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Life in BC

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OMG!

Is this possibly the most beautiful place on the planet?

These photos were (mostly) taken from the windows of our room at the Wickaninnish Inn at Tofino whence we have come to celebrate my sixtieth birthday.

Further words are not necessary…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Once again, we come to the Holiday Season, a deeply religious time that each of us observes, in his own way, by going to the mall of his choice.

DaveBarry 

In Victoria – whence we travel tomorrow – the temperature is a relatively balmy 3-5 degrees Celsius and any snow that has fallen will doubtless vanish within a day or so. Here in Kamloops, on the other hand – where we commenced our Canadian Odyssey – the temperature on day one was a brisk -7C – and considerably less than that once wind-chill was taken into account.

Preparations for Christmas are well in hand…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Photo by Rob Masefield on Flickr…of Canada – I fear that I am somewhat tardy in offering my heartfelt congratulations to Rugby Canada for being the first national side – outside those that do so automatically – to qualify for the next Rugby World Cup, which takes place in England in 2015. That this was achieved by beating the USA must – I imagine – render the achievement all the more sweet!

Canada joins Pool C – which already comprises France, Ireland and Italy and to which one other qualifying nation – in this case from Europe – will be added. Canada have only once reached the knock-out stages of the competition – as long ago as 1991 – but these would seem to be exciting times for the development of the game across the water, so we have great hopes.

At the moment it seems probable that the Kickass Canada Girl and I will still be in the UK come the 2015 World Cup, and since all of the Scotland Pool games appear to be taking place at the far end of these sainted islands we will do our damndest to get to at least one of the Canada matches.

 

On the subject of Canadian rugby – the Girl and I are already contemplating to which of the Victorian clubs we should pledge our allegiance when we relocate to BC. Our requirements are:

  • an enthusiastic club with a good Corinthian spirit dedicated to running rugby.
  • a welcoming clubhouse with a decent selection of malts.
  • a friendly group of supporters.
  • good craic!

We would be very happy to receive your recommendations.

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Photo by KTSquareFor a blog that carries – as the tagline on its masthead – the apothegm “Coming to Canada” – this site has been of late remarkably free of any content actually relating to that fair country. Well – that’s about to change!

The Imperceptible Immigrant and the Kickass Canada Girl are proud to announce the details of their Winter 2013/14 Canadian Tour – featuring appearances in Vancouver (briefly!), Kamloops, Victoria, Nanaimo, Duncan (to be confirmed!) and Tofino (for the Big Birthday Bash!).

The intrepid duo will be bringing their particular brand of charm to the beautiful province of British Columbia from December 18th this year – determined not to leave until Christmas, the New Year and the Big Birthday itself have been well and truly celebrated. And if that means staying until the 6th January 2014 – then so be it!

The flights have been booked – the fan club alerted – the Girl has started planning her packing and the days, hours and minutes are being counted.

We can’t wait!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidI was intrigued by this item in The Tyee on the recent re-naming of Mount Douglas as ‘PKOLS’. For non-Canadians ‘Mount Doug’ (as it is commonly known) is on the east side of the Saanich peninsular to the north of Victoria and was the site on which – in 1852 – the then governor of Vancouver Island – James Douglas – negotiated a treaty understood to be a promise to the WSÁNEĆ people that they would not be interfered with. PKOLS is held by the WSÁNEĆ nation to be the mountain’s original and true name.

As is seemingly inevitable in this enlightened day and age the article attracted the usual brief storm of comments expressing opinions both in favour of and against the unilateral action that had been taken. This comment in particular caused me to raise an eyebrow:

“History should be respected, whether liked or not, and not appropriated by every group with a new agenda.”

This by way of reference – not as I thought first to the colonial appropriation of a First Nations landmark – but rather to the recent reclamation thereof by the WSÁNEĆ nation. Unless – by chance – the comment was intended to be humorously ironic, then it truly missed the point in spectacular fashion.

All of which cultural imperialism puts me in mind of the Irish playwright, Brian Friel’s, masterpiece – ‘Translations’.

For those who have not seen (or indeed read) this splendid play, the context is that of the British Ordnance Survey of Ireland carried out during the 1830s – a process that involved mapping, renaming and anglicising Ireland, of which the British were at the time – of course – the occupiers. A good explanation of the historical context of the piece can be found here.

Friel claimed that – though the political was impossible to avoid completely – his subject was not the situation in Ireland per se, but that this was “a play about language and only about language”. His interests are in the nature of communication – and the difficulties thereof – between peoples and races.

The play has – at its centre – a quite startling conceit, of the sort that marks out a playwright as belonging to the highest echelons of his profession. The Irish villagers speak only Gaelic and do not understand English. The British Army officers conducting the survey have – naturally – no Gaelic. Neither side can understand the other. The entire cast – however – perform throughout in English! The audience must decide for themselves which language is being spoken at any point. This unexpected inversion only serves to highlight the cultural chasm between the two sides, an inability to communicate that has – almost inevitably – tragic consequences.

Friel’s piece rightly offers no easy answers. It does – however – offer insight into the effects of such cultural colonisation. Insistence on strict maintenance of a native language as a pure act of defiance runs the risk of that language ossifying and become inert. Should that happen the culture that is based upon it will die as surely as had the coloniser set out to destroy it. Language must live and evolve if the culture itself is not simply to become a museum piece – even should that require the assimilation of an alien tongue.

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Rattle“Drums and rattles are percussion instruments traditionally used by First Nations people. These musical instruments provide the background for songs, and songs are the background for dances. Many traditional First Nations people consider song and dance to be sacred. For many years after Europeans came to Canada, First Nations people were forbidden to practise their ceremonies. That is one reason why little information about First Nations music and musical instruments is available to us.”

Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada website

Pursuant to my previous post describing my search for fresh Celtic fusion music it occurred to me that I should revisit an earlier – though less successful – quest to find something similar but based instead on Canadian First Nations’ music.

That such a fusion is relatively difficult to find doubtless has its roots in the policies implemented over a century and a half by the European settlers, the which were aimed at the cultural assimilation of the native peoples of what became Canada. Not only does this (as the ‘Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Canada‘ website makes clear) explain the paucity of knowledge and understanding of an art form that would have been handed down orally, but it also throws light on the way that those forms have been regarded since the revival of interest in the native arts over the last 50 years or so. An art form which enjoys uninterrupted pursuit and interest continues to evolve, to grow and – with good fortune – to flourish. Once the narrative is fractured perception of the art form changes from the present to the past tense and the interest therein becomes primarily historical – concerned with the preservation and nurture of its original or traditional forms. At this point the art form ceases to be a living entity – or is in grave danger of so doing.

The Kickass Canada Girl enquired as to the nature of my researches and – on being enlightened – pointed out briskly that I might have asked her first rather than wasting my time. She had a point. Not only is she a great music lover but she is also – on her mother’s side – part Aboriginal – her band originating in the North Thompson above Kamloops in central BC.

She extracted from her extensive CD collection a platter by Robbie Robertson and the Red Road Ensemble entitled ‘Music for the Native Americans’. Yes – that’s Robbie Robertson of The Band! I was not aware that Robbie – born in Montreal – was of Mohawk descent on his mother’s side – nor had I heard ‘Music for the Native Americans’. I like it a great deal and were you to check out these clips you might find that you do too:

It is a Good Day to Die

The Vanishing Breed

Coyote Dance

Grateful as I am for this discovery – however – I am still very keen to find other musical fusions from the Pacific Northwest. If Canadian – or other – readers know of such I would be grateful to hear of them.

 

It did occur to me to enquire of the Girl how is was that – after getting on towards a decade together – she had only just thought to introduce me to this wonderful music. I decided against! Something about maintaining the air of mystery I suppose…

 

 

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wickaninnish-inn-tofino-bc_0Herewith a splendid example of the ever-changing nature of our mortal existence which betrays as indolent even such a fluid and instantaneous medium as the InterWebNet.

Barely had I hit the ‘publish’ button on my previous post – thus rendering fixed some thoughts that had hitherto been merely nebulous –  than the Kickass Canada Girl and I – in an unexpectedly abrupt resolution to a previously extended deliberation – finally reached mutual agreement as to the nature and locale of my sixtieth birthday celebration. Yes – I know that it is the best part of a year ahead – but our online researches had revealed that if we did want to pass the occasion at the Wickaninnish Inn on Chesterman Beach then we had better get a booking in sharpish, before all of the decent rooms were taken.

And we decided that we did…

Much more on this later of course, but those whose interest is piqued can find details of the inn here – and if you want to know more about the immediate area itself I would direct you to Adrienne Mason’s splendid blog (and book!) here.

 

 

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The eagle-eyed amongst you – and probably in this case even the short-sighted – will spot at once that the image above is the original from which the masthead to this blog was derived. It was taken in August 2010 on a really rather inexpensive digital compact shortly before said camera ceased working entirely a few days into our honeymoon – forcing me to seek another such in the (relative) wilds of southern Alaska. One of the things that I like about the photo is that I did nothing at all to pre or post-process it – this is exactly as the camera saw it.

One of the great joys of our recent break in Provence was that – for the first time in ages and notwithstanding the demands for attention of our dear Saanichton friends’ (our travelling companions) two young sons – I was able to catch up on some reading. I finished David Ross’s excellent and comprehensive biography of Richard Hillary – of whom I will write more later – as well as hugely enjoying Stanley Booth’s kaleidoscopic description of the Rolling Stones fated 1969 tour of America – ‘The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones’. You are probably familiar with how that particular tale ended, but needless to say this classic narrative – sufficiently difficult to write that it was not published until 15 years after the events concerned – is the definitive guide to the essence of the times. For those of us who grew up in the late 60s – and for those who wish that they had – it is required reading.

Neither of these weighty tomes, however, moved me as much as did a slender volume that I picked up (in Costco of all places!) whilst in Victoria at the beginning of July – ‘Long Beach Wild’ by Adrienne Mason. Subtitled ‘A Celebration of People and Place on Canada’s Rugged Western Shore’ this is a heartfelt evocation of Long Beach – that spectacular sweep of sand on the west coast of Vancouver Island between Tofino and Ucluelet – written by someone who has lived in the region for 20 years and is clearly in thrall to the place.

The connection between these two apparently unrelated items – as you might already have guessed – is that my photograph was itself taken on Long Beach, with which I have also fallen in love though, of course, much more recently than did Mrs Mason. The image is of what is now the Wickaninnish Interpretive Centre but which was – as I learned from Mrs Mason’s excellent history – the original Wickaninnish Inn that was closed and taken over on the foundation of the Pacific Rim National Park and the incorporation of Long Beach thereinto. A new – and somewhat up-market – Wickaninnish Inn was created rather more recently a short distance to the north on Chesterman Beach, which destination will – I firmly intend – be the location of my sixtieth birthday celebration in January 2014.

Those of you who are inhabitants of Vancouver Island will probably already be familiar with this part of the Pacific Coast. Some may not find themselves moved by its austere attractions, particularly during ‘Fogust’, though I myself find even those mysteriously murky mornings strangely enticing. In any case, whether an old Long Beach hand or a complete ingenue I recommend regardless investigation of Mrs Mason’s book and of her excellent blog on the subject – The Long Beach Blog – one that will certainly be added to my blogroll.

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One of the attractions – for the ex-pat Englishman in particular – of living in Victoria is that there is a healthy interest there in that greatest of all games – cricket! Should this latter assertion cause hackles to rise, passions to become inflamed and throats to be cleared in preparation for argument – let me refer you to this article by Sambit Bal, the editor of Cricinfo.com, from the latest edition of Intelligent Life magazine. He makes the case more eloquently than I ever could.

I have, thus far, spared the gentle reader my fondness for philosophising on the subject of the great game and in particular on its purest form  – village cricket! That joy is yet to come – quite possibly over an extended series of posts. For now let us content ourselves with discussion on the game as it is extant on the southernmost tip of Vancouver Island.

Cricket in Victoria is organised by the Victoria and District Cricket Association. There are two leagues – a weekend league which plays 45 over matches on Saturdays or Sundays – and a midweek league which plays 16 over matches, mostly on Tuesday or Wednesday evenings. There is also a Twenty20 competition, and the well known – and internationally so – Victoria Six a Side competition.

The weekend league features 8 teams, whilst there are 15 in the midweek league. It will come as no surprise that many of the players in either league have their origins outside Canada, coming primarily from the subcontinent. The midweek league teams are – in the main – sponsored by various pubs and other such establishments around Victoria and the stated aim is for inclusivity whilst still being competitive. That appeals for LBW are frowned upon in this league should give an indication of the spirit in which games are intended to be played.

There are really only 6 cricket grounds in the Victoria district and – sadly but inevitably – they all feature matting or other artificial tracks. This does enable them to be used heavily with a minimum of maintenance, but it does alter the nature of the game. Two of the prettiest grounds are those in Beacon Hill Park – which dates back to the 1850s and possibly even earlier – and in Windsor Park in Oak Bay.

This is Beacon Hill Park:

And this is Windsor Park, with its splendid new clubhouse:

On my recent visit to BC I watched one midweek game – between the Prairie Inn and a youth side called the Colts – at Stelly’s School in Saanich (nowhere near as pretty as either of the above grounds). As the school was out for the summer the outfield had been allowed to grow rather longer than is normally acceptable and the style of play could – as a consequence – best be described as ‘agricultural’!

The Prairie Inn side were pretty well organised and had some big hitters, scoring an even 100 in their 16 overs. They then ran through the Colts’ top order in the first few overs and effectively killed the match as a competition. The Colts came back well near the end, however, with their star player being a 14 year old – on his first outing for the side – who played with an admirably straight bat. The boy’s father was watching and I engaged him in conversation, remarking on his son’s obvious talent and enquiring as to whether he had been coached. The father informed me that they had only recently returned to Canada having lived in England for a number of years, and that the boy had not only played cricket at his school there but had also done well in the Surrey under 14s.

It showed…

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An assortment of images from Victoria and its environs…

Late afternoon on Island View beach:

An evening with a Glaswegian friend in Cadboro Bay. He rents a suite in a very fancy waterfront property. The owners – for reasons best known to themselves – spend half the year elsewhere:

On Clover Point after the storm:

Nighty night!

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