Espresso: I’m still here and I’m fine.

espressoFairtrade Organic Full-cafe latte grande with mocha-choc and extra whipped cream:

I’m sitting with Frank Neuman,  the computer whiz of the Salt Spring
Archives, who keeps digging up photos of my great grandmother, one
wandering a beach with her sisters…in full skirt and blouse and
necktie and boots, no doubt with a corset and bustle underneath. Not quite the bikini-clad trio I saw at Grace Point on Saturday, enjoying the first real day of hot sun this year.
That was after the morning market – a genteel seething mass of people selling and buying handmade silk scarves, French patisserie (she is French and has just opened a cafe, so I may go over for a little pain au chocolat and noisette..) , giving free massages, selling local goat cheese, local bread, herbs and vegetables and fair trade coffee from
Nicaragua….all the things you expect at a local market.  Many of the visitors (the locals tend to stay away on market day, they prefer the peace and quiet) are from the States – over for  a weekend from nearby Seattle – or from Vancouver.

In the evening I had my ‘supper’ at the Tree House Cafe, a famous local institution.  The tree is bigger than the house, and the house used to contain a generator for Mouat’s Store in the 1920s.  Later it was a butcher’s shop, and then became ‘Granny’s House’, when someone’s Granny lived there for a several years.  It’s about 4m x 3m.  During the meal, we were entertained by the ‘Mancubs’, part of the 111 nights of free live music at the cafe.  All the seating is out of doors, so you don’t even have to eat at the cafe, you can just bring your own chair and sit on the path outside.  Last night was jazz with Judy Sims – great-granddaughter of Sylvia Stark, an original pioneer of the island, an African American (or African Canadian as I have heard them referred to here) who died in 1948 at the age of ‘about’  104.  She has a beautiful voice with a touch of Nina Simone.

Yesterday I walked with the ‘Newcomers’ club to Burgoyne Bay, under the shadow of Mount Maxwell and the largest known reserve of Garry Oaks – twisted, gnarly versions of Oak, which grow only in this part of the world. The western coast of  North America (I’m being vague as I don’t know the exact geographical area) is also home to Arbutus,which,  with its  twisted red limbs and peeling bark it reminds me of Australia.
Manzanita trees are even rarer, and exist only in this part of Canada. On the way home, Dawn (my  second hostess) drove me up Mount Tuam to a stunning view of the Southern Gulf Island and the United States.
Snowcapped peaks in the background leading down to blue sea and BC ferries like tiny toys in a giant bathtub.

Since last year there is a bus service on the island which runs to meet the ferries, but otherwise hitching is still a good way to get around (autostop pour les Francais).  The island population is about 10,000, so most people know most other people or have coffee with them every other day.

THE coffee shop is Salt Spring Roasting Company.  You go inside and it’s like entering any city coffee shop in the West – ordering is computerised, people sit at tables with their laptops fired-up and the chatter level is high above the music.  Step outside and you are back in a 1950’s small town with wooden buildings, the Island’s Fire Department vehicles parked in the carpark and Mouat’s Store with the legend ‘Seaside on Salt Spring since 1907’.  Drive for just a few
minutes away from Ganges town and you are in thick forest, with farmbuildings in fields that look the way they did 100 years ago.  It is an island of contradictions, inhabited by 30 or 40 homeless and hungry who are fed by churches through the week in Centennial Park, hippies who camp out in trailers hidden away in forested corners of the
island, retirees in their ‘condos’ near town, and millionaires in their mansions on waterfront properties or mountains with helipads.  Bill Gates apparently owns a little something here, though I haven’t met him, and Oprah Winfrey has been spotted on the island.

‘Salt Spring – a difference of opinion surrounded by water’ is the islanders’ favourite quote. There seems to be a debate about everything: more development or saving the rainforest? Tear down the old firehall to build a new and better one, or keep the heritage building? Pathways for bicycles and pedestrians or more parking for the giant trucks and cars that Canadians are  so fond of.  What they most definitely do not have is a town or island government of any kind – the closest thing is the ‘Islands Trust’ which makes some decisions for all of the islands.  Coming from a French town, with a mayor and committee and paperwork about everything this is slightly incomprehensible but somehow freeing.  I simply don’t know who makes decisions.  Maybe everyone, maybe no-one.

I have been interviewed by the local paper and am due to talk to the schoolkids on Wednesday.  I am trying to capture the people and the place while at the same time revelling in the personal history.  I stood on the steps of the school my mother attended at the age of 5 and hoped that maybe I was looking at the same tree she would have looked at.  I stuck my feet in the water  on the same beach that my great-grandmother walked along so proper in her long skirt and parasol, and wondered what she would have thought of it all.  The sweet, sticky, dusky smell of the islands trees and blooms fills my nostrils and I imagine that these huge trees watched the four generations of my family as  they lived and laughed and cried on this little patch of rock in the ocean.

Salt Spring Island

Ganges-Canada-le-jardin-de-Wilson3I’m in Canada and today the sun is shining.
For those with more time or with more boring jobs:
I’ve been in Ganges, Salt Spring Island, for exactly 32 hours and I have already had lunch on the site of my great-great grandfather’s home (which is now a golf in building where people who play golf gather, not a five-iron…) and seen cherry trees he planted, met a 94 year old cousin who remembers my mother and grandmother, had afternoon tea with an artist/campaigner in her 70’s, met a current captain of BC Ferries and a retired one, had dinner in a converted gas station, been to see a very good pro/am theatre production of ‘Born Yesterday’, had a full Dutch breakfast, had lunch with Sue Mouat – writer of several books on Salt Spring and daughter of a pioneer family, been given 100 pages of handwritten (photocopied) text written by my great-great grandfather and great-great grandmother about life in 1892, been to a rehearsal of Faure Requiem by a local choir, and had local halibut for dinner.
Before that, I spent two packed days in Vancouver, going up Grouse mountain (in a cable car, heaven forbid I should be able to walk any of this food off), seeing grizzly bears in the snow, walking on the beach, eating prawns and Salt Spring mussels, then 4 days around Nanaimo, meeting cousins, eating out, seeing photos of my grandmother’s wedding which I have never seen, holding a piece of the HMS Ganges, and trying (and failing) to get a grip on the names and relationships of the seemingly infinite cousins out here. It doesn’t help when Pat Crofton is married to Pat Crofton.
Western British Columbia is possibly the exact opposite of India and Bangladesh. People are scarce and are too polite to come and ask me what I’m doing when I’m sketching, forests are thick and vast, food is plentiful and generally pretty fattening, but at least you can get a good coffee. In fact, Salt Spring Island has its own, I assume it is shipped in and ground here as I have yet to see a coffee bush.
The natives (very few of them actually born here) are friendly and come from all over the globe, but then Salt Spring has a history of that as its first permanent settlers after the seasonal camps of the First Nations people came from over 15 countries, including freed slaves from the United States. And I am not the first person to link Ganges, France with Ganges, Canada, as my host, a Dutch immigrant, was sent a postcard of the town in France in 1998 by her son – it’s odd to see pictures of somewhere so familiar on the other side of the world.
Needless to say I am being well-fed, I may have to pay excess baggage on the flight home, and welcomed extremely warmly by everyone I meet. I send you love and bright May sunshine and wish you all a Happy Victoria Day for tomorrow (today for you already).

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