically, my woefully single but desperately eager travelling companion, Breton). Choice examples include:
- on being told of a lovely wine shop around the corner from where the aforementioned Princess JWo lives, ask ‘Really, where’s that?’
- on learning that she loves the west coast of the island, suggest ‘You should come with us! We have a spare helmet right here.’
- on learning that she loves the west coast of the island, suggest ‘You should come with us! We have a spare helmet right here.’
Alas, all was for not. But as I said to Breton, I take my duties as wingman seriously. Very seriously.
In passing, I also came to own a case of Osoyos-Larose Le Grand Vin, lovingly stored for me in the bowels of the Empress. According to Princess JWo, they will be looked after carefully by Bond Room Doug. Apparently, the bond room is where the Fairmont keeps its fine china and rarer wines and liquor. What I know of Doug is that he has a lot of keys. I imagine at some future dining experience summoning a bottle from my personal collection (and how cool is that?) and having someone shuffling to the bond room to the clink of keys, like some latter day Quasimodo.
On inquiring on what I might need to do to summon said bottles, I’m told ‘You’ll need to prove yourself.’ Like what? On a field of battle? Apparently, however, the simple presentation of photo ID will suffice.
Things I’ve learned this evening:
- I can flirt outrageously on someone else’s behalf.
- You can make an awesome beurre compose from butter and Vindaloo spices (and this trick cannot be used at Kitchen Trash).
- Samosas rock when paired with champagne (Sumac Ridge Steller’s Jay Brut, to be precise).
- Always check the ring finger before commencing flirtations. Sorry about that, buddy.