Penticton tourists

Penticton is a First Nations word meaning 'place to live forever'. Kinda funny when you learn that Penticton is a destination for retirees. The high-rise condos catering to Senior Adults are mushrooming along the lake front. Still, it's a pretty quiet little town, with all the charm of a small town. We've missed biking the Kettle Bike Trail, and I'm sorry, but it just wasn't going to work out. So, today, we're urban tourists. Well, urban in a small town. We walked the 10 blocks to the downtown action, walked the streets for a while, and spent too much time in a bookstore. It is a cross between Old Books on Front Street in Wilmington, NC and Powell's books in Portland, OR. The books are piled on every horizontal surface, book cases are built to fit whatever space is available, and the old and the new are shelved side-by-side. It was well-organized, with LOTS of topics. The music was good, and house dog was friendly....we just didn't buy anything because our little suitcases won't hold anything. (We have not been good for any local economy, except a few hotels and restaurants on this trip).

Speaking of restaurants...we had lunch at a place that sent the smell of roasting garlic a full block down the street! The Dream Cafe. The first sense: the smell of garlic. The second sense: a visual delight. It's a world-decorating-theme sort of place, with batiks and paintings and all sorts of artwork displayed everywhere. The furniture was mostly rattan, and the cushions in every chair in the place were covered in different fabrics. A small stage along on wall is the physically lowest part of the room; the tables are elevated in graduations to allow every table a view of the tiny stage.

Stuart ordered the split pea soup, and panini, the description had us both drooling. I ordered the roasted veggie salad, served with a little chorizo and chicken, all over a bed of lettuce greens. Lotsa garlic! It was yummy! We picked well, and we ordered well. The music was good, too. This place is a destination for singer/songwriters, and I picked up the list of upcoming performances: Kieran Kane, Kevin Welch and Fats Kaplin; Tim Williams; Robert Michaels. Sounds like I have some research to do later.

There is too much lunch, and I pack it up to take home. We spend the rest of the afternoon walking. Stuart hit the grocery store, and I walked along the Okanangan River trail, the river connects the Okanangan Lake and the Shaha Lake. The sad story: in the 1930's dams were built, for the usual reasons. No fish ladders. I watched about a dozen large carp trying to swim upstream at the dam. A local man told me that the salmon try, too. In the past few years, he said, three of the dams have been retrofitted with fish ladders, but for some unknown reason, they government hasn't done them all. I watched the poor fish, who didn't understand why they couldn't do what they were genetically programmed to do. The sign boards on the trail showed pictures of the river before it was dammed, and told of how the First Nations people had lived very well from the riches of the land, without harming anything. The river is now 91% controlled, and the riparian habitat is totally destroyed. The Channel, as it's not called, is almost perfectly straight, and houses line both sides. Sadly, I walk back to our hotel.