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ISLAND MAGIC: Exploring B.C.’s Vancouver Island ~ continued Article by Margaret Deefholts, photos by Phyllis Beavan and Margaret Deefholts
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Phyllis and I find a take-out Chinese restaurant (I ask, but no, they aren’t descendents
of Hong Hing’s waterfront shop which is depicted in a nearby mural) and return to our
suite at the Best Western Chemainus Festival Inn, where we pour ourselves a happy
hour libation, and relax in companionable sisterly silence – she watching the news on
the TV, and I downloading photographs on my laptop.
The next day I drive north to Nanaimo,
with Phyllis doing the honours of map-
reading and guiding me through the city
streets. The waterfront boardwalk
edges a marina—sailboat masts spike a
cloud-wisped sky; sunlight stipples the
deep blue waters and in the distance,
mountainsides are patched with snow.
Sunny as the day is, a chill blustery wind
stings our faces and sets the cherry
blossoms a-shiver.
Tom Short, a volunteer docent at the
newly opened Nanaimo Museum takes
great pride in showing us all that is
unique to the city – in particular the
exhibit featuring the renowned Nanaimo bathtub races, and a glass case displaying a
pyramid of Nanaimo Bars—those wicked little confections of chocolate, shredded coconut,
Graham crackers and creamy custard. Taking that as our cue, we nibble on a couple of
Nanaimos as we explore Fitzwilliam street in the old part of town. The area is picture
postcard pretty with cobbled pedestrian streets flanked by stores and boutiques
displaying coffee table books, attractive hand crafted curios, framed oil paintings and
landscape photographs.
We are booked for a night’s stay at Sunrise Ridge Resort in Parksville and our suite is a
knock out. Three bedrooms (one being a guest suite) boast luxurious queen size beds,
the living room has plush furnishings, and the kitchen fittings and appliances are state of
the art. I leave Phyllis joyously soaking in a bubble bath, and make tracks for Tigh ne
Mara where I am scheduled for a sybaritic 90-minute treatment at their Spa Grotto.
I’ve never visited a spa before so, as I change into a bathrobe and slippers, I’m a bit
apprehensive about stripping down to the buff. No worries: a towel draped like a nappy
covers me ‘down there’ and my boobs are discreetly shielded from view with another soft
towel. The thought crosses my mind that this what my mortal remains would look like if I
was stretched out on a mortuary slab awaiting cosmetic treatment so my corpse would
look reasonably presentable while on display for people filing past me paying their last
respects!