The Dream House

Well, today I have officially been in Whistler for a whole week. It feels about four times that long I’ve been doing so much, but I’m finally settled in.  Nick and I found a house – in fact, THE house – to live in. We christened it the Dream House, and although it’s a touch more expensive than most in the area, it also has a hot tub, a trampoline and a heated boot room. The hot tub and boot room will be perfect after a long day riding (as we have been told to call boarding). Throwing off all my gear and jumping in the hot tub whilst the snow falls around, before heading back onto the slopes with nice dry gear the next day is something that won’t get old, I’m sure.

The house hunt took us a couple of days, during which we stayed in a hostel in Whistler. I say in Whistler, it was about an hour’s walk away, and that’s when you don’t take a wrong turn and end up walking in the opposite direction. That wouldn’t have been so bad – I need the exercise, to be honest – except we left the hostel at about six o’clock, when the mountains start to get dark. There were no streetlights on this road, and you can’t walk more than five metres in Whistler without seeing signs warning what to do if bears attack. We managed not to get eaten though, and found our way to Tapley’s sports bar, which has swiftly become our local.

Whistler is fairly dead during the day at the moment, and the job hunt has not gone too well because people aren’t hiring for another couple of weeks. The nightlife is completely the opposite though, if you know where to go. After a fun but uneventful night at Longhorns on Sunday, we headed to Buffalo Bill’s on Wednesday on the advice of Nick’s mate Simon. Wednesday is local’s night, and if you can prove you live in Whistler, you can get in free. They don’t require much proof though – I’m pretty sure if you just said a random street name from the Whistler A-Z they’d give you the locals sticker.

Anyway, in Bill’s we met Brent, a guy from South Africa who I’d spoken to on Facebook a couple of times, and Tif, a BC (British Columbia – the province Whistler is in) native who’d been in Whistler for four months already. After throwing some incredible shapes to some pretty poor AC/DC remixes and having an impromptu reunion with some of the BUNAC crew, we headed to the bus stop. Buses are great over here – they run til three in the morning, and any journey costs two dollars. Naturally, I didn’t have two dollars, so pulled the old switcheroo with Tif’s day pass.

The highlight of the night was a little Filipino Aussie, who seemed to be pissed off at everything. He refused to believe I had Scottish relatives, and was pretty keen on rounding everyone up by nationality. In my drunken state though, I somehow managed to crack the line of the night. Whilst squaring up to anyone he could find, little Fil told us all that he was always looking for a challenge. I asked him if he’d ever tried the Travelator, which did the unthinkable and shut him up for a few seconds.

This week has been pretty hectic, especially as the Dream House’s owners Chris and Maria have been here doing the place up. They left last night though, and Nick and I pretty much have the place to ourselves for the next month or so. Party? Party.

Oh, and here are some photos as proof that I’m not at home in a tent in my back garden. Today’s wisdom: Don’t say things about serving girls in bars whilst they’re still in earshot.

The most amazing Chinese in the world

The most amazing Chinese meal in the world

The view from the hostel

Skate ramp and trampoline outside house? Check

The house from the back

Getting in a bit of jet washing in return for beer

I can't believe I forgot about Lucky Charms

The only way to enjoy a hot tub (that's Nick, by the way)

The route back to the Dream House, once it snows

Death by Denny's

I’m sat on a Greyhound bus on the way to Whistler, having just eaten a breakfast that contained my total calorie count for this week at least. This morning, my new travelling buddy Nick and I were introduced to the wonder that is Denny’s. Hungry for bacon and eager to get out of the torrential Vancouver rain, we stumbled into what looked to be our saviour. With such delights on the menu as the Grand Slamwich (Fried bread drenched in maple syrup, bacon, sausage, scrambled egg, a ridiculous amount of processed cheese and fried potato bits) we seemed to have found a winner.
Twenty minutes later though, we were wondering how long it would be before we could talk without getting out of breath. As good as a Denny’s breakfast is, I think I’ll only be having them sparingly. A triple heart bypass is not on my list of things to achieve in Canada.

Yesterday was both productive and extremely fortunate. We got Canadian phones and bank accounts set up, and managed to get a decent deal on both. One thing that has become apparent about Canada though is their determination to charge you for the most ridiculous things. You have to pay to have a bank account, for example, and my account only lets me make 25 debit card transactions (including taking money out of cash machines) before they start charging 65 cents each time. Silly. More bizarre is the monthly charge for the privilege of caller ID on your phone. This isn’t some fancy feature that we don’t get in England; caller ID is the remarkable technological breakthrough of being able to see which of your contacts is ringing you. I actually had to get the guy in the shop to explain to me what caller ID was, because I didn’t think they’d be cheeky enough to charge you for what is essentially a basic function of any phone back home. Still, I got a decent phone for about £18 and now I don’t have to put up with my Sony Ericsson turning itself off every five minutes.

After orientation yesterday we headed to Chinatown, via the heroin district. In the space of two minutes we were given directions to a vintage Chinese furniture shop by some weird old man, and followed down the street by a homeless guy asking for drug money. We found our way out of Smackville easy enough though, and discovered what is officially my favourite Chinese restaurant. Foo’s Ho-Ho Restaurant is run by a tiny Chinese lady, who I can only presume is the titular Foo, and she was amazing. Bustling round the plastic tables, she put all her energy into making sure every customer in the place was happy and knew that their dinner was on its way. I almost went for the standard beef in black bean sauce, but decided to be a bit more adventurous and plumped for the special steamed sole (but still in black bean sauce. It’s almost as good as gravy). For just under $20 I got two beers, two egg rolls and the nicest Chinese meal I think I’ve ever eaten. Foo-king excellent.

Last night we managed to stumble across more goodness. After another burger for dinner in an Irish bar called Johnnie Fox’s, we paid about £3 for a luxury Snakebite – which sat alongside Black’n’Tan and Irish Shandy on the menu – and almost enjoyed a game of baseball on the telly. We then somehow managed to blag free tickets into a battle of the bands gig, at which the best band was the house band doing Zeppelin covers as part of ‘British Night’. After a few too many rum and/or Southern Comfort and cokes and a pact to play ‘Stonehenge’ by Spinal Tap at an open mic night in Whistler, Nick and I continued our stumbling back to the hostel, blissfully unaware of the artery-attack to come the following morning.

According to an Aussie who lives there, jobs are fairly easy to come by in Whistler, so the priority today is getting a house. Once I have my own bed and can finally empty my Tardis-proportioned hand luggage, the adventure can properly begin.

Today’s wisdom: in Denny’s, honesty is the best policy. Ordering food is the worst.

NOTE: just passed through a place called Furry Creek. Megalolz.

The dangers of rainbows

Pub. Beer. Food. That was all us weary travellers wanted when we arrived in Vancouver, so we went in the first bar we saw. It had a sign with a picture of beer on it outside, which was a promising start. We got the beers in – I went for the appealing Dead Frog Nut Brown Ale – and found a table. After a few sips of (completely necessary) ice-cold beer, conversation switched to the pub’s décor. The bar was surrounded with the usual sports memorabilia, and there was a jukebox in the corner. On the far wall though, were two six-foot high paintings of headless naked men. Suddenly, the rainbow flag above the doorway made sense. Yes, in a move that could only be described as misguided, we had stumbled straight into the nearest gay bar. Welcome to Canada, lads!

Alright, it wasn’t that bad and the Dead Frog was actually pretty nice, if a touch expensive. We soon moved on and found a burger restaurant called the Red Robin to quench our thirst and feed our hunger. Bottomless Steak Fries are my new favourite meal. Canada was finally off to a good start.

So after sleeping off my jet lag last night, I woke up at 8am this morning (unthinkable yesterday) and took advantage of the free breakfast in the hostel. No bacon, had to do my own washing up, but at least I got a decent cup of tea. It’s raining this morning, and Vancouver seems to be twinned with Sheffield when it comes to precipitation, but I’m looking forward to exploring a bit of the city today before heading to Whistler tomorrow.  Only a short blog today, but I’ve not really done much yet. Expect a longer one in a few days about how no-one will employ me and how I’m living in someone’s coal shed.

Today’s wisdom: watch out for rainbows.