Victoria, B.C.

A fancy hotel room smack in the middle of downtown, historical richness around every corner, a big fat wallet and sixteen days with no inhibitions and no responsibilities. There's no one relying on your presence, no one asking when you'll be back, and an entire beautiful island to explore. This is what freedom feels like.

The roads and pathways are as alive at night as they are in the afternoon. The street lights here in the early morning hours shine like a second sunlight. People here live in the shadow of the once great Victorian era. Shops and buildings and monuments all secrete a taste of the overwhemling extravagence of the British high class that came to this place so long ago, seeking to convert these wild forests and mountains into an extension of the empire they took such pride in.

This city run on a time scheme seperate from the rest of the world. They seem to have this air about them as they saunter down the streets, in sundresses or shirtless in sandles, that says there is no rush, there is no hurry, the sun is shining and the water surrounds us and there's beauty on all sides. There is nothing so important that we must hasten destinations. This is island time.

The people you meet here have a tendancy to look into your eyes instead of at your composition. Everything is layed back, everything is grand, and when things get a little antsy, hey, just smoke another joint.

This might just be the way we were meant to live.