Comox Valley Pt.1

Back at it again. Hard to top that salt spring island madness, especially since right now I'm still living the fruits of that labour. But that's a story for another post. O Comox valley, how do I describe thee. Comparatively I suppose. Comox is much like the Cowichan valley, only farther north and with a huge farmer's market. Comox the city is sort of a tri-city set up of Comox, Courtenay, and Cumberland. Cumberland has the artisans and the music, Courtenay the population and the hip stores, and Comox the farms and seafood. Its a pretty solid arrangement. We went out everyday and all night most nights here. At a bar that reminded me distinctly of Hull. It was hilarious and fantastic.


Now Comox valley, though a place of funk and revelry, was also a really varied place. Odd topography, population demographics and a semi-metropolitan mentality lend it a lot of charm. Cumberland was the first visit we did, after being told there was a bar there with soccer and live music every night. We drove down, found a sweet parking spot near the lake, ate a quick dinner of curry with udon noodles, and bounced to the city for a night out. Sadly, the Waverley, a hugely popular music destination and our intended drinking hole, had lost it's liquor license for serving minors and being over capacity. Instead we went to the Cumberland hotel, where I got drunk and sang "fight for your right to party" karaoke with some local males. It was fun. The next day I awoke being baked alive and hung over, as we had unwisely and against some maternal advice, parked in a shadeless space. Happily I got to cure this with a quick swim in what must have been a lake just above freezing point. Comox lake is deep, and in the morning, so cold I had to insult my own manhood in various ways to make myself go in. That being said, it was a most invigorating experience that started the day off awesome. This trend continued.

After that kind of wake up, we partied through to Cumberland listening to some wacky German house music, and decided to take a march through town and check out the local scene. We ate at a cafe, where we met some locals who we would see again later at the bars. I got a haircut in the wildest possible place, pretty out of control. This woman was pushing 60, mad tan leather skin, tattoos, rotten teeth, all of which indicated the filthy mouth below the nose. She was really sweet, but crazy. Her shop was attached to a tattoo parlor, painted lime green, and seemed to be decorated with her life's accumulated useless trinkets, of which there are many. It was insane in the best possible way. She had suicide blond hair, two harley davidsons, and a tank top that said proudly "I only like boys with tattoos and motorbikes". There were two young guys hanging around, three old church ladies, and one random awkward gentleman, all seated on assorted zebra skin chairs, polka dot sofas or the occasional lazy-boy. These chairs, or course, strewn around the room in no particular order. She was awesome.

After I got my top cropped and Fabian successfully traded his Mexican artwork tequila bottle for a book called "edible, incredible", we left and wandered the town. A couple bakeries and a coffee roaster, some hip little shops, an interesting you-vintner, and then a trip to the coast later, we were in Courtenay. Courtenay has a cool enough main drag, a couple wicked little bars and coffee houses, and a nice area around it. We had picked up a copy of the local organic farm listings, and decided to go to a place called "Nature's Way Farm". This place is also a fruit wine vineyard, a culinary studio and a madhouse of cool people. We met first a former picker turned wine taster, who was awesome to us and said we could probably scoot around the farm for a laugh or two, the llamas are at the back. We walked outside then and met Kathy, who runs the culinary studio, called tria culinary studio. She was super busy and about to leave, but really welcoming regardless and interested in what we were doing. We moseyed on into the garden, which is impeccably organized and right in front of their blueberry vineyard. There we met George, the owner, who welcomed us to check out the property and see what's going on. They have a different way of growing strawberries, which was (I thought) practical and interesting, as well as light on the labour. They also have a greenhouse just for micro-lettuces(think botany meets "honey I shrunk the kids)and a pet llama pen. Random I'm aware, but no weird pet/animal could surprise me on this goofy island anymore. After we'd walked around a bit, George and his wife invited us in for some geoduck(pronounced gooey-duck). Shortly thereafter, George had to leave, but his wife, Marla, was more than happy to pamper us a little longer. She helped us out, talked to us, exchanged ideas, and ate geoduck too. All in all this was an awesome place that I highly recommend to anyone who happens through the area, they are one of the nicest groups of people we've come across. Can't say enough good stuff.





That day we also briefly visited "natural pastures cheese" and were denied a tour because we didn't book. That wasn't to stop us, as when we went out to the bars, we met a bunch of Swiss guys who turned out to be the cheese-makers. Funny how life works out sometimes. We also met some people from the local brewery "Surgenor", whose brews we shrewdly sampled the day before, and thoroughly enjoyed. After the bar we chilled out for a half hour with the security team in the parking lot, messed around and accidentally slept in a safeway parking lot. This sounds like it's kinda funny, but it's one of my biggest regrets so far this trip. Not only does safeway light their parking lots altogether too well(even for our tinted beast), the car is tantamount to an oven at 10 in the morning on hot asphalt. I have never felt so nasty waking up. It was truly an experience I would wish upon no one but everyone who isn't me. Hungover, dehydrated and possibly with a liquefied interior, I opened all the windows, croaked "water!" and promptly drank like three liters of uncomfortable warm water. I then spotted an exploitable light on the horizon. Starbucks. The water from their bathroom taps, which I drank in utterly unthinkable quantities, was almost raised to the level of a gourmet meal by my desperation for hydration. I'm done now with the hungover bit, but you get the picture, it sucked. We had a scheduled meeting at the farmer's market at 9am, so we slowly gathered our wits, which amounted almost to as much as somehow who's really not funny at all's wits, and drove off. Happily, by the time I got to the market my life was a little less painful, though that proved short-termed as I forgot sunblock. As we talked with Gaetane from "Island Gourmet Trails", I felt again like a small section of the sahara had opened up under my feet. Gaetane was extremely nice and helpful, and introduced us to a lot of the farmers who were selling things at market. We also met Adera from "west coast escapes", a TV show airing this September on what to do in the west coast or North America. Seems like a pretty wicked show, and Adera had some really good ideas for our own trip and was going to be at the same festival as we were the next day. At this point I was burnt and probably delirious, so we bought some 2 lb loaves of rye, some tamales, talked to a three fingered bison farmer, and then immediately ran to the van to get sunblock. At this point we saw the public showers. I knew there was a reason I liked Comox so much. Those showers felt like the were washing off the hungover idiocy that was consuming my life. I shaved, sang, and generally acted like it was my apartment. It was good. I know this sounds immature, but geoduck looks like a penis. Everybody was thinking it. I just had to let you know I know what your thinking when you see geoduck.