Returning to Canada from the United States, Vancouver felt like a reset. This time I checked into Samesun Backpackers, a hostel I already knew well from visiting the bar across the street for dinner and drinks during an earlier stay. Walking down Granville Street and asking for a bed for a few nights felt casual, but it marked the beginning of a much longer chapter.
Settling in quickly, I found myself joining many of the hostel activities and outings. Trips to Bowen Island and Granville Island became regular excursions, experiences I would later end up leading for a long time. Vancouver offered plenty to do, yet organisation never quite stuck. Each day brought another reason to delay settling properly. A lingering pull toward the Maritimes remained, even while great people filled the days. Chinese New Year passed, along with visits to English Bay and Lynn Canyon Park, and suddenly weeks had gone by.
After a few days of enjoying Vancouver and chatting with other Australians, the idea of trying snowboarding started to take hold. Whistler felt like the obvious place, especially with Australia Day approaching. A hostel was booked and the shuttle north followed.
The drive along the Sea to Sky Highway delivered its usual drama, though a heavy cold arrived at the same time. Gear was collected, lessons organised, and the village explored. Balance proved elusive and the snow won more often than not. Plans to enjoy the Triple J Hottest 100 were interrupted when fever took hold, resulting in a long stretch curled up resting. Recovery came quickly enough for another day on the mountain, followed by a short night out in the village. The final day included more practice and an afternoon ziplining through the forest.
Whistler impressed as a place to visit, full of energy and activity, but clarity arrived on the return trip south. Living there did not feel right. Vancouver did.
Back in the city, restlessness returned. Jakob, a friend I had met earlier during my travels, had been staying in Tofino for some time. The idea of one more adventure felt right, and packing my bags for the west coast seemed inevitable. Bags were packed and the journey west began in the middle of a snow event. A rough ferry crossing and long delays left a group of us wondering if the bus would still be waiting in Nanaimo. It was. Slow driving through snowed-over sections of the highway followed, eventually reaching Tofino after midnight.
Morning brought a reunion with Jakob and a chance to explore properly. Bikes were hired, beaches visited, and Tacofino quickly earned its reputation as the best fish tacos imaginable. Wandering town and coastline filled the following days. Another Australian, Paul, appeared by chance and quickly became a close friend, one who remains part of my life today. Long Beach and other stretches of coast filled the days, and when Jakob eventually headed back to Vancouver, staying on felt like the only option.
Days in Tofino stretched into weeks. Something about the place worked quietly and completely. The scenery felt endless, the pace slowed naturally, and my mind cleared in a way I had not expected. Hot springs, long beach walks, cooking meals, reading, and simple routines took over. Life narrowed down to what mattered. Happiness arrived without effort. People often say Tofino does that, and it did.
Eventually, Vancouver drew me back, as it always seems to do. Leaving Tofino felt difficult, though it never felt like a final goodbye. Around the same time, another great friend I had made, Mike from Chicago, was heading toward Vancouver and the Rockies. A road trip to Banff was suddenly on the cards, an opportunity I could not resist. Two weeks in Tofino proved life-changing, even if the stay had been brief, and plans were already forming for what came next.
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