Family Day, Laughter, and the Wild World Around Us
We end the week with the start of a long weekend, and today is one I thought I would share that sums up the week so far. We begin a long weekend. Family Day weekend in British Columbia turned out to be less about a single holiday and more about a series of small discoveries—each one a reminder of why this place feels both grounded and quietly extraordinary.
A Holiday Designed for Breathing Room
Family Day, celebrated across several Canadian provinces, falls on the third Monday of February. There’s no grand pageantry to it. Instead, it offers something more practical: time. Time to step away from routine, hang out with friends and family, walk the shoreline, or simply notice that winter here is not something to hide from, but something to share.
Family day, placed perfectly in the middle of February—just when winter can feel like it’s settling in for the long haul. It’s less about ceremony and more about intention: step away from work, get outside with your family, take a walk, and remember that winter is meant to be lived in, not endured.
For newcomers from the U.S., where this stretch of the calendar can feel like an endurance test, the idea of inserting a pause into February feels both novel and remarkably sensible.
A Most Unusual Start: An Immersive Faulty Towers Dinner
We began the weekend with a sold-out performance of Faulty Towers The Dining Experience, surrounded by fellow devotees of the original television classic. From the moment we sat down, the line between restaurant and stage disappeared. A hundred and fifty strangers were immersed with us, and some became new friends. From start to finish, we laughed until we cried. Phone numbers were freely exchanged to share photos we all took. I feel sure we will meet up with some of the other expats, repats and locals we met.
Basil bustled, Sybil reigned, and Manuel delivered both bread rolls and perfectly timed confusion. The two-hour performance unfolded in improvisational bursts, with diners becoming part of the action whether they intended to or not. It was less like watching theatre and more like being swept into a comic storm—equal parts nostalgia, chaos, and affectionate tribute. The food? Perfectly serviceable. The laughter? Exceptional.
It set the tone for a weekend defined by participation rather than observation.
SIDE NOTE: Yes, we were avid fans of FAWLTY TOWERS. However the live theatre troop employs the word FAULTY. Here is a link to their site, if you want to check out when they may come to your city.
Wildlife Photographer of the Year at the Royal BC Museum
We followed the theatrical mayhem with something altogether different: the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibit at the Royal BC Museum.
If the comedy the night before invited us to laugh at human nature, this exhibit asked us to slow down and look outward—carefully, quietly—at the natural world.
The gallery is thoughtfully lit, allowing each photograph to command its own space. These are not simply beautiful animal portraits. They are moments of tension, survival, tenderness, and astonishing patience. A snow leopard emerging from rock. A bird suspended mid-flight like a brushstroke. A fragile ecosystem revealed in a single frame.
What becomes clear as you move through the exhibit is the degree of endurance behind each image. Many of these photographers waited days, weeks, sometimes longer, for a single shot. The result is less about spectacle and more about relationship—between humans, wildlife, and the environments we share.
A Weekend That Felt Very Victoria
Taken together, the weekend has already formed an unexpectedly cohesive experience:
A holiday devoted to family and connection.
A comedy that depended on shared participation.
An exhibit that reminded us how attentiveness shapes understanding.
Victoria has a way of layering these moments. Culture here isn’t announced loudly; it reveals itself gradually—in conversations, in community events, in the interplay between art and landscape.
Family Day may appear, at first glance, to be just another long weekend. But lived locally, it feels like something more intentional: a collective exhale in the heart of winter, and an invitation to notice where you are.