More time passes as we gradually descend into ominous weather.
It is now deemed as “fall”, a peculiar time of year. The Canadians have made the same mistake as America, and have somehow mislaid “autumn”. Instead, they fill the void of a missing season with the term “fall”, an imaginative naming, referencing the falling of the leaves that occur during this time. They’re a very unique breed, these Canadians (and Americans).
Having said all this, autumn (this is one of the things I am resolute on still saying) is my favourite season of the year. Summer is too hot; winter is too cold. Spring is just … spring. It pretends to be warm when in reality we get mediocre temperatures coupled with unexpected (but really expected) rain.
Autumn, though, autumn knows what it is. It knows it is the bridge between the warm and the cold. It knows its job is to singe the leaves auburn, burning the away the vestiges of green left. It knows not to be too warm or too cold, but to be a blustery few months of gales and swirling colour.
Nothing pictures better than autumn weather.
The thought that we have reached October already terrifies me. I arrived in Canada mid-November last year. That was eleven months ago. Eleven months since I left the comforts of home behind (again) and entered the adult world. I would do an emotional post about this, but that’s going to have to wait until next month when it’s been a full year (that thought scares me even more).
It seems I’ve had an influx of visitors these past months. Perhaps it is because I’m finally grounded somewhere, or perhaps it’s just that time of year where people have fewer obligations and therefore have the ability to come join me halfway across the world.
The newest addition to my retinue of visitors would be my Uncles (capitalised sounds much cooler).
You may remember them from such adventures as “The One with the Casinos” and “Home” (hoping the Simpsons reference is noted and I receive brownie points).
Their visit involved a very nice trip to Whistler, and an exploration of British Columbia beyond the city of Vancouver. For those who don’t know, Whistler is home to one of the largest ski resorts in North America, and therefore a very popular tourist destination, not to mention backpacker central. Australians, in particular, flood this ski-town, to work on the ski resorts and generally frolic in the never-seen-before snow.
Something to note, however: during the summer, Whistler turns into mountain-biking heaven. People swarm to use the mountains as dirt tracks/trails and gladly speed down its steep side to potential death for those few moments of exhilaration. During winter, Whistler turns into the skiing heaven; mountains thick with powdery snow, just perfect for “shredding” on either skis or snowboards.
When we went, in October/fall, we were in the quiet season. We actually arrived on Canadian Thanksgiving (a meagre copycat of the grander and more disturbing American Thanksgiving). Due to the day being a public holiday, Whistler itself was quite busy – bikers biked, families familied, and tourists touristed. As would be expected. It was also the last day the mountain was open, before closing until the ski season, some time in mid-November.
The next day, a Tuesday, the town of Whistler went dead. Families all made the journey back home, for school and work; employers sent hopeful employees away, telling them to re-emerge for the ski season in a few months time; and tourists fled the place, the allure of the mountain temporarily out of their clawing, selfie-ridden, reach. And I loved it.
So did my Uncles, from what I could gather. Our first day there, we, of course, went up the mountain. The main mountain, Blackcomb, was already closed, but we did take the gondola up Mount Whistler. Once we reached the top, there was another gondola called the “Peak-2-Peak” that took us to a portion of Blackcomb. The views were, to say the least, impressive (as you would expect from any mountain in Canada).
On our second day (I think? Could’ve been our third) we decided it would be a great idea to go a Bear Tour.
A Bear Tour, as I’m sure you can gather, is a tour where you search for bears. They are meant to be bountiful amongst the wild fields of Whistler and the surrounding area. Of course, we didn’t see any, much to our disappointment.
I suppose one positive from this would be that we did get to see the Olympic Park (you know, the park where they held the Olympics in 2010). It’s closed to the general public, and is only open to the occasional cross-country skier, film sets and their crew, and our Bear Tour Company. So, I suppose that was a plus? I still feel like seeing a bear would’ve made the whole experience better, considering we went with the sole intention of seeing a bear … it was also very foggy, which did add a certain aesthetic to the photos I took! Yet also spoiled the view a little. You just can’t keep me happy, that’s the problem.
As the weather was slowly turning sour, we looked into indoor activities you can do in Whistler. That’s one of the major problems with British Columbia in general it seems – it’s a very outdoorsy province. So when the weather turns to rain and wind and sleet and all things diabolical, plans become more difficult to make.
Probably the highlight of our Whistler trip, and I’m pretty sure my Uncles would agree (unless Mark is still fixated on the sheer quantity of wine we drank), were the numerous Escape Rooms we partook in during our time there. None of us had ever done one before, and so for those of you who are clueless about what an Escape Room involves, let me briefly outline it for you (you’re going to hate me for this): It is a room you try to escape from. Never would’ve guessed, would you?!
That’s it in its most basic of forms. You solve different puzzles, collecting clues and suchlike with a limited amount of time (forty-five minutes) before you have to escape. It’s very fun, and we all developed an addiction to it.
Of course, we escaped all the rooms we were locked in to. I can’t say it was easy, but the sense of achievement you receive afterwards is wonderful. We all decided that it was a real team effort – without each other, or even just lacking one of us, we would never have escaped.
Our tales took us up snowy mountains to a cabin buried in snow; to down a rabbit hole, in the world of Alice and all things Mad; and finally to a temple, the golden statue at the end holding our only key to freedom.
It was very fun and I’m definitely going to have to look into doing them in Vancouver or when I eventually get back to England.
On our last morning in Whistler, we decided to explore the nature that surrounded us. Now, one of my Uncles and I (I can’t stress this enough – only one of my Uncles) are huge Lord of the Rings fans. Anything vaguely relating to Tolkien world is like a gift sent from the Valar. So imagine our excitement and joy when we noticed an area within driving distance of us called the “Brandywine Falls”. Naturally, we just had to check it out.
The weather was, again, not perfect, but that did not dampen our spirits! It was a nice little walk, with a very nice waterfall to look at. It felt appropriate to do at least one hike/walk whilst in Whistler and there you have it, we achieved our goal.
I cannot express how grateful I am to my Uncles for the trip to Whistler. Though it will probably fall on deaf ears, I do want them to know I appreciate their kindness and will, eventually, repay them for it (one way or another). But that’s enough cheese.
Until next time!
Ps. Uncles, I hope you don’t hate me for plastering your smiling faces on this post – it’s meant in a loving way.
A Weary Traveller 