Today was our day in Victoria, British Columbia, a city that prides itself on being British. And everyone told us we had to visit Butchart Gardens when we went there. So this morning we got up brighter and earlier than usual and headed for the ferry dock in Port Angeles for our crossing. That's us waiting in line, the first red car from the front on the right.
When we got there, they put us on standby, number 17, because we hadn't had time to make reservations (they have to be made at least 24 hours ahead). Not too long after we paid, they took away our number 17, gave us 16, and gave our 17 to the car behind us. Hope surged.
We went across the street and got some tea, came back to the car to eat the breakfast we brought, and I got out and took some pictures. Then the ferry came.
It disgorged its cargo of cars and trucks, then started getting the reservation-holders on board. Then the standby vehicles. We moved closer, and they had the vehicle in front of us, a skinny little car towing a skinny little boat, pull ahead of the Suburban and get on the ferry.
I hoped for another skinny little spot just big enough for a Toyota, but the Suburban pulled ahead. And then the guy by the ship waved his arms and started shutting the stern doors.
It was a sad day in Port Angeles. The ferry schedule didn't have enough sailings to make waiting for the next one worthwhile. We would have had to come back home almost as soon as we got there, so we opted for Plan B.
There will be no foreign travel for us on our loop through the West. Sigh.