I have distinct memories of hitting the slopes (with skis and face) as a youngster; my Dad clipping Edgy-Wedgies onto my stubby skis, guiding me down the runs, and feeding me frozen Cherry Ripes when I got irritable (which was often). He would carve a path down the mountain and my sister and I would follow unquestioningly because, as with everything else, we put utmost faith in his judgement.
And I’m back! Well, back on the Grid (after failing to keep New Years Resolution #2, stunting my laptop’s battery life and then draining it after 2 blog posts and 1 lengthy FB stalk. Thank you to the kind genie-like concierge who was finally able to procure a UK-Canadian adaptor for me) and in Vancouver after bidding a teary farewell to Whistler.
My mum and I had a slow potter-about day; we visited the Vancouver Lookout Tower (where I was thoroughly put out by Nelly Furtado topping their List of Notable British Columbians, Michael J Fox being pipped by Michael Bublé, and Nathan Fielder not even getting a mention. Travesty!), rambled through Gastown and lunched at a café that paired pizza with interesting reading material (while waiting for my crispy caper delight I learned all about How To Keep Tropical Aquarium Fish).
I had the best time in Whistler, some highlights being: Continue reading
From Britain to British Columbia! The journey took almost 24 hours, and included a 9 hour flight to Calgary next to the most garrulous geezer I’ve ever encountered (I now have 9 hours worth of wetland frog facts and a disturbingly vivid account of how the throbbing pain of sebaceous cysts changes with altitude), a tussle with unsympathetic ground staff (who insisted on frisking and bomb-testing me at snail’s pace even though my connection flight was already boarding), and a Home Alone-style dash through Calgary Airport. I arrived in Whistler Village bleary-eyed, but ridiculously excited.