Thirty contemplative minutes on a Harbour Air sea plane from sassy Vancouver has you in the British Columbia province capital of Victoria.
The views over land and sea from the tiny aircraft leave even the most effusive travel writer reaching into an imaginary travel lexicon for unused superlatives. Departing downtown Vancouver and flying across the face of Grouse Mountain, over the harbour and off into the wild blue yonder has a certain romantic notion to it. It’s a mash-up of the final scene of Casablanca and the National Geographic Channel with a hint of Getaway thrown in to remind you that this is actually honest–to-God, real travel.
This is what flying should be – what it used to be – boarding a small aircraft at a small terminal – no screening, no security, no hassle and no automated, kiosk check in. The flight is the stuff of romantic travel fantasy - propellers spinning from the wing-mounted engines, an open cockpit door and pilots scribbling out their flight log as they turn their heads and chat to the handful of passengers all clearly enjoying the experience. Did the captain say “Louis. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”?
The plane rapidly descends and scratches the sky taking a few whiskers of cloud in its wake then glides perfectly along the calm waters of the inner harbour at Victoria. Baggage is manually hoisted from the belly of the plane by a welcoming airline employee who skilfully avoids their ending up in the drink despite the precarious balancing act of one foot on the dock, the other on the plane’s float with a deep harbour in between. Bags are landed and we’re on our way. Arrival to every city should be as captivating as this; as special as this. Thanks to a particularly Canadian approach, travel, for once, has the adjective “pleasure” attached to it.
But the pleasure of leisure doesn’t stop at the Harbour Air terminal with the alighting from our sea plane. Victoria is a total surprise. This is the capital of British Columbia, despite Vancouver often being mistaken as the leading city. But unlike many other capitals, the streets of this little beauty aren’t filled with ugly government buildings which boast as much charm and finesse as an airport immigration official whose lack of poise and welcome has become globally ubiquitous. This is Prettyville, Beautytown, even PhotoOp City. This is Victoria.
Ringing the tiny inner harbour on this particularly sunny first day of summer is an array of art, mostly created by Canadian Aboriginal artists. The artists casually sell their wares as pleasure seekers take up the warm summer rays and saunter nonchalantly along the boardwalk. The artists form a uniform guard of honour to tourists. Could these be the city’s unofficial ushers?
Somewhere along the carefully crafted stone harbour wall, a skilled artist sets an easel and in a pattern of brushstrokes, transfers the scene of gently bobbing white pleasure boats which wait patiently to ferry passengers through the calm and scenic blue watery stretches of the Strait of Georgia. Hundreds of islands in varying sizes lay strategically in the waters off the southern tip of Vancouver Island where this city; this beautiful city, sits proud and holds court as her namesake - the grand old queen herself once did in another land, the mother land. We are amused.
Looking away from the water, the city is dressed to the nines and generously coiffed with a fine collection of buildings whose deserved description sits somewhere between handsome and gobsmackingly beautiful. Dramatic and heavy in stone, Parliament is a building which, by day sets the city’s architectural benchmark at an unscaleable level but at night adds a magical Disneyesque quality as thousands of white light globes outline her fine form against a dark Canadian sky.
Jostling for place in the architectural beauty pageant of Victoria is another member of the city’s royal family waiting to be crowned – The Empress. Now a Fairmont Hotels family member, The Empress still hangs on tightly to her colonial upbringing. Up there in the swank international hospitality echelons with Penang’s Eastern and Orient, Vienna’s Hotel Sacher or Singapore’s more sanitised current day version of Raffles, the Empress dominates the city and rules like a well-bred Empress should. Clad in deep green ivy, the essay in stone and brick hints towards a Canadian interpretation of Hogwarts. I look to the blue sky above for a casual game of Quidditch. But no, the polite and tone fun and games at The Empress are played out at ground level.
Inside, through the sparkling bevelled windows and over the terraces filled with beautiful people sipping equally beautifully cool drinks, I see a well-dressed throng of tea drinkers with their pinkies pointing northwards. They sip, they chat, they select a little delicacy from a generous afternoon tea offering. They clearly love it. It’s abundantly evident this particular Empress has class. She even has her own blended tea.
The Empress sits majestically in her green ivy robe and casts a ruling eye over the harbour. Behind her, between the water and the mountains in the far distance with their shawls of glistening snow draped over their shoulders, the scene serves to complete the postcard-perfect setting. In amongst the picture is a collection of more recently built, but no less handsome buildings. My hotel for the night - the Executive House sits among them. I’m told I’m in good company. Knowing that I’m sleeping in the same bed as previous luminaries such as Cher and Pavarotti make the occasion even more special. That these people have stayed here speaks volumes and provides an automatic testimonial to quality and sophistication. Ah, the stuff of dreams. Boutique in feel yet robust in comfort and sophistication, I feel at home in this hotel. I feel Victorian. From the rooftop terrace every angle of Victoria is boldly laid out for public scrutiny or personal observation. This is the perfect place for beauty to sit snugly in the eye of the beholder.
As a million overloaded memory sticks will testify, Victoria is pretty as a picture by day, but just like most glamour queens, she relishes the soft light of evening. At cocktail hour, as the after-five feel takes over the town, promenading begins. Casual day clothes are replaced with more formal attire, the day’s sunshine is swapped with a soft incandescence which gently washes the streets, the warmth of the sun is calmly pushed aside by the cooler evening breeze and the scent of the sea marries with the perfumed visitors. The bars, the restaurants and the cafes all add a muted buzz and provide a subtle soundtrack to the city’s nocturnal life.
And, looking back to Parliament where these good looks were founded, the lights have been turned on to the delight of all – a fitting crown for a city regal by name and regal by nature.
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