Up the Inside Passage

‘The way I see it, if you want the rainbow,                                                                             You gotta put up with the rain’  

The Museum of Anthropology Vancouver

Before I left Vancouver I had one last little mission to complete. Friends of mine (Stuart and Phil) had visited Canada a few years ago and they had been waxing lyrical about the Museum of Anthropology. I must, they insisted, visit whilst I was here. It was apparently truly amazing and I would love it!

What it was, was a pain to get to on public transport. It’s part of the British Columbia University complex and is a little stuck out of the way. A train and long bus journey later had me delivered at the University Transit centre but after that you are on your own. There are no signs from the bus station to the Museum and google maps didn’t account for the vast building work going on at the University, so by the time I arrived at the entrance I was somewhat peeved.

However, that didn’t last long, after refuelling in the cafe I walked through to the main gallery and caught my breath. It was remarkable. A cathedral like space wall to ceiling windows and full of the most extraordinary First Nation sculpture.

 

Totem poles and other sculptures in the main gallery

Outside the Museum. . .impressive architecture and tranquil views

Back inside, the Museum becomes more and more extraordinary with modern works from First Nation artists like Bill Reid, touring exhibitions and a grand selection of rooms which house anthropological artefacts from around the world. It looks like an eccentric Victorian explorer just wandered in and threw up their entire collection. Cabinet after cabinet of masks, pipes, hats, oars, canoes, gnus, bamboos, old loos (well you get the picture)! There are even display cabinets with drawers in that you can pull open to find even more treasure, it’s a true feast for the eyes and senses.

Incredible collections. . .

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After a while it almost becomes overwhelming as your brain and senses are on overload. At this point most sensible grown ups head for the cafe but I did that endless wandering thing where you are almost in a hypnotic trance like the delirium of Christmas shopping, dribbling into your own scarf. So when I first saw them I thought I must have slipped into a hallucinogenic state. But no. No. Apparently they were real and I was in fact staring straight into a cabinet that contained two . . .  Mick Jagger dolls.

Mick Jagger Anthropological sensation

It turns out they are dolls that were used in some ceremonial dancing (which seemed apt). However, I admit I wasn’t concentrating much on the artefact labels as I had already begun mumbling my best Mick impersonation and sniggering into my boots. As it happens, best friend Mel (of the Cocking sign) her husband Duncan and I are endlessly amused by attempting Mick Jagger impersonations. Encouraged by Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan (from The Trip) we spent my leaving supper drinking rather a lot of red wine and impersonating Mick-impersonating Michael Caine. (If you haven’t seen Rob Brydon do this I urge you to YouTube it) (one of these days I will work out how to add hyperlinks!)

Undeniably Jagger

The thing is, once Mick is in your head he is impossible to shift. After I saw him in one place I couldn’t help seeing Mick everywhere:

It was probably time for the gift shop.

Up the Inside Passage

Now during my very serious adventure many people have asked (does the pyshchiatric ward know you’re missing?) (aren’t you hot in that?) . . . why? Why visit stupidly named places? Of course the first answer is why not? Or . . I’m just a bit immature. But I usually begin with the example of Josh (of Pity Me sign) and his visit to Canada in 2016. When he told me he was cruising up the inside passage. Well. I am English. I responded in the natural way, with a sort of Frankie Howard snort. It started me thinking, if there was a body of water known as the ‘inside passage’ what other fantastically unfortunately named places were there?And could I find some of them?

So you see ‘The Inside Passage’ is something of the holy grail for my adventure. It’s almost what everything has been lurching towards. Having gone up and down the ‘Backstairs passage’ in Australia it was the natural progression. Roald Admunsen was famous for reaching both the north and south poles. Jane Beckley could be the first person, in one expedition, to go up the backstairs and inside passage. It was a solemn and historic undertaking. But encouraged by the inspirational words of Shakira ‘ I want to try everything, I want to try even though I could fail, oh . . .oh . . .oh . . .oh . . .oh . . Try everything’. (Try everything) ( Zootropolis)  I was ready to meet the challenge and it’s obviously a total understatement to say I was indeed rather overexcited.

So I left Vancouver full of giddiness, took a ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Nanaimo, Vancouver Island. It was a beautiful calm crossing, with enough time to practise my Mick Jagger pout. (Sometimes you just have to get these things out of your system). Then I rested up for a few days at the lovely Departure Bay beach before heading up on the coach to Port Hardy.

Mick Jagger on the ferry crossing to Vancouver Island 

Now I say ‘headed up on the coach’ as if it was the breeziest undertaking ever, in truth I had spent two days on the phone and two migraines to organise it. The ferry I was booked on left at 18:00, the one and only coach to the ferry terminal arrives at 17:10, perfect. You’d think. But reservations were determined we had to check in two hours before hand. Mmmmmm. ‘why does the only coach running  arrive at the ferry terminal just in time for everyone on it, to be too late, and watch the ferry sail without them?’ I ask. ‘Umm you could phone the terminal, they might make an exception’ Right. She gives me the number and the next morning nice and early I phone. The wait time to talk to ‘an agent’ is 90 minutes. But I need to know if I have to hitch up a day early and stay at a local hotel. I wait, 90 minutes. This time I get ‘You’ve got the wrong number, you’re through to reservations’. I sink.

‘What you needed to do was choose the Lost Property option’ the agent says quite reasonably. Of course. Of course, why had I been so STUPID!? ‘The good news is you won’t have the long wait this time’ he tries desperately to be encouraging. I am now having a migraine. I call Port Hardy lost property and get through to what seems to be a small kitchen in the back of a charity shop, Renee answers. I explain. ‘Yes, you’re coming on the coach, yes, gets in just after five doesn’t it,’ Renee shouts across lost property ‘Jean! The coach gets in just after five doesn’t it, she’ll be alright for the ferry won’t she?’ Jean shouts back half way through a digestive ‘on the coach yes, they just walk on’, Renee then explains to me that I can put my luggage in holding vans etc.. It’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be? Why can’t they communicate this with reservations??!

The coach when it arrived, looked like something from the fleet of Terry Thomas’s ‘Dreadnought Motor Transport Co’ (Blue Murder at St Trinians) the seats like benches from a 1950’s church, I wonder wether we will make it out of the car park? But the journey, it turns out, is rather lovely and with only six people and a small dog at least we get to spread out and the views are wonderful. We go through an unexpected ‘Fanny Bay’ (what are the odds?) it had three houses, a beach and an old BnB. So small it missed my stupidly named map radar but I was charmed however to know there were at least two in the world and I’d been to both! This Fanny Bay was not at all hot and sweaty, although it did smell of fishy seaweed. We trundled on until it was time for a half hour food stop and all found ourselves lingering in the one roadside cafe.

This was where I first got talking to a quite remarkable local woman, Kee. It seemed we were the only two people getting the ferry. ‘I wasn’t sure wether they’d let me on’ she remarks and it turns out had had the same worries and enquiries. We both agreed we were glad we were not alone in our venture to make that ferry. Now Kee lives in Nanaimo but works a fortnight on and off as a counsellor on one of the tiny islands off Prince Rupert. She usually flies there this is her first ferry adventure. Kee is a compact, grey haired, Indian descendant with a kind face and has that almost ethereal quality of calm wisdom, (so like me) But she’s interested in my travels and looks at me with a warm, quizzical ‘what is this girl?’ way. So we make friends. (No, she didn’t have a choice). We arrive at Port Hardy, the ferry is still being boarded by camper vans and cars and no-one blinks an eye at our arrival or even suggests check in was over an hour a go. Bless Renee I think and I stow Wilson (my bag) away on a cart for safe keeping.

Leaving Port Hardy, Wilson’s luggage cart boards the ship.

It was a drizzly evening when we eventually left harbour. Kee found her cabin and I had a good wander round the ship. There was a large seating lounge, children’s play area, gift shop, restaurant and lots of outside viewing decks. The cabins were on the deck below. Now the journey is quite a hefty one. We left at 18:00 to arrive in Prince Rupert the next day at 16:00. So although some of the journey would be spent in darkness I knew I had plenty of time the next day to enjoy the spectacular inside passage. I couldn’t afford a cabin but I wasn’t alone, although a lot of people seemed rather more ready for this though, with sleeping bags and pillows in tow. Mmmm, I had a light weight poncho and an anorak. Had I under estimated this?

The ship wasn’t even half full and people had started laying claim to areas in the seating lounge, creating little nests on the floor and taking over entire rows with duvets, onesies and teddy bears. I decided I would sit up and write, then when everyone was settled see which little corner was left. Unfortunately due to my city-dwelling ways I forgot there were still places in the world where you couldn’t get WiFi (like Wales) Apparently a small channel of water between hundreds of mountains in the north-west-of-nowhere-Canada is one of those places. So there was nothing to do, I had to go and settle down for the night.

The good news was I had a whole row of five seats to myself and the dirty carpet in between. I sat for a while then decided to try the floor like everyone else. Unlike everyone else I was woefully under-equipped. I used my bag as a pillow and fashioned a sort of blanket out of my poncho/anorak affair. I looked like a transient vagrant or an abandoned member of a Manchester hen night. I might have got half an hours sleep. At one point I thought I must be dreaming because the floor was moving under me and the walls seemed to be changing shape wildly. I sat up to realise we were in very, very choppy waters, swaying quite dramatically. I reminded myself whatever happened to hang on to the ship for as long as possible, the water was so cold you’d only last 10-15 minutes max, (even with a lightweight anorak). But there was, thankfully, no titanic moment so at about 5 am I excitedly decided it was time to get off the grimey cold carpet, wash and go and see that spectacular scenery!

The spectacular inside passage

Well what can I say?

Not surprisingly the inside passage turned out to be murky and dark, and a little wet.

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Fifty shades of grey

Of course it wouldn’t stay like this, would it? Well I made an effort, it was certainly bracing outside and awesome in a weird entrance-to-Hades way. I made one of my national geographic standard films for you dear reader (best to watch it with your mac and wellies on)

From the viewing deck

This was about as visible as it got. In stead of brightening up, the inside passage became even more impenetrable. . .  Until in the end, you could only see mist and they eventually put a film on for us all in the seating lounge.

Yes, I was disappointed. This cruise was part of the trip I was truly excited about. This was the holy grail! The original passage to beat all other passages! The formidable, difficult to navigate Inside Passage! The queen of euphemisms. The gem in my carry-on nonsense crown! But, I reminded myself, I had in fact witnessed a unique and awesome sight. On my adventure I’d seen the red earth of the desert in Australia, the rolling green hills of the shire in New Zealand, the cobalt blue skies of California and now the mysterious grey mists of the inside passage. All the colours of our extraordinary world.

And you know what? Dolly is right, if you want the rainbow?

Well, you gotta put up with a little rain. . .