Parliament Building Interior

After our visit to the Butchart Gardens, we returned to Victoria and went on a walking tour.  Mark and I wound up returning to the Parliament Building.  As we neared it, a man engaged us with some questions; he had a microphone covered with a windsock and a video camera.  Apparently we looked Canadian (and "diverse," which Mark thought was code for "gay")!  He wanted to ask us about Canadian politics, but realized he couldn't as we were US tourists.  We all joked that we could answer questions anyway, and Mark and I improvised some absurd statements about Justin Trudeau, taxes, the environment, and Parliament actually getting things done on their agenda.

Getting inside the Parliament Building was like going through airport security.  After we went through a metal detector and had bags X-rayed, we were free to traipse through the first and second floor halls.  Under the rotunda, a very loud docent was giving a tour, which we avoided.  The stained glass looked more stunning from the inside of the building than the outside.  

In addition to various windows celebrating various British monarchs, there were many windows which were statements about virtues, or which were dedicated to great thinkers and philosophers.  I wasn't able to get a very good photograph, but the most amusing window to us was Cicero (the name of our black cat); I didn't recognize any catnip or mice in the design.

I'd say we spent about forty-five minutes of mostly me photographing building details and Mark actually reading the placards describing what the rooms were used for (Parliament wasn't in session, so we didn't see any legislators).  I forget who commented first that we'd traveled a great distance (over 350 miles) to visit a capitol, and neither of us had taken the trouble to visit Oregon's capitol in Salem, only 65 miles away.

One thing that I haven't written about our trip to Victoria were the great numbers of seagulls flying through the air, but mostly loafing about building eaves, frosting the roof lines (and our balcony) with seagull poop, and filling the air with their mournful screeching.  The award for the most dramatic presentation goes to the seagull who must have been roosting on our hotel's chimney at night and whose unworldly utterances floated out from the fireplace hearth (unlit) which we were drinking around.