West Side, Yeah?

Okay, so we’re still in Calgary, obviously, but for your viewing pleasure, here are some photos of my 2005 travels. (Think of them as the crappy preview before a mediocre movie) I didn’t go very far in the grand scheme, Victoria and San Diego, but they were new to me and highly enjoyable. West Coast Rules! I wish I had the pictures of when I, the lone gringa, got lost in the barrio, or that time Carla and I saw a monk pushing an empty shopping cart down the street, but you can’t win ‘em all.

Hiking in the East Sooke region of Vancouver Island, we made our way down to the ocean. As we wound through the trees we could hear seals barking. Oddly enough, that never happens in Alberta.

There were some excellent cliffs here. I wish I'd had family members around so I could've 'pretended' to shove them off.


The Victoria Day parade in Victoria. And it was my birthday. It was pretty much the most magical day ever. In theory, anyway. There really aren't enough marching bands in the world. Or enough bagpipe bands. Sadly, our seats in the parade happened to coincide with the point where the bands just marched in place instead of playing their instruments. What a gyp.

Carla Rae and Warren behind a castle-y type thing in Victoria. Crap, I can't remember what it was. I think it's a school? Objects are always better when covered in ivy or kudzu or something, no? Anything, really. Buildings, cars, people, animals...

I thought I would hate California, but I freaking loved it. If things don't change around here career-wise by next spring, SoCal might find itself a new resident helping retirees improve their trikonasanas. Unfortunately, my San Diego pictures stink. Seriously. This is the only one that even remotely conveys the splendour of my trip. Being that I was solo, I felt like a moron taking pictures in the first place so the ones I do have were snapped in a furtive state. And I was without a digital camera at the time, too, and forgot about the airport x-rays. Stupid LAX. Actually, the best picture from the trip is on my phone. Sweaty concerts when you're two feet from the ground-level stage = bliss. Fortunately, there are no pictures of my breakdown in the San Diego Airport. Nor of the sweet flight attendant that offered me a ride to LA so I could catch a plane home. And she took me to In n' Out Burger. Sweet merciful crap, was it great.

Eight days. The hysteria (read: panic) is starting to set in.