We arrived on a dark, stormy afternoon, to spectacular waves slamming against dark rocks.
Small trips are what we can do right now. My mother steels herself against the small discomforts of travelling and takes pleasure in everything else.
The beauty of the Pacific Rim is wild and pervasive. Expressive waves, the air itself like water, fluid, constantly changing.
Tofino has become something of a foodie destination, allowing my mother and I to engage in our shared gustatory interests. We had fish tacos and homemade rhubarb ice cream at Soba, lamb ragout on homemade noodles at Spotted Bear.
We tried the chowder and the salmon at Wickanninish Inn: they underwhelmed, but the view, from a semi-circular restaurant on a point of land was unbelievable.
At night, I fell asleep to the sound of crashing waves.