Salt Spring Island Coffee at Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal

We travel through Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal often on our way to Salt Spring Island and the magical place called Lakeside Gardens. It is a step or two above camping with a million dollar view.

On the way to our place on Salt Spring, we always have a coffee at the kiosk inside the ferry marketplace at, of course, Salt Spring Island Coffee. No Starbucks for us. While there is a Starbucks at the other end of the building, supporting local business is important to all of us.












The coffee kiosk is always a busy place. In fact, sometimes almost too busy and too crowded. Being located inside a ferry terminal tends to do that to a business; feast or famine, though at this terminal it's nearly always feast.











Through all our visits to this coffee shop over the past few years, the service has always been provided with a smile, in spite of the craziness of the place, and the coffee itself has always been first rate.



Served in a paper cup or in porcelain, as is our preference (the coffee tastes better), the espresso drinks are first rate. My espresso is rich and creamy. The only thing missing is a cup of water, which should accompany every espresso.

















Salt Spring Island Coffee began, oddly enough, on Salt Spring Island. They still have their flagship coffee shop in the town-centre of Ganges, but the business and the roasting operations have moved to Richmond. The company began operations in 1996 with the idea of providing freshly roasted, organic coffee to the Island. They've since grown and their coffee products are now found across the country and on-line.

The company operates two stores, one in Ganges and this one at the ferry terminal, and both are worth the visit. Salt Spring Island Coffee is ethical, organic, fair-to-farmer, and locally owned and operated. Good reasons to visit and to enjoy the coffee.

Photos by Jeem. Copyright 2015 by Jim Murray.

On the assassination of Bobby Kennedy

Progress is a nice word. But change is its motivator. And change has its enemies.

Robert Kennedy in a speech to mayors in May 1964 

I was a young teenager living in southern Saskatchewan in 1968, and on 5 June the radio was on as I got ready for school. It was a Wednesday. All radio stations in Canada on this morning, including the commercial Top 40 stations, carried the same CBC newscast, The World at Eight. Apparently there was a feeling our American neighbours were slipping into anarchy and the broadcasters of the nation felt it important to tell the same story to all Canadians as they woke up.





It was an incredible time to be a teenager in Canada. In 1968 many of us were wrapped up in politics; the politics of our own country, and the politics of the world beyond: Prague Spring, the Cultural Revolution, near-revolution in Paris only the month before, and of course, the violent upheaval we witnessed every night on television news reports from the United States. We had the best of everything: a comfortable lifestyle that allowed us to rebel on weekends, and still come home for mom's cooking every night of the week. 1968 was shaping our lives, but now, yet another hero's death made everything seem ever more fragile and uncertain.

Only weeks before, on 4 April, Martin Luther King Jr. had been assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee,  and America's cities had been set ablaze. The American War in Viet Nam continued to divide the nation, and an incumbent President had announced he would not seek re-election. The peace candidate, and the one I supported, being a Canadian teenager of course, was Eugene McCarthy. McCarthy had precipitated President Johnson's withdrawal by defeating him in earlier Democratic Party primaries, which opened the door for Kennedy to enter the race.


It was the California Primary that Bobby had won that night in 1968, by a slim margin over Gene McCarthy. The next big primary would be New York, and now we had two candidates claiming to be willing to end the awful war.

My life, even as a teenager, was perfectly fine. My family, though far from being rich, never wanted for much either. My country was great. Canada had just finished its year-long Centennial celebrations five months earlier and my friends and I felt we were on top of the world. Hearing the news on that day in 1968 made me wonder if the United States was indeed spinning out of control. We listened to the news throughout the day in breaks at school and later, after school, we watched the news on CBC and NBC with our parents, of all people.




As the early days of summer continued, the craziness south of the border never abated. A few months after Bobby's assassination, my family took a road trip to Montreal and one night while in an Ottawa motel we watched together as the Chicago City Police rioted during the Democratic National Convention. The convention where Bobby or Gene would have been selected as the party's candidate for president. Instead, amidst the insanity and violence of what was happening in the streets, Hubert Humphrey was chosen, and somehow we knew, as teenagers, that nothing would ever be the same again. How many of our heroes would have to be killed in order to make America safe for the likes of Richard Nixon?



I remember Bobby Kennedy's impromptu speech in Indianapolis the night Martin Luther King was assassinated, and his simple words as he told his disbelieving audience the news of King's death:

What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love, and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.

And I remember his words in a speech given in the United States Senate two years before his death. It was a promise from a member of the increasingly fading Camelot:

A revolution is coming — a revolution which will be peaceful if we are wise enough; compassionate if we care enough; successful if we are fortunate enough — But a revolution which is coming whether we will it or not. We can affect its character; we cannot alter its inevitability.

I'm still waiting.                                              

Then again, it's always been up to us.

Copyright 2015 by Jim Murray.

Ginger Indian Cuisine in Richmond

The last time my daughters took me for lunch, we went to the Smokehouse Sandwich Co. which turned out to be a great experience. For sandwiches.

This time, it was to Ginger Indian Cuisine, found in an odd location near No. 4 Road and Bridgeport in Richmond. Ginger is located in a strip mall that also includes a barbecue dealer and a private liquor store and if you judge a book by its cover, this place might not appeal. That would be a mistake.

Ginger is simple and unassuming. Its menu is simple yet ample. Service is friendly, helpful and attentive. There are the usual Indian dishes with fish, chicken, lamb and a bunch of vegetarian items too. Servings are generous, and everything tastes fresh and homemade. I am reminded of the legendary Kits' restaurant called Surat Sweet which featured the best in vegetarian Indian cuisine with an East Africa - Gujarat flair.

Appetisers, especially the papadi, reminiscent of a crunchy bhel, are wonderful. The chai is nicely done indeed in a traditional manner. Chai needs to be brewed slowly, almost to the point of boiling over; if it comes to your table quickly, it probably isn't as good as the chai served here at Ginger. I assume the lassi drinks will be first rate too.



My two daughters are regulars at Ginger, as are many of their lunch time customers. It isn't a big restaurant by any means so take-away appears to be a big part of their business.





Fresh ingredients prepared with care and attention to detail makes for a wonderful experience. You need to know where you are going in order to find Ginger, and it is well worth it!






Photos by Jeem. Copyright 2015 by Jim Murray.

 

Bonne fête des mères

We have just returned from a month in Paris. While there we celebrated Mother's Day, or at least the Canadian version in early May. In France, Mother's Day, or the  fête des mères falls on the last Sunday in May. That being today. We should celebrate this day again don't you think? Isn't it a great idea to celebrate mothers, and women, more than just once a year?

The flowers are from Van Dusen Garden in Vancouver. The goslings and ducklings are from the Bois de Boulogne in Paris.

Bonne fête des mères!

Photos by Jeem. Copyright 2015 by Jim Murray.

Rhododendrons at Van Dusen Garden

We came back from Paris just in time to see the laburnum and rhododendrons at Van Dusen Gardens. From the crowded streets of Paris to the tree-lined streets of Vancouver was an adjustment. There is something wonderful about a city that celebrates trees, on nearly every street, the way Vancouver does. It's that luxury, and abundance, of nature we in Vancouver might take for granted in our quest to become someone's vision of a world class city.
























And on our first full day back we visited Van Dusen. The blooms and blossoms, the colours and the fragrance were amazing.

Photos by Jeem. Copyright 2015 by Jim Murray.