Woke today to rain and worry. Did I mention that on the drive up from Vancouver there was no snow? Anywhere? Even in Whistler Village? And now it was raining.
Well, nothing for it but to move hopefully forward. Lift tickets were discounted due to the weather, and Graeme and I received a further discount with our Blue Mountain season passes. Okay, so maybe it was going to be crap, but at least it would be cheap crap.
Got to the top of the Blackcomb Gondola (Excalibur) and the world was still worryingly green. This was our first time at Whistler/Blackcomb, and we had no idea how far up we were. Up the next lift, and the world began to whiten. Feeling heartened, we headed off to the next lift upwards, the Jersey Cream Express, and life became a bit more promising. We fooled around a bit on our own, and then met up with the guides that were co-ordinated by Altitude. We went with Blair, who was leading snowboarders on easy blue routes, along with his lovely boyfriend, Chris.
Down the first route with the group. I got to the bottom, and there they all were, waiting, all looking perfect. Me, I looked like a snowman, having spend a significant amount of time rolling down the mountain. They all pretended not to notice as I blew snowballs out of my nose and gathered myself.
Next we went out of bounds, and went on a charming jaunt through the trees, which were mysteriously clinging to the near-vertical face. Okay, that's an exaggeration. It's how it felt, though. Boarding in Ontario in no way prepared me for this.
Blair realized that I wasn't really "keeping up" and toned it down a notch, sticking to easier, cruisy blues, and things went better for me after that, though I still feel bad for being the lowest common denominator.
Kitchenettes should be manditory in all hotel roomes. We had pork chops, baby bok choy, broccoli and red peppers for dinner, all masterfully prepared by Graeme on our hot plate.
Afterwards we went to David's chalet to soak in their hot tub, as the hot tub in out hotel was under renovation. Always travel in packs. Other people will always have things you want to use...
Pics are here.
Got onto the plane and sat there waiting with bated breath to see who my seatmate would be. Someone hot? Someone interesting?
How about someone dressed all in pink, carrying a pink suitcase too big to fit anywhere, with an enormous pink crocheted afghan, and pink glitter shoelaces, carrying a copy of "Chicken Soup for the Girlfriend's Soul"? All packaged up in someone at least ten years too old to carry off this much pink (that is to say she was maybe 21).
<sigh>
I went back to listening to Armistead Maupin's "The Night Listener" on my iPod and zoned out again. It was ultimately unsatisfying, but I wouldn't find that out for several days yet.
The flight was otherwise uneventful, except that I learned while waiting for baggage that I'm still bizarrely attracted to men in sweatpants. Well, sweatpants aren't really enough on their own, but on a cute guy they undeniably add an additional "zing". We shall never speak of this again.
Graeme met me in a rental Jeep, having decided to upgrade from a compact so that we would have space for picking up hitchikers. None appeared, though, so we made our solitary way up Highway 99, charmingly titled the Sea-to-Sky Highway. It was foggy, and dusk, and the mountains along the way were delightfully misty and gloomy. Very surreal in places, and felt somewhat like being transported to the universe of "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon."
When we were checking in at the hotel in Whistler, I jokingly asked Leonardo, the desk clerk, to confirm that our room was beautiful. "Oh yes!" he exclaimed. "It's all covered in candy!" Funny how big fat lies can make one feel all cozy and welcome, but sometimes that's just the way it is.
Pics are here.
When I was a kid and fervently wanted something (like a new bike or an "above
reasonable price" toy, I saved up half of the money and my parents paid the
rest.
My new, "fiscally responsible" approach is to do the same now. I save up
half in a special account and charge the rest.
- Lene Andersen
Long time no post. Nonetheless, here's a cop-out for you:
Cornerstone's Canadian English Page