worshipping victoria

There's nothing like going to Victoria, even if only overnight, in winter. Even harsh weather, like the snow and monsoon-like conditions that blasted us in November and December, only dares touch her with a 10-foot pole. She's a queen, after all.

My 12 year old son's buddy Kieran, and his mother, my friend Sharon, moved to Nanaimo (up-island about two hours north of Victoria) earlier this year and we've missed them, in spite of seeing them every few months. Earlier this month, Kieran entered a contest with B.C. Ferries and won tickets to a Victoria Salmon Kings hockey game, a night at the Coast Victoria Harbourside Hotel and a meal at White Spot -- and they invited the two of us to join them. Par-tay.

On the ferry over yesterday number two son, who, like his old mother, often wastes his time on futile, unhealthy and economically unsound activities like drawing, earned an adorable young admirer.

Sharon and Kieran drove down from Nanaimo and picked us up at the terminal. It had been a great day for bird-watching, from the herons and hawks skirting the soggy fields in Delta, to the cormorants in Sidney.

The game was lots of fun -- even though the Alaska Aces beat our queen's representatives 5-4 -- and the hotel room positively luxurious. This is what greeted us this morning from our window:

I adore Victoria. Her oak and arbutus-dotted neighbourhoods are where I went to university, where my husband grew up, and where many members of my extended family have (wisely) landed. She is The Promised Land, and if the unreal number of retirees from the harsher parts of Canada and the USA who have made her their mecca are any indication, she's a celebrity.

Even her squalid back alleys have charm and character.

She always makes us smile, even the morning after an evening of exhausting us with all her coquettish but seductive charms.

She's not a queen -- she's a goddess.

Happy New Year!