I'm loving the Winter Olympics yet I can't help thinking it is an act of pure masochism:
Firstly they remind me of how crap I am at skiing, ice skating and anything else involving snow, ice and -ing at the end.
Secondly, I'm definitely too old to fix it
AND more importantly: wouldn't it be nice to get up in the morning to catch a lift up the mountain, as opposed to a lift into work??
This time around, they also remind me of how much I enjoyed the time I spent in Whistler a few years ago.
Whistler, despite the hipster image (which is actually quite accurate), is a very lovable place.
First of all lovable placenames. We used to live in Marmot Place, Creekside. Just how cool is that as a name? 'Nice to meet you, I live in Marmot place.. you know? those funky animals? they like their good night's sleep?'
No John Street or Railway Road or any other boring name. The place of the Marmots...
The problem with lovely-sounding Marmot place was that it happened to be at the top of a bitch of a hill (these things tend to hapen in ski resorts... I know) which wasn't too handy when Mr. M broke his femur and had to conquer it every day with his crutches...
I suppose sometimes a friendly local would give him a lift up (usually leaving me carrying shopping and any other equipment up the fecking hill).
At the very bottom of Creekside there was a lake (you could walk - pre-femur busting - all the way to Whistler village along the lake) which was a great chilling out spot in the balmy late-spring weeks, when temperatures got well into their 20s and girls snowboarded in their bikini tops (seriously).
Posers and broken limbs aside, life in Whistler was like living in a bubble - relaxed and mobile-free. In fact, when I first left Whistler for Vancouver (briefly - to see Mr M in hospital) I felt like a wild animal out of its nature reserve - longing to get back to the mountain. Ok, a very shiny and decadent mountain but a mountain nonetheless...
From a skiing point of view, I was only a confused beginner (I correct myself: I AM still only a confused beginner) but ski-lovers and connoseurs will tell you resorts across the pond are much bigger and queue-free than crammed European ones. The runs... I couldn't tell but I'm sure they are greater as well. The pure hugeness of the whole landscape is a give away there...
-What I miss: the relaxed four months of easy going existence, maple syrup and Oreo biscuits ice-cream.
Firstly they remind me of how crap I am at skiing, ice skating and anything else involving snow, ice and -ing at the end.
Secondly, I'm definitely too old to fix it
AND more importantly: wouldn't it be nice to get up in the morning to catch a lift up the mountain, as opposed to a lift into work??
This time around, they also remind me of how much I enjoyed the time I spent in Whistler a few years ago.
Whistler, despite the hipster image (which is actually quite accurate), is a very lovable place.
First of all lovable placenames. We used to live in Marmot Place, Creekside. Just how cool is that as a name? 'Nice to meet you, I live in Marmot place.. you know? those funky animals? they like their good night's sleep?'
No John Street or Railway Road or any other boring name. The place of the Marmots...
The problem with lovely-sounding Marmot place was that it happened to be at the top of a bitch of a hill (these things tend to hapen in ski resorts... I know) which wasn't too handy when Mr. M broke his femur and had to conquer it every day with his crutches...
I suppose sometimes a friendly local would give him a lift up (usually leaving me carrying shopping and any other equipment up the fecking hill).
At the very bottom of Creekside there was a lake (you could walk - pre-femur busting - all the way to Whistler village along the lake) which was a great chilling out spot in the balmy late-spring weeks, when temperatures got well into their 20s and girls snowboarded in their bikini tops (seriously).
Posers and broken limbs aside, life in Whistler was like living in a bubble - relaxed and mobile-free. In fact, when I first left Whistler for Vancouver (briefly - to see Mr M in hospital) I felt like a wild animal out of its nature reserve - longing to get back to the mountain. Ok, a very shiny and decadent mountain but a mountain nonetheless...
From a skiing point of view, I was only a confused beginner (I correct myself: I AM still only a confused beginner) but ski-lovers and connoseurs will tell you resorts across the pond are much bigger and queue-free than crammed European ones. The runs... I couldn't tell but I'm sure they are greater as well. The pure hugeness of the whole landscape is a give away there...
-What I miss: the relaxed four months of easy going existence, maple syrup and Oreo biscuits ice-cream.
-What you probably won't miss: the overpriced groceries and the very irritating fact that taxes are never included in the prices (not very useful if you are strapped for cash).
ADVICE: don't be a fool (ahem) and get a visa that allows you to work legally if you are going for a season. Otherwise you might find yourself struggling financially and that's one thing you don't need hapenning in Whistler (or anywhere else...)
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