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Ferry Karma

There are some days when taking the ferry, and then a bus into Vancouver is a joy. No lineups in the rain as I wait for the bus to arrive, and no rival ferries just pulling in after mine that would clog the coveted articulated 257 Express bus from Horseshoe Bay. Still, most of us rush from our ferry; we know we have a good chance for a seat if we don’t see a rival already docked: ferry Karma.

At first of course, mingling with so many people is exciting; it’s why those from my little island who are not commuting or going to doctor’s appointments have decided to travel to town: to get outta Dodge. The only crowds we see back home are groups of excited tourists intent on exploring our trails instead of dodging traffic in the city; we all seek novelty, if only for a while. It’s not so much the destination as the journey -the escape.

Today seemed ideal: the bus was waiting, and although there were only a few seats unoccupied, I managed to snag one of the solitary ones facing the aisle near the back. Another, larger ferry was already coming in to port, but as I checked my watch, I assumed our bus had already swallowed enough passengers. Since public transit tries to leave the terminal on its posted schedule each time, it meant nobody would end up standing in the aisle.

I closed my eyes and settled in for the relaxing, bumpy ride downtown. I rehearsed the view in my head: first, entering the highway with its frantic traffic, then the ocean views from its position half way up the side of the North Shore mountains. And, of course, there are the trees, cliffs and clouds -common at home, but even more special here because, well, they aren’t at home; here, they are an adventure, there, they were like old familiar wallpaper, appreciated more for its periodic absence.

Suddenly, I heard voices, felt the rumbling of feet in the aisle, but until a suitcase knocked against my leg I tried to pretend I was simply imagining it: bad Karma. When I finally decided to look again, the bus was packed. The aisles were so full, there seemed barely enough room to turn around, and a young man who was carrying a tripod sticking out of his backpack at an odd angle, threatened the face of a woman sitting across the aisle from me whenever he turned his head as he talked to his friend. The woman, dressed in expensive-looking clothes, smiled and expertly dodged the tripod as if she was used to crowds like this.

I sighed and closed my eyes again, determined to ignore the jostling crowd -even when somebody elbowed me as the bus started to leave the terminal and turned a sharp corner. I can live with crowds for a while I suppose, but the noise increased as the bus began its climb to reach the Upper Levels highway. There wasn’t an unblocked window to look outside from where I sat, so our whereabouts were largely theoretical.

A woman with short dark hair and designer jeans who was almost sitting on my knees, started a necessarily loud conversation with the woman across the non-existent aisle whose face was still in jeopardy from the tripod. They’d both been on the same ferry I suppose because otherwise they didn’t seem to know each other. The standing woman had to shout over the head of a little child, who quickly hid between the legs of someone I have to assume was her mother.

The woman with the large voice was obviously trying to be friendly, and as people do when they’re trying to get to know a stranger, told her of her plans for the day in town. “Today’s a band, day,” she shouted over the rattling bus. Then, judging by the perplexed face of the seated woman, explained that today was her birthday and she had tickets to see a couple of bands that were playing in town. “All the bands I used to go to see are aging out,” she explained. “I want to see them before they’re too old to play anymore, eh?”

I hadn’t thought about that, but she was right. It reminded me of a bumper sticker I’d seen back home: I may be old but we had all the best bands.

I could see the seated woman nodding her head. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“How about you?” the band woman asked. “Shopping?”

The seated woman shook her head. “No I’m going for an interview…” She smiled and decided to explain. “I’m enrolling in a course at a community college, and they wanted to meet me.”

“Interesting,” the standing woman said. “What are you enrolled in?”

“Indigenous studies,” she answered with a proud smile.

I could tell by her face that standing woman was obviously impressed. “Are you…?”

The seated woman smiled and nodded her head before her new friend could complete the question. “I’m Snuneymuxw…. Most people just refer to us as Coast Salish because it’s easier to pronounce.”

I loved the way she pronounced it, though.

“Wow… I’m Nuu Chah Nulth -over on the west coast side… Grew up on the Res…” She glanced around the bus, as if her heritage might be a problem for others on the bus- as if it were even possible to single out her voice in the tumult around her. “Nootka, if you’re a Captain Cook fan,” she said and giggled at the man with the tripod who was listening intently to the conversation. In fact, several were looking towards the two women and smiling.

There was a sudden jolt as the bus hit a patch of irregular asphalt, and the passengers bumped into each other like pendulum balls.

“I’m Ruth,” the Coast Salish woman said, unable to extend her hand through the crowd of bodies

“Nora,” the Nuu Chah Nulth lady answered, similarly unable to reach for Ruth. “So how long is the course you’re taking… I mean, can you take it online or do you have to stay over on this side?”

Ruth nodded. “I think I can take some courses online, but my mother’s family is Stó:Lō, and so I’ve got family to stay with on this side… I guess I’m also from the mainland as well,” she added with a cute little shrug, and glanced at my eyes as I marvelled at her pronunciation again. Others now were nodding their heads in admiration.

Suddenly, I found myself listening to their conversation, and their shouting no longer bothered me. In fact it helped me to follow it over the background noise. I almost tapped Nora on her knee to get her to repeat something about her Nuu Chah Nulth heritage. I remembered a trail with that name that I’d taken to Long Beach from Florencia Bay near Tofino on Vancouver Island.

During a pause of their conversation, I did tap Nora on her leg and raised my voice to ask her if the Nuu Chah Nulth nation was the First Nation living in Tofino -one of my favourite destinations.

She smiled as she looked down at me on my seat. “Well, actually I think it’s the Tla-o-qui-aht Nation in Tofino…(Wonderful pronunciation from Nora.) “Have I got that right, Ruth?”

Ruth smiled and then shrugged. “I seem to remember dad saying something about that… Many of the families are interrelated along the West Coast of the island, but I’m not sure if they are considered part of the same Nation… Even the membership of our Coast Salish group is difficult to define because the commonality of our languages is being lost…” She hesitated and then sent her eyes to inspect my face for a moment before calling them back. It was almost as if she was surprised at my interest, but perhaps she only wanted to judge the sincerity of my question. “But that’s why I want to do a degree in Indigenous studies, eh?”

The tripod man and the friend he’d been talking to both smiled and nodded, as did some of the others standing close by. Everybody seemed fascinated by the conversation.

There’s always something special about fellow travellers on a trip to town though. You just have to listen…

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