For those of you who are unaware or have perhaps forgotten, Canadian Thanksgiving falls in the early part of October. That being said, I am entitling this entry "Thanksgiving" for more than just this reason. I am thankful that I made it home in one piece. Now, don't get me wrong, the destination was very nice - it was the mode of transportation that creates the reaction that might seem a tad dramatic.
Had I known onto what we were going to be required to embark, I do believe I would have seriously reconsidered my Thanksgiving getaway. The day was terribly overcast and rainy when we arrived at the tiny South Terminal in Vancouver. So, needless to say, we were already delayed. When the flight was finally announced, we and six other people - yes, six - were lined up and marched out to the far side of the tarmac by what appeared to be a fifteen year old intern or something. There sat a minuscule thing, resembling something akin to a Tonka toy with a couple of propellers and two little steps that folded out from the side of the hull. Shaken but not deterred, we took our seats in the very last row waiting for the pilot. Oh yes, you guessed it, it was the fifteen year old intern. This little putt-putt plane fish-tailed, dropped and bumped around for about 75 minutes until it found clear skies and a stick of gum sized air strip on which to land. We were so relieved until we saw the sign on the terminal building - Qualicum Beach - an airport on the east side of the island. The pilot was unable to get through the clouds and was forced to land elsewhere. This meant that we had a three hour shuttle trip ahead of us, dropping all passengers at their destinations along the way. This put us at our final destination after the kitchen had closed, leaving only bar food for sustenance.
|This is not for the air/car/sea/motion sickness sufferer.|
The trip back to Vancouver was equally terrifying due to driving, hammering rain, however, the trip was shorter since we actually did arrive back at Vancouver's South Terminal.
Needless to say, the first morning at the Wickaninnish Inn was a late one. The hotel has done a very smart thing in that they serve breakfast/lunch together, lasting from 8am until 2pm. This gives one time to sleep in or to rise early and explore the shoreline or to relax in one's soaker tub and watch the surf hammer the rocks right below the window.
I don't normally discuss a particular hotel but since this is the destination and it is internationally known, I feel that I should tout some of its virtues. Of course, the Inn is famous for its views - storm surge is all the rage here. As you can see, the focus is all on the coast.