Whistler (part 1)

There is only one thing better than skiing and that is skiing with friends that you haven't seen for months. After some weeks waiting for this particular vacation to arrive Claire, Charlotte, Eleanor and myself finally climbed into our car for the 14 hour drive to Whistler in British Columbia with a cheer in our hearts and a determination to have a jolly good time. We were meeting some friends from the UK who had flown over direct for the holiday and with whom we had skied many times before. The accommodation was booked, work and our new home mothballed for 10 days and the slopes awaited.
Now, 14 hours in a car with two young restless children is a prospect that fills even the most hardened tourer with abject terror so we took the precaution of splitting the journey into two parts. First we drove to Jasper, about 4 hours (360km) from St. Albert, through what can only be described as monotonous farming country until you hit the Rockies in all their infinite majesty. We spent the night in a good hotel in Jasper before tackling the remaining 9 hours (740 km) the following day. This, coupled with the in-car dvd player, a good supply of movies and snacks, cruise control, a dash of patience and the awe inspiring vistas of both the Jasper National Park and route 99 through the BC Rockies enabled us to complete our journey with only the odd fractious moment and our marriage intact. (I did get a ticket for speeding from one of BC's finest after I had the audacity to overtake an unmarked police car though. Really unfair)

We arrived at the resplendent house in Whistler before our friends, unpacked and marvelled at our accommodation. Built into the side of a hill with views across to Blackcomb mountain, it was all log pillars and beams, modern in it's design but classic in it's chalet-style architecture, it had all the essential trappings for a successful skiing holiday - hot tub, sauna, barbecue on the balcony, pool room and plenty of space for 15 people. The arrival of our friends was both welcome and warm as we caught up on news and gossip over pizza and beer and looked forward to the days ahead. Charlotte and Eleanor, initially nervous and shy, soon thawed out and started the holiday as they meant to go on - noisily and energetically. Before the trip, Claire and I, both avid skiers, knew we had a logistical problem. Although Charlotte was skiing now and was organised quite happily into a group lesson with four others, Eleanor, despite her protestations and her apparent eagerness to get on the planks, is too young and thus required one of us to babysit. We could have employed a nanny or put her into daycare, but our experience with Charlotte and our subsequent misery as we handed her over kicking and screaming to strange but well-meaning carers, eliminated that possibility. Anyway, it was Eleanor's holiday too. So we agreed to alternate, I would ski the first day and Claire the next. It worked pretty well and I can quite honestly say it was much more fun than I first thought. The main lifts to the slopes were only 5 minutes drive away, so the one babysitting would trundle down to town after everyone had finished for the day to meet up for a cold beer and to hear of runs conquered, lessons learnt and jumps jumped.

The weather was variable. It alternated from foggy and cold to sunny and warm, but the snow on the upper slopes was wonderful. We were all relieved to discover that we hadn't forgotten how to do it and boy, was there a lot to do. Whistler resort actually consists of two mountains; Whistler and Blackcomb and there are a number of excellent runs on each. During one such run, the obligatory group photo was taken and the picture to the left shows the team in full kit. From left; Russell, Camilla, Richard, Paula, Charlotte, Shep, Anne, Martin, Jack, Max, Jenna, Rick and Claire. Eleanor and I are absent as this was taken during one of my baby-sitting days. Ok, now pay attention. Shep is married to Martin and their children are Russell and Paula, Camilla is Russell's girlfriend, Richard and Jack are Paula's sons, Anne is married to Rick and their children are Max and Jenna. Got it? Good, you'll be tested later. Shep (aka Iris) organised the whole shabang and as usual, did a darn fine job. Charlotte and Jack got on like a house on fire and had skiing lessons together with Russell, Camilla and Paula. The weather here was warm and clear, which although welcome, did cause the snow on the lower slopes to become slushy. Martin remarked that 'it was like skiing through mashed potato' which may explain why he had his face in it on a number of occasions. Despite the usual problems of ill-fitting boots, inappropriate skis and aching limbs to overcome, the scene was set for a great week, particularly as it seemed from Claire and my point of view, that our six year old daughter was having the time of her life.

Spring freeze

Just like a movie villain clinging onto the edge of the cliff before they plummet over the precipice to their doom, winter refuses to release it's icy grip on Alberta, despite the collective will of over a million Edmontonians to get it to bugger off. Returning from our delightful skiiing holiday in Whistler (more of that in the next blog), we fully expected to return home to greener grass, flowering crocuses and clear roads. Stopping off on our long journey home at a diner and glancing up at the weather channel soon put paid to that optimism. Calgary and Edmonton had been hit by an unusual spring snow storm, dumping over a foot of snow in a day with more to come. It is the last week of April and I'm still clearing my bloody driveway.

It has caught the local authorities on the hop too. Having cleaned off the snowploughs and snowblowers and sealed up the grit stores, they have been caught out by the recent blizzards. The result is that the roads and sidewalks have not been cleared, particularly off the main roads, making travelling around a bit of a nightmare. It even foiled the normally dauntless St Albert Transit. My journey home from work on Monday was curtailed when the bus got stuck and refused to move. I abandoned all hope of rescue and set out for home, a good 2km away, on foot. As I stepped off the bus, I couldn't help but turn to the driver saying 'I'm going outside, I may be some time' before launching myself into the white void. When I got home, I was refused entry on the grounds that Claire didn't know any talking snowmen, but if I should see her husband could I please tell him the kids need bathing. It was all a bit Scott of the Antarctic.

Albertans of course, just shrug and go about their business. They are all, after all born of the land and the weather that goes with it, a strange mixture of redneck farmer, tough explorer and frontiersman, but I do get the distinct impression that even the hardiest of local really has had enough of the snow and cold and is itching to get out on their decks with their refitted barbecue tools. I'm one of them. Our car sucks in the snow too, the tyres are all-weather rather than winter and the ground clearance is too low for the depth of snow encountered on the side roads. We may well be changing vehicles in the not-too-distant future. It was great on the long journey to Whistler though. Smooth, comfortable and in possession of one of the greatest stress reducing inventions of the 21st century. No, not cruise control, although that helped - but the in-car dvd player. Charlotte has never been so quiet. It didn't stop Eleanor going psycho for the last hour on the way home, but then so would you if you were strapped into a seat for hours on end without the preknowledge of how long you were going to be there. She must have thought we had moved into a mobile home.

Boxes and brickbats

At last it is over. I swear I am not going to move again until I retire and even then I'm going on vacation whilst someone else does it. Hopefully by then it will be my adult daughters. Moving day has past and with it the memories of the endless vacuuming, box shifting and general stress that you associate with house switching. Actually, it has to be said, it did go relatively smoothly all things considered, although Claire's blood pressure did almost reach Vesuvius proportions following the comments from our buyer's realtor.
The thing is, here in Canada, most residents seem to be fixated with two areas concerning domestic habits. The first is their need to collect everything and throw away nothing. This becomes apparent when you are house hunting and you see the amount of stuff that they keep in their closets/basements/garages and store rooms. Our removers even commented that 'we didn't have much stuff' relative to other clients. This is actually quite an endearing habit and is probably a result of the long winters hiding in their basements, surrounding themselves with paraphernalia as a sort of security blanket. Well you never know when you might need that broken wind-up nail remover or the stuffed moose head. We must seem quite minimalist by comparison.

The second, less endearing habit, concerns cleanliness. Now I'm all for hygiene and keeping things tidy, but Canadians have elevated this to an art form bordering on obsession. Houses are meticulously laid out, cleaning is a national hobby and the wearing of shoes inside the house is punishable by death. I'm sure there are exceptions but in St. Albert I would not be surprised if there was a byelaw forbidding the scattering of children's toys over a certain area. Nowhere does this cleanliness kick become more marked than when you move out of a house. Not only do you need to vacate the premises by a certain time, watched over by the buyer's realtor but you must leave the house in a condition which can only be described as pristine. Most people, it should be said, would not leave their old house dirty and untidy. They would clean and tidy up as best they could. Here, if you haven't steam cleaned the cupboards and sprayed the work surfaces with an industrial degreasing agent you will receive a firm reprimand. If you don't collect up every stray cat hair and speck of dust off of the floor you are perceived as a social menace and pictures of you and your family are published in the local paper. OK, I'm exaggerating a teeny bit, but this is a fact - if the house is not cleaned to a certain standard, you can actually get fined by the realtor. Yep, actual hard cash.

This brings me to Claire's aforementioned blood pressure problem. Despite only having an hour or so to clean the house after the movers had taken out the last bit of furniture and despite the welcome help of our friends Ian and Shirley to tidy up and clean - it wasn't good enough. You can trust me, dear reader, when I say that that house was clean. Their realtor was not impressed however and even suggested that we should pay for the professional cleaners that had already being contracted to remove all traces of cat, the new owners apparently being allergic to them.

I thought it was a cheek, Claire thought it was a crime against her very being, a heinous slur on her substantive cleaning abilities.

Still, all has calmed down, our new house is starting to turn into a proper home and Claire, the children and cats already seem happier and more content. We have yet to buy a cooker, fridge and washing machine amongst other things, we have no idea which light switches turn on which lights and we are having to do our laundry 'off site'. However, the hot tub is luxurious, the house is warm and cosy and the basement is full of possibilities as well as many unpacked boxes. Nothing much more will get done as we are now counting down to our vacation on Wednesday. No sooner have we moved in, then we pack up and go away again, although this time it will be a lot more fun....We can't wait. Whistler here we come.