B & B in Comox and Port Alberni
"Look for someone with a bloodied finger", Teddy said as we deplaned.
"What"?
"We're late. She's been waiting and will have been twirling her keys around her finger for the last hour and a half".
Shirley was, indeed, standing there with her keys in hand but no bloody finger. Instead, she was all smiles as she helped us load our luggage and obligingly stopped at the liquor store on the way to her B & B so we could pick up a bottle of wine for the evening.
We had an amazing version of Eggs Benedict the next morning. The ham was thinly sliced and fitted into a muffin tin, filled with scrambled eggs, topped with a touch of Hollandaise and baked to bubbly perfection. The table centerpiece featured a fresh pineapple sliced lengthwise and both halves artfully filled with succulent melons topped with juicy red strawberries. A fragrant rose completed the fruit sculpture and my mouth watered just looking at it.
Then came the blueberry and cream cheese French toast. Wow. Unsurprisingly, that was the best breakfast of the week.
Lynda picked us up after breakfast and as we got out of her car, Teddy slammed her finger in the door. Her finger immediately swelled to twice its size so Lynda sacrificed the ice chilling our smoked salmon (intended for the group's appetizer that evening) and wrapped Teddy's hand. By keeping her finger on ice throughout a great lunch at the Black Fin, her finger actually returned to normal by the time we picked up the other three and headed for our next B & B in Port Alberni.
Any place would have been a letdown after Shirley's. Jacinthe was short on charm and quite brusque. After giving us the choice of hot or cold cereal for breakfast, she described in great detail how the group of ladies who had kayaked the previous week had had a horrible time, it rained every day, one member got terribly sick, and she thoroughly sucked away our high spirits.
Dispirited, we picked our way through the slugs and their slimy trails and retired to our rooms to have wine. Hah. Our choice of glasses was a styrofoam cup or a tiny, waxy, Dixie cup. I volunteered to approach her for different glasses.
"Bonsoir", I said, knowing she spoke French. We chatted for a few minutes about Quebec and then I asked if I could have a couple of glasses.
"Styrofoam or...?" I hate drinking wine out of styrofoam.
"No". I shrug my shoulders in a Gallic gesture. "We're having wine..."
"Oh, of course! Wine glasses then?" and off she went to fetch 6 pieces of attractive stemware.
Despite her change in attitude, we continued to slag her when we found the in-room menu which listed a variety of breakfast foods including bacon and eggs, none of which she had offered us. And to add insult to injury, as we ate our hot and cold cereals the next morning, each of us had a useless knife and fork at our place setting.
We were three to a room, each with a Queen bed and a single air mattress zipped onto some kind of rickety stand. Lynda volunteered to take the air bed and spent much of the night clawing at the sides to hoist herself out of the limply inflated mattress so she could turn around. The mattress hissed and groaned around her and I bet the rubber didn't smell too good either.
It rained all night. I heard it until dawn when the birds started twittering. Not a good start to our adventure.
"What"?
"We're late. She's been waiting and will have been twirling her keys around her finger for the last hour and a half".
Shirley was, indeed, standing there with her keys in hand but no bloody finger. Instead, she was all smiles as she helped us load our luggage and obligingly stopped at the liquor store on the way to her B & B so we could pick up a bottle of wine for the evening.
We had an amazing version of Eggs Benedict the next morning. The ham was thinly sliced and fitted into a muffin tin, filled with scrambled eggs, topped with a touch of Hollandaise and baked to bubbly perfection. The table centerpiece featured a fresh pineapple sliced lengthwise and both halves artfully filled with succulent melons topped with juicy red strawberries. A fragrant rose completed the fruit sculpture and my mouth watered just looking at it.
Then came the blueberry and cream cheese French toast. Wow. Unsurprisingly, that was the best breakfast of the week.
Lynda picked us up after breakfast and as we got out of her car, Teddy slammed her finger in the door. Her finger immediately swelled to twice its size so Lynda sacrificed the ice chilling our smoked salmon (intended for the group's appetizer that evening) and wrapped Teddy's hand. By keeping her finger on ice throughout a great lunch at the Black Fin, her finger actually returned to normal by the time we picked up the other three and headed for our next B & B in Port Alberni.
Any place would have been a letdown after Shirley's. Jacinthe was short on charm and quite brusque. After giving us the choice of hot or cold cereal for breakfast, she described in great detail how the group of ladies who had kayaked the previous week had had a horrible time, it rained every day, one member got terribly sick, and she thoroughly sucked away our high spirits.
Dispirited, we picked our way through the slugs and their slimy trails and retired to our rooms to have wine. Hah. Our choice of glasses was a styrofoam cup or a tiny, waxy, Dixie cup. I volunteered to approach her for different glasses.
"Bonsoir", I said, knowing she spoke French. We chatted for a few minutes about Quebec and then I asked if I could have a couple of glasses.
"Styrofoam or...?" I hate drinking wine out of styrofoam.
"No". I shrug my shoulders in a Gallic gesture. "We're having wine..."
"Oh, of course! Wine glasses then?" and off she went to fetch 6 pieces of attractive stemware.
Despite her change in attitude, we continued to slag her when we found the in-room menu which listed a variety of breakfast foods including bacon and eggs, none of which she had offered us. And to add insult to injury, as we ate our hot and cold cereals the next morning, each of us had a useless knife and fork at our place setting.
We were three to a room, each with a Queen bed and a single air mattress zipped onto some kind of rickety stand. Lynda volunteered to take the air bed and spent much of the night clawing at the sides to hoist herself out of the limply inflated mattress so she could turn around. The mattress hissed and groaned around her and I bet the rubber didn't smell too good either.
It rained all night. I heard it until dawn when the birds started twittering. Not a good start to our adventure.
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