Just when I thought things couldn't get any crazier along came my second winter season in Canada, and in particular my belonging to 'The Big House' family of misfits and blow ins.
Whis - a - lah.
A beautiful little village nested amongst the Whistler and Blackcomb mountains. Where the Aussies out number the Canadians, and the bears out number the humans.
I live in a big three storey house, 5 bedroom plus a den, backed on to the river with a large decking and pool table. Inside lives 10 looney Aussies, 1 token Canadian and one corruptable nice Irish lass. Add to that the swagger of visitors and squatters we have had living on our couches, in the basement and even in Harry Potter style in the cupboards.
Bears. They are everywhere. I am going to dedicate a whole paragraph to bears, because I think they are awesome and make for a few uniquely Canadian stories. Seeing my first black bear amble less than a meter behind me as I stood outside the local pub one my second night in town brought me back to the time Danika and I paid $380 each to go bear spotting in Alaska, only to see one scraggly bear from 50+ meters away. Now, you walk side by side with them down the village stroll. We have also seen several of them poking around in our backyard. Humorous to me, but not to my housemate once she learnt afterwards of her near death experience was the time I was walking down my street one afternoon, spotting my housemate walking a short distance in front of me, followed by a large black bear that wandered out from a neighboring house. She had no idea as she was walking with her ipod in and the bear followed her for 100 meters down the street. Not to be outdone I was walking home in the pitch black of night, two bags of groceries full of fruit and veges, only realizing the bear was there when I heard it sniffing me!
Nearing the end of my time in this community which for years I had wanted to be a part of I can say what a worthwhile experience it has been. Everyone is happy in Whistler. This may have something to do with my choice of not working in the hospitality/tourism field for the first time in a long while. I made the decision to not let whingey, miserable, complaining people effect my energy and happiness in my 'living the dream' near perfect little world. Instead, I began work at a small family run market at the base of Blackcomb mountain. Great owners, flexible with my desire to have a life, plus a lot of free food. It's been great! In order to live and play in paradise you also have to pay the price for it. It is not a cheap place to live, most rentals have three times the regular amount of people living in them and even with the rent spread out twenty ways this still doesn't leave for a lot of spare change. Growing tired of random expired food combinations and butter chicken without the chicken I dreamt of living the high life, a life with steak and chicken and veges! So, I got my self a second job. Having volunteered at WAGS, the local pound, helping them to walk the dogs, I then got a job at the doggie daycare where I got paid for it. This was definintely an interesting job. We would have up to 25 dogs all running free is a big room with couches and toys. I mean we had a very varying arrangement of pooches from tiny little ones up to great danes as big as a horse. They all generally got along very well. There was also a lot of office work and the dogs had a reservation system much like a hotel. So for me it was great. It was like working at a hotel front desk, which I do enjoy, except when guests piss me off this time I can hit them, lock them in a room, or tie them to a fence. The office side of things was a little different as when people came to check their dogs in I would also have 5-6 of them standing up at the desk with me, scattering papers every, drooling all over the keyboard, or scratching at my leg for attention. Bending down to scan or fax would often lead to being humped by a labradoor. During the day I would take them out for walks along the valley trail, through the snow, in to the forests and along the rivers. On nice days it was pretty hard to take as you can imagine!
Snow boarding.....When crashing in to trees at high speed, rolling, flipping and cartwheeling several times on ice, living with weekly whiplash, flying through the air and breaking your fall with your skull all becomes no big deal and a part of your everyday life! My new hobby, my new love. Whilst saving up for a seasons pass led most just short of queing at the local food bank, once you have that shiny new laminex in your cold mittened hand then it's on. Unlimited access to one of the worlds best ski resorts, and right in my back yard. When even on a bad day it is still good, and less than perfect conditions give you an excuse to miss out on a day and sleep off that three day hangover.
You can tell your an AUSSIE in Canada if;
You wash your hair then pop round to mates place with your hair still a little damp. You arrive with icicles in your hair.
Just like back home when someone calls 'soocer' football instead of aussie rules you imedeatelty think they are an idiot. Trying calling hockey 'ice hockey' and see the look you get.
You sleep in a little bit late only to pop out to your car in a hurry and it's completely covered by snow. Enter at least a half hour on the end of the shovel.
New people to the town are recognizable by their difficulty in opening the bear proof bins. Bears proof bins, making people and bears smarter....
