There was a time, growing up, when all I thought about was getting the heck out of Dodge and setting up shop in New York.
In the days of the Mike Myers/Dana Carvey shrine (no incense, but a lot of magazine clippings), I believed that by 21 I’d be livin’ large, serenaded by saxes every Saturday as my mugshot appeared on the Saturday Night Live opening credits.
New York never happened. Nor did SNL (but hey, I’ve got this blog, right? Riiiiight?). By 21 I was livin’ small in Ottawa without the aid of ecstatic saxes. And somewhere along the road to today, I realized that my home turf wasn’t so bad. I mean, I’m from Oceanside, not the slums of Dickensian London. It could be a lot worse.
“Oceanside” is the name given to two smaller towns: Qualicum Beach (where I lived from 0-11) and Parksville (where I built the shrine, ages 11-18). I think they applied the name “Oceanside,” because some frigid individuals decided that it had a nicer ring than “District 69,” which is another name for this community. One that gave much joy to anyone who ever came of age there.
Parksville’s got this beautiful sandy beach and a great new boardwalk. As teenagers, we’d cruise down here when there was nothing to do, which was pretty much any time we got kicked out of a coffee shop for exceeding our refill quota.
When I was 19 and 20, I spent the summers working for the City of Parksville on this very beach. This job was extremely garbage-centric. Picking up garbage with mechanical tongs, changing the garbage bags, learning the quaint term “garbage juice.” When I hear Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” I think of this job. Not only because it played incessantly on the radio one of those summers, but because a “torn” garbage bag was my ultimate nightmare.
One of my favourite memories of the beach is the time Zach and I tried to create “the ultimate birthday surprise” for our little brother Jake, who is an unfortunate Boxing Day baby (in other words, he got shafted on presents). We pretended like nothing was happening. Then we filled a van full of his friends, cranked The Beatles “Birthday Song,” picked him up and drove to the beach, where pizza was delivered to the van. We went on to do other things, but I’ll never forget the look on his face when the pizza delivery guy pulled up to the wintery beach.
My grandma’s memorial tree sits in this park, gazing out at the water.
Hi Grandma. Do you want me to order you some pizza, too?
Looking back, I’m sure one of the reasons that I’m so in love with the U.K. is that I was surrounded by bits of England. This is a window display at the British food shop in Parksville.
Qualicum is even more pseudo-English than Parksville. There are no chain shops there, which leaves more room for unique personality. My favourite corner of Qualicum is the bit of the Island Highway just North of West Crescent. This is where I go to hide and be creative. I’ve stayed in both of these: The Westerlea and Buena Vista Motels.
This area, just blocks from the scene of my most precious childhood memories, is probably the one place on earth where I’m most comfortable. It provides a different kind of ease than Lewes, my other spiritual home.
This feels like coming home – not just to a physical place – but to a simple world that makes sense. It helps me remember a time when I didn’t know anything existed beyond the town limits.
I stayed at the Buena Vista last week. This is where my parents brought me, as a newborn, to live for a few months while the finishing touches were being put on our house.
Pretty nice view, huh?
Fish Tales, my favourite restaurant in Qualicum, is just a cod’s throw from the Buena Vista and Westerlea. And while the weather in Oceanside is wonderfully temperate (the average is 14 C), I confess this picture was taken in the summer.
If you’re ever up that way and have some travel questions, feel free to ask for advice.
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You could always set your phone’s default ringer to “SNL Sax Solo.”
Parksville is amazing. I’ve spent many summers there.