My Swiss friend, the lovely Cecile Simoness (we met back in Montreal and hung out in Toronto and Vancouver) planned a road trip to the North of B.C. Our intentions were to primarily have a girly road trip, and secondarily chase love- Cecile had met a man and had fallen in love, quite unexpected for both parties involved in this affair but exciting and not to be ignored. We planned our trip based on where his work was supposed to take him: Prince Rupert, Northern B.C. We were set to have our own adventure, both knowing that waiting around on men, chasing boys was no longer our style but where fairytale love is concerned we were both willing to make some turns in the road.
We had quite the introduction to Prince Rupert; spending one night before heading to Haida Gwaii. (We had read snippets about this island, had spoken to friends and people we had met about his magical island. We were somewhat ignorant of the distance, cost and what it would entail to get us there. A 7 hour ferry ride in which you have to request your car space and wait for approval, paying a surprising sum- what could we do? We were going, after all, Prince Rupert is the port that would take us there, and we knew it would be an adventure.) Cecile and I had booked a room in Pilsbury house because it had looked cute in the pictures and was the same price as a dorm bed in a hostel as we could split the cost (the joy of travelling with another!). This was all put in place a few weeks before and it was not until the night before I was supposed to meet Cecile that I became quite intrigued by the pictures of our B&B while getting the address details. I learnt that it was the oldest building in Prince Rupert. I was perturbed as I looked closely at photographs which conveyed quite the bizarre setting. Fussy lace decor and ornate frames adorning the rooms; teddy bears and dolls covering surfaces; an old tape and record player with a microphone and some unusual looking food atop lace doilies. I mentioned this to Cecile as we nodded with approval at our free upgrade and climbed into what we decided to call Clooney- sophisticated, grey and smooth.
Pilsbury House was quite something. It was surmounted on a hill overlooking the water and was bright red. It stood out. But it was not just the appearance of both the exterior and interior that made this building unusual, it was the events that took place here. We were greeted by a woman who stood on the steps before we met the proprietor. She was here to get her hair set as this B&B doubles as a hair salon. The hairdressing takes place in the porch and is slightly retro in feel (mainly because of the tools) but is also a bit of a tip. Our multi-tasker host arrives and ushers us in. She is high energy, middle aged, made up and lovely in her welcome. She fusses around and gets waylaid more than once as she attempts to settle us in and prepare to hair dress. As we have to get the ferry in the morning, she will make us a packed lunch as we will miss breakfast. She quite possibly mentions that it is a shame that we 'will miss the show' but I do not question her further on this and Cecile and I take ourselves out of this whirlwind and head into town. We meet a Swiss couple on the way pout. Cecile clocks it immediately and slips into her Swiss German. They will be staying here tonight too. They are softly spoken and look like bikers with some interesting First Nation looking like tattoos. A trio from Barcelona will also stay and Cecile converses in Spanish with them.
We enjoy a dinner and began to get the lay of the land of Prince Rupert. Although it is all up in the air as to what Cecile’s beau will be and where (dependant on work and a boss who is ever changing his mind) it is possible we will come back to Prince Rupert (which we both already like) and want to check out the hostel. The hostel is great- much like the one I loved back in Charlottetown, P.E.I. A great kitchen, small dorms that are not bunked and smack bang in the cutsie Cow Bay area. When the girl working there shows us around, she raises her eyebrows when we tell here where we are residing. “I hear she lays on the couch and sings to her guests,” she reveals and laughs when she sees me face as as she drops this snippet.
I get up early the next morning, in our bizarre little room, clean, comfortable, but in such bad taste (okay, that is judgemental- not my taste) and kinda full of junk. I sneak out for a run and notice that our host is sleeping on the couch. When I return I hear her in the kitchen and ask her for some hot water. Again, a whirlwind of energy, flitting in her dialogue, I learn a lot. She runs this place alone (“Who needs men? Right?” she questions, learning of my position); she has the hair business; has to clean; greet guests; prepare her “famous” breakfast (some have said it the best, most delicious breakfast they have ever had); perform for her guests and live a little. She was out last night and did not get in until midnight, she was then up until 2am as she was preparing the salsa for her very own huevos rancheros. Everything is freshly prepared from scratch and it has to be just so, it is such a shame Cecile and I will miss it. I take my hot water and she continues to bustle. I walk past the frills and fanciful table set for the Spanish and Swiss. I am kind of conflicted as to whether or not to be sorry we are going to miss the show. We gather our stuff and pop down for a coffee to bid farewell to our host. She is ever so lovely. She has made us a packed lunch and practically forces a muffin down Cecile’s neck, bestowing us with kind compliments and engaging us in conversations about travels. She is quick to turn the conversation back to the breakfast shenanigans and explains in detail the courses she serves. Yes, that is right. COURSES. 3 of them. It starts with coffee (in a china cup of course) and a muffin (incredibly sweet Cecile later tells me) and a fruit salad with coconut on top. This aint no fresh fruit but a sickly syrupy sweet Del Monte fruit cup covered in a sea of sweetened desiccated coconut. That explains the picture I saw that I thought looked rather gross. Seconds is a baked tortilla with ham, eggs, cheese, salsa and sour cream. Thirds is a crepe filled with cream and topped with drizzled chocolate. Wowser. Meanwhile, there is a performance of songs. This amazing lady sings Edie Piaf and allegedly brought a German man to tears the other day, from the beauty of her song, you see. She gives us a line. She has a pretty good voice. After the crepe, the one woman comedy show starts and she performs this for Cecile and I. The last jokes are hurried as the guests are stirring upstairs and will gather at 8 am for their very own full length performance and feast. Her comedy act involves becoming a french character with a cartoonish flourish and an exaggerated accent (probably offensive to French people). Madame Fifi has trouble with her husband in the bedroom and other life dilemmas and these are the basis of these skits…
As Cecile and I leave, the guests are gathering and Cecile says that the Swiss man gives her a desperate look, having given them a vague heads up in German, that says, “What is this? I just want to eat my breakfast in peace.” both of us find ourselves smiling throughout the following days when we think back to that morning. The bananas in the pack up are a reminder days later and Del Monte fruit cups remain with us until finally on a hike, Cecile eats it and it feels like the end of the Pilsbury experience. (When we do eventually make it back to Prince Rupert, the hostel is potentially full for a night and Cecile and her boyfriend Tristan will have to look elsewhere. I suggest Pilsbury. She looks at me. She does not think she can do it. Nope. Definitely not, she asserts.)
Haida Gwaii is a different planet and seems to be in a different timezone. As we embark on our 7 hours on the ocean, the journey is so incredibly peaceful, pleasant and sort of mysterious. The mists, the lands, the open ocean. We are told that there are whales to the left and later that they are ahead. We have a sighting. We meet a First Nation man who is keen (and completely upfront about it) for us to visit him in Old Masset. We can attend a pot lotc, stay with him, eat salmon and he will show us around. Because you are pretty girls. Hmmmmm… We exchange numbers and say that if our trip takes us to that part of the island we will find him.
We find our digs, and realise later how much we had really landed on our feet. 2 nights here and it was lovely. We had a lovely vantage point and explored the surrounding area. A hike on the spirit trail nearby leaves us both wanting a bit more and we are tempted by a sign that looks like it has been painted by a child. It says ‘Lookouts’, has a red X for marks the spot and a dotted line leading into the forest. There is no scale, no nothing. We both feel that walking on a path for 25 minutes, no matter how beautiful and unusual the forest around is, does not constitute as a hike. So we venture forth. Our complaints come to bite us on our ass. It is epic, climbing, scouting for the faded bits of intermittently placed pink tapes and no clear indication as to how far we have gone. We make it (the lookouts are nice but I think we expected something more and decide to go a different way back. A shortcut which will take us back to the road, and if we remember rightly, to the cafe where we can get coffee and food!
The spirit stage where local musicians play from 7-9pm on Friday evenings and the pub where live music has Cecile and I hit the dance floor, hoe down style, to the very first song. There is a limousine taxi that takes people home to avoid drink driving on the island. This place is full of quirky one offs and unexpected treasures and troves. We meet a guy that is motorcycling across South and North America. He is currently en route to Alaska. He comes to dinner with us and we treat him; he would normally just scoff a loaf of bread or something cheap just to keep himself fuelled up! He has beautiful eyes and great stories. He is a total free spirit.
We see the same people around and hit the Saturday market. Lovely local produce keeps us going for a few days and we enjoy the atmosphere in the unexpected sunshine- this is an ancient rainforest after all and we were prepared for drizzles, rainforest weather. Mama Liz had packed me up with s second pair of trainers and a fleece- both never to leave my backpack. She also insisted I take snacks. The enormous amount of nuts in a ziplock did us proud. Cecile and I both enjoy the ceremonious snacking half way through a hike- hungry or not!
Harvey had been concerned that I would not find foods that I like to snaffle and there were limited places but some wonderful one off spots to eat. There are some awesome little coffee spots on Haida Gwaii: Queen Bee’s, Jag and the Beanstalk and Moon over Naikoon (out in the middle of nowhere, the fire men were there when we arrived post hike, delivering their water). All alternative and healthy foods with heart. Perfect. The museum hosts an event that we enjoy, noting that there are many young people on this island and what a contribution they seem to make to the Haida community. They are running events on the day and are dotted about elsewhere on our travels. There is only one main road that goes to the Northern tip and back down to Charlottetown.The same people crop up and life feels held in time. It is almost as if it is on Thailand time and the dotted islands around are like a British Columbian version of Asia as I know it. The only time we are not in step with this mode of existence is when we have car problems and stay in an airbnb (the only one on the island and there is a bad vibe, accompanied by a smelly, very large and badly behaved dog). We end up in a motel one night and then the lovely hostel before we set off to Prince Rupert for some days to meet up with Tristan who had booked flight- the work did not pan out and after being messed about by his boss, he was coming for a holiday and heading our way. Cecile was thrilled and we liked our spot in Prince Rupert.
The Skidegate Museum enjoyed beautiful weather for the community events they held:
Old Masset, where our friend from the ferry resides, had the feel of a ghost town. Derelict houses, deserted yards emanating something on the edge of eerie. We decided to not pursue this contact and enjoyed more time in Charlottetown where we chatted with local fisherman. This man was so lovely, talking of some time he had spent in Newfoundland and the kindness of people there.
We had attempted to do the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ hike, which now from this perspective made complete sense. There she is in profile but we seemed to be off roading it, total rally style and although Clooney was up to the challenge, lack of clear signage made it an impossibility- it seems you really must be in the know here.
We accumulated a sort of whiney American woman in the hostel on our last days and gave her a lift to the ferry. We were unsure if we had been awarded a spot- we were on the reserve list and waited with baited breath. Tristan would be arriving and we were wondering what to do. Should I stay behind and Cecile go as a foot passenger? Should we both wait? All was well and we made our way on- I had to park Clooney in tight little spot. The ferry was very full! I was directed in and our new friend was very impressed and bought me a coffee. To be fair, the guy's directions were incredible- I would never have managed this myself!
We were heading back to Prince Rupert and tomorrow Cecile would be reunited with Tristan. Leaving behind Haida Gwaii felt a little strange. We probably could have done with a little more time there but we also had a lot of experiences, we both reflected. It certainly was a whole new world for us. We felt in the moss covered forests that we were in a setting from ‘The Never Ending Story’. It was enchanting, all encompassing, perhaps slightly eerie. The komorebi, the emerald greens and the soft cushioning beneath our feet was all new; never before had we seen or felt a world of these colours, trees and land.
Cecile noted the lack of order in comparison to the Swiss forest where everything is maintained and neat. Here, the trees fall and are left. They feed the land, remaining untouched in a circle of forestry life and magic. We were alone on all our walks and the forests were ancient, very much alive and with powerful presence. They seemed to whisper. So although it was just Cecile and I, alone in this ancient realms, I was glad to not traverse these paths alone. These realms are dwarfing and fairytale-esque, and we all know most of those tales have brushes of sinister moments. Exploring Haida Gwaii, sharing these magical ancient lands and listening to the whispers of the forests was a whole new world for the both of us and a life long friendship in the making.
