Copyright © 2013, Robyn Gerland
“Now, when the bus comes, you get on first and
wait for me. I have to pay the driver
and then we’ll get a seat.”
“Can I?”
“Pay the
driver? I better do it this time. It’s been a long while since I’ve been on a
bus and I’m not sure how it works, anymore.
You can pay on the way back if it’s not too busy. Okay?”
People from all
over the world vacationed on Vancouver Island
– ocean and tall timber, rivers and lakes, villages and cities, and a famously
friendly population. However, the one
thing that our wonderful island did not have was diversity of culture.
Living in Chemainus, one of the picturesque villages on the
east side of the island, we knew many first nations people. The recently renamed island
of Penelakut with its sad, sad
residential school history was directly across the Stuart Strait
from our back yard. Other than the
friends and acquaintances from the Halalt band, who regularly crossed the short
distance from their home to ours, via the British Columbia Ferry service, we
saw very little difference in culture or complexion.
“Here it
comes. We’ll let this other lady go
first. She’s got a lot of parcels.”
Where so much of
the rest of the world came to visit us, we had decided to take a short vacation
in the city. We had arrived in Vancouver the day before
and today I had decided to take my four year old son for an adventure. We were going to ride on a bus!
Of course, buses existed on Vancouver
Island and, of course Kit had seen them time and again. But he had never ridden in one. Due to the expansive distances between
destinations, the long waits and circuitous routes of the buses between
Chemainus and other island towns and villages, almost everyone drove a
car. Small vehicles and hybrids were
very popular.
So, here we were
in the big city and I was about to expand my son’s education – one more
experience upon which to build his growing awareness of the world.
stay tuned...
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