Galiano
A Pacific Paradise
By Colleen Friesen
“The Galiano Island forest fire is raging. Residents are being evacuated. Regular ferry service is suspended. Ferries are reserved for emergency use only,” the radio announcer reads his lines as if he’s reading a grocery list.
Apparently, he is unaware that my girlfriend and I are booked at the Madrona del Mar spa at the Galiano Inn, and for us, it is an emergency.
Good friends know things. One of them is that a woman should regularly run away from home: away from kids, cats, commutes and husbands (whether in-house or ex-es). But most importantly, once a trip is booked, it is imperative you actually get there.
“Good Morning, Harbour Air...yes...we can fly you in,” with those magic words the Harbour Air receptionist morphs into our fairy godmother.
So while others flee, we fly in.
Twenty minutes after leaving the South Terminal at Vancouver’s airport, and feeling rather celebrity-like, we take our pilot’s hand and step down from our float plane onto the Montague Harbour dock. I call Conny Nordin - who, along with her husband Mel Gibb, owns the Galiano Inn – to tell her we’ve arrived.
“I’ll be right there to pick you up,” she says.
We sit in the sun, glad to have left Vancouver’s clouds behind, listening to gulls and the steel singing of sailboat halyards. We’re quite sure we must be the smartest women on the planet.
Pulling through the large wrought iron gates into the courtyard of the Galiano Inn feels like we’ve traveled to the Mediterranean. The fountain splashes in the central garden filled with swaying grasses, lavenders and a multitude of flowers. Walking through the log posts of the entry puts us back on the West Coast as we come face to face with a gigantic killer whale carved from cedar. It faces the steps leading down into the extensive wine cellar and shop.
That night, sipping very dry martinis at the Galiano Inn’s Atrevida Restaurant, we raise our glasses to our pilot and to the foresight of this entrepreneurial couple to take what had been a derelict motel site and replace it with a Pacific paradise. Staring out the wall of windows, past the cinnamon bark of the arbutus trees, we watch the now-back-in-service ferries glow as they sail past in the last of the day’s light.
The wood, ironwork, stone and native art decor creates a calm Old World meets West Coast ambience. The tables are full. Romantic couples glow in the candlelight. I pull out the spa pamphlet and begin eyeing the treatments for two, wondering when I can come back with my husband. Would we get the cedar enzyme bath, the hemp oil package...no wait...the Island package. It all sounds decadent and divine. Hmmm...
The aromas of garlic, rosemary and uncorked velvet vintages create a cloud of comforting smells. My sea scallops are seared-caramelized perfection and, though I can’t be positive, I’m pretty sure Karen’s moaning through her starter of warmed Salt Spring Island goat cheese nestled next to the oven-roasted pear and lightly dressed organic greens.
In between bites she slips her feet out of her sandals so I can once again admire her freshly pedicured feet. Is there anyone more content than a woman with pampered pinkies?
Like so many days in the Gulf Islands, the morning is a blue-skied dream. We’re back in our cork-floored room after a walk up to the funky Saturday market. Conny is waiting to demonstrate a unique feature in my guest room. She runs a manicured nail through her platinum hair, “We’re going to have this idea patented,” she says as she clicks the two stainless steel buttons on the dark wood of the ship-like wall unit next to the room’s bed, “no one else has anything else like this.” With a soft swoosh the wall transforms to a pull-down sturdy massage table complete with a thickly padded top. She turns to the young woman backlit by the window, “This is Kerri, your masseuse.”
I’ll confess right now that I am a spa junkie - a tough customer. I’ve had those lackluster experiences where smoothing nice smells on my skin passes for a massage. So, when Kerri shakes my hand, I’m pleased to feel a firm handshake. I have an instant hunch I’m about to meet another fairy godmother.
Over an hour later my intuition has been confirmed. My muscles have melted into the table under her tension-seeking fingers and the slippery combo of jojoba oil and Cowichan Valley blackberry port. I smell like a lovely liquor-soaked dessert. I’m thinking of my return trip again. I imagine my husband in the seaside cabana with the two side-by-side massage tables. I’m just drifting off when I hear Kerri speak.
“The best thing is,” she whispers as she places the soft weight of the eye pillow on my heavy lids, “you don’t have to get up and leave. You’re already in your room.”
Actually, she’s wrong. The best thing is that we headed in to Galiano while everyone else headed out. Go against the crowd and getaway as often as you can. Take a friend, a lover or go solo. Just make sure you fly to the Galiano Inn & Spa.