I have the Accuweather (short for “accursed weather”) widget on my phone, with Victoria set as the default location. When I tap on the temperature display, I can swipe left to view the current conditions in my old home city of Montréal. Around this time of the year, this action is supposed to validate my decision to run away from the frozen wasteland that surrounds the Saint Lawrence River.
Instead, it was Montréal that got to enjoy a month of balminess while I found myself sealed inside my waterproof breathable jacket for the entirety of September, all while on vacation!
On the 14th, Yann and I welcomed a Briton to British Columbia. Before his arrival, I told our guest, Ed, that Victoria was a lot like London. Victoria has double-decker buses, English pubs, fish n’ chips, and the Union Jack waving everywhere. You can’t walk 50 metres without seeing the Queen’s portrait somewhere.
“You’ve never been to London, how would you know?” Ed asked.
I grew up watching Mr. Bean, which obviously makes me an expert of all things London! But, let’s not focus on my misconceptions of London: Ed was about to have his preconceived ideas of Victoria ripped apart.
When I was 15, I got to attend the 14th Winter World Games for the Deaf (now called the Deaflympics) in Davos, Switzerland. I was not athletic at all back then so I was there to spectate and to cheer on a deaf guy from my school who was on the Canadian hockey team.
As it was cheaper to fly to Frankfurt, Germany and then catch a train to Davos, we had the opportunity to do some light exploration of Germany as well. Neuschwanstein castle was on our itinerary: it was to be a side trip from Munich. The hostel our group stayed at in Munich had rooms too small to place an adult chaperone in each room. I ended up in the chaperone-free room with 4 other girls.
When we left Thuir on the 26th, I said, “It’s strange to think we’ll never be back here.”
Well, we came back. We arrived around lunchtime and decided to return to the same bakery for the third time to have another jésuite. The baker recognized us and remarked, “These jésuites are really addictive, aren’t they?”
(If you don’t know what a jésuite is, I’m not going to ruin the surprise.)
On top of not having gotten much sleep thanks to the jerk wind that whipped our tent all night long, we didn’t have a lot to eat for breakfast. When we reached Llançà, I went into a grocery shop and took photos of food that interested me while Yann guarded our bikes.