Dear Victoria,
You mischievous little imp.
I came to you thinking, “Cute place. Bet I can knock it out in a weekend.” What I didn’t realize was that you’d quietly rearrange my internal compass, ruin me for every other small coastal city, and have me googling ferry schedules and real estate listings like I was starring in a Hallmark movie.
Let’s start with the harbor. Are you kidding me with that view? Boats bouncing, seaplanes landing like it’s no big deal, seals occasionally popping up to say, “Hey, this is our neighborhood too.” Meanwhile, I’m standing there with a coffee and an early mid-life crisis because your air smells like salt, cedar, and possibility.
The Parliament Buildings? Gorgeous. The Empress Hotel? Honestly, offensive how pretty it is. It looks like the kind of place where someone gets proposed to and a ghost watches approvingly from the third-floor window. I didn’t even stay there and I still felt fancy just because I ate some cake.
And then you hit me with the Royal BC Museum. Victoria. VICTORIA. I was just trying to have a low-stakes afternoon, and you dropped me into a stunning swirl of Indigenous artistry, colonial history, natural wonders, and, oh yeah, a life-sized woolly mammoth I still think about at night. I expected a pleasant exhibit. I got emotional whiplash and a spiritual awakening.
You’re not all pomp and museum glory, though. You’ve got soul. You’ve got alleys that hide chocolate truffle shops and beautiful homes that are almost castles. You’ve got cafés where people actually make eye contact and smile (the audacity!). Your markets are bustling and your neighborhoods whisper, “Buy a bike. Start over here.”
Even your weather has personality. A little moody, sure, but honestly? Same.
What gets me most is how you do the impossible: you feel both historic and fresh, touristy but deeply local, small but never boring. You’re the perfect contradiction, wrapped in rainclouds and wrapped around my heart.
So here’s the deal: I’ll be back. Maybe for the tea at Murchie’s. Maybe for the ocean views. Definitely for that one antique store that had the haunted-looking oil painting I regret not buying.
Until then, keep doing what you do—being quietly perfect while pretending not to notice.
With begrudging admiration and a heart that now belongs to Vancouver Island,
Kristen
aka that wide-eyed visitor who kept saying “Wait, people LIVE here?” every ten minutes.
