Go to Kelowna
As spring thaw sets in, I drive toward Kelowna. The lake ice gradually recedes, revealing gentle ripples beneath. Flocks of birds occasionally glide past, heading north, driven by the warming air and their timeless instincts to return home.
The shadow of the Rocky Mountains fades into the distance. The lakes scattered along the road resemble gemstones, deep green and serene. Leaving the mountains behind, the terrain flattens, unfolding into an expanse of lush plains, like a vast silk tapestry. A breeze brushes across the lake, carrying a faint chill intertwined with the sweet scent of fermenting grapes from a nearby winery—an unmistakable signal of spring’s arrival.
The winery nestles among the rolling hills, its low buildings quietly coexisting with the surrounding vineyards. At this time of year, the grapevines remain bare, their twisted branches resembling an old farmer slowly waking from winter’s slumber, awaiting the warmth of the earth to revive them. I sit at a wooden table, sipping a freshly brewed white wine. Crisp and transparent, it carries a delicate fruitiness. The vintner explains with a smile,
“This is last year’s harvest, still young and slightly acidic. But that’s the taste of spring.”
By the lake in Kelowna, opulent homes are discreetly tucked away, their backyards extending into private docks where yachts sit idly, awaiting the arrival of summer. From a distance, the shimmering water reflects these modern structures, yet their tranquility keeps them from feeling ostentatious. The locals have a natural affinity with the lake—it is not just a backdrop but an integral part of their daily lives.
That evening, I savor a plate of lamb sausages, rich in juices and imbued with a smoky aroma. After dinner, I stumble upon an antique shop, its shelves lined with objects marked by time, and Soviet-era badges adorning the walls. The shopkeeper, an elderly German veteran with neatly combed white hair, moves with measured yet precise motions. His collection includes an array of cameras, their brass bodies gleaming under the dim light, whispering stories of bygone days. In a corner, I spot a Shinotar folding bellows camera, its leather-clad body exuding an indescribable charm. Seeing my fascination, the old man smiles, expertly unfolding the bellows and testing the shutter.
“This camera can still capture time,” he says.
The next day at noon, I indulge in a platter of oysters by the lakeside（West Coast Seafood & Raw Bar Kelowna）, paired with lemon and freshly grated horseradish. How do these delicacies reach this inland town? Could they be farmed locally? The waiter smiles and explains,
“These oysters come from the distant west coast, but in recent years, some have attempted freshwater farming in Okanagan Lake.”
Such details add an unexpected sense of futurism to the city, where tradition intertwines with new possibilities.
With my newly acquired camera, I stroll along the lakeshore, capturing moments on black-and-white film. The lake, the distant mountains, the silhouettes of passersby—all take on a quiet, timeless depth. Through the lens, Kelowna becomes more than just a picturesque landscape seen through a traveler’s eyes—it transforms into a place imprinted in memory.
Back at my lodging, I write a letter to the German shopkeeper, thanking him for the camera and for our chance encounter. This city, with its lakes, its wine, and its stories, awakens with spring, making one feel an inexplicable urge to linger just a little longer.