Roaming in Retirement

After enjoying a restful night at the inn in Nanaimo (and not a sound from my previous Airbnb hosts—looks like we’ve both moved forward), I set off bright and early toward Courtenay for a five week stay. This charming little city is located on the east coast of Vancouver Island and, with around 28,000 residents, possesses all the appeal I was hoping for to start off my summer just right.  I arrived at the townhouse and was welcomed by a young father who was busy maneuvering a tent trailer onto their van. I had gotten there about an hour prior to their upcoming family road trip. Inside, I met his wife, two delightful children, and—right at the entrance—Sadie, the Australian Shepherd. To my joy, Sadie didn’t bark, leap, or show her wild side. Instead, she’s evidently a people-loving dog, not too fond of other pups after a past encounter, but sweet and serene. A welcome change from some of my previous canine whirlwinds.  The house was alive with chatter and excitement from the ch...

I had this fantastic idea—why not break up my long drive from Brentwood Bay to Courtenay by spending the night in Nanaimo the day before? So much better than hitting the road at 5am, gripping the steering wheel through long weekend chaos. I found myself a charming little Airbnb: private room, private bathroom, and a full-size fridge for all the groceries I seem to haul from one sit to the next. Perfect. While driving, I figured I could use my extra time to connect with Larry, one of my future house-sit hosts for 2026. Since he won’t actually be in the home when I arrive next year, why not meet him and his dog now, and get the lay of the land? Naturally—my HouseSitters Canada app decided to misbehave. Nothing loaded. On to Plan B. What was Plan B? I messaged Charles, who lives right there in Nanaimo. Since I’d now have the whole evening free, why not meet up for a drink and chat about our upcoming golf plans? Remember Charles? The kind soul I accidentally called instead of my cousin. Ge...

I embraced Nellie tightly before departing from Cordova Bay—expressing my gratitude (perhaps a bit too earnestly) for refraining from doing things in threes. Two unexpected wet patches were sufficient for me. Then I set off towards Sooke, where little Zara was eagerly anticipating my arrival. Her caregiver handed her over, all spruced up for the summer (the dog, not the caregiver), and we began the hour-long journey back to Brentwood Bay.  As soon as I arrived at the house, I sensed it—that feeling of tranquility and calm that only being immersed in nature can provide. Not that the cat in Cordova was driving me insane, but it was refreshing to swap ocean vistas for the gentle rustle of trees and the melodies of birds. This nomadic life just keeps getting better. Moreover, we still had the nearby ferry and plenty of coastal strolls to keep us occupied.  Zara and I quickly fell back into our usual rhythm. By this point, she truly feels like a part of my family. This time, everyt...

I left one Bay for another Bay. Easy, right? Except the names sound so similar I half expected to drive back to Remy’s place by accident. From Cadboro Bay to Cordova Bay—it’s like someone ran out of creativity on the nautical naming committee. But here’s something I love about this nomadic lifestyle: I don’t just drive past these places and wonder what it’s like to live there—I actually get to find out. Cordova Bay has history, views, trails, and now, thanks to Nellie the cat, peace of mind. Let’s start with the view. I wondered if the condo would offer one, and oh boy, did it ever. A wraparound balcony with two exits (yes, Nellie gets VIP access 24/7), overlooking not just the ocean and Mount Baker, but also a perfectly manicured golf course. That’s right—every morning, I sipped my tea while spying on golfers through the provided binoculars. If that view is not a sign from the universe to keep up my golf lessons, I don’t know what is. Speaking of which, I hit the driving range a few t...

 My six weeks with Remy, the lively labradoodle from Cadboro Bay, somehow flew by in a whirlwind of strolls, greenery, and a few moments of triumph. You may be curious about how one spends six weeks with such a spirited dog. Strolls? Absolutely, many. Often calm, sometimes filled with excitement.  For instance, the day before the homeowners returned, Remy and I found ourselves near a local school—children running amok, yet Remy remained poised. This was largely thanks to my now-instinctive phrase, “Leave it,” followed by a tasty treat as if I were dealing cards in Vegas. Then, from across the sidewalk, a young girl (perhaps 12) appeared, leading a Great Dane-sized giant who clearly had no regard for leash laws—or the laws of physics. The dog spotted Remy. Remy noticed the dog. I tightened up. The dog lunged in our direction. The leash slipped from her grasp (no surprise there). Pandemonium ensued. The girl froze. The mother yelled. I, now in full action-hero mode, pivoted Remy...