The first time I crossed on the ferry from Victoria to Vancouver, in January 2009, I had no idea I would desperately fall in love with Vancouver.
I was visiting with a friend from Montréal who was flying to Australia and had crossed the country on a
Greyhound bus. It was sunny yet cold, but we went out to see the landscape.
The natural beauty of this region astounds me, even after three years. Back in Québec, nature has been tamed, cultivated, enclosed. Here, no one can control the mountains and the forests. Or at least, they don’t want to.
As the big boat deftly manages the narrow Active Pass, I wonder, what would it be like to live on these islands, isolated but by boat and hydroplanes? A quiet life following the rhythms of nature, away from tarmac and skyscrapers. No, I love my city too much to enjoy something like this.
I prefer the island section of the trip, where the forested hills make up some of the most beautiful landscape I’ve ever seen. One immemorial time, water came and flooded what was probably all land.
Like in the Bible, only the highest peaks survived God’s wrath and served as a perch for the last free bird.
Maybe this is what Noah saw when he navigated the world, waiting for God to forgive his creation. This place is a gift, if not from God then from nature. There isn’t much that has so touched me in this life but this crossing from the island to the mainland, and that still touches me today after many sailings.
When one sees British Columbia, one sees the world differently. I haven’t been able to forget this place, and being back to be part of it is one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me.