Snowmobiling at Seagram, Whistler backcountry.
Category: North America
A Place Called Home
A series of clips filmed in Whistler while I was home for the Holidays. Riding with homies, playtime with doggies, Dumbo Party at Sushi. There is indeed no place like home!
Home for the Holidays
I left on a 4th of July. Leaving a life of the past. A comfort zone that became too black and white. A routine that got old.
I started a new chapter on an island, where the water is metallic blue and white is the sand. A new climate, a new territory to explore and to ceaze.
Not so easy at first. You have to adapt, get comfortable, make new friends. It’s like starting fresh. A new adventure where my own self is responsible for every failure, for every success.
5 months, 153 days and 5 full moons later, I am sitting in the Dallas airport on a chair between Cowboy fans and screaming child. Second transit. Waiting for flight 882 direction Vancouver: I am on my way home. A lady is calling her husband to announce her proximity to destination. A little girl is begging her father for a piece of donut. A couple with matching sweaters is reaching each other’s lungs with their tongues. As for me, I am sitting alone, with no phone, no Internet connection, no wallet with the miserable look on my face of the girl who lost her purse at the bar on her last night in town. Yup, that was Cayman for me. A whole lot of drinking, parties and juvenile moments. What will I say when I come home? Yes, I have a tan, but what else? A few extra pounds, an excessive thirst for alcohol and a bunch of drinking pictures and stories that made the hall of shame of Grand Cayman? I can’t do less but laugh at it. I guess I just got involved in the island life. Living young. Living wild. Not so different than the mountain life, isn’t it right? Nevertheless, I made a solid circle of friends, got to explore the underwater of the great Caribbean and got my paradise condo on the beach. To resume it all, I had a unique tropical exposure.
Now, it’s time to go home. I have thought of this moment for so long. Since I left the Canadian ground and found myself swimming in an ocean of mixed emotions. I felt homesick, but I gripped to the ground and fought the loneliness. Although I just started to build of new life in the Cayman Islands, I will pause the adventure and will go home for the holidays. I am nervous, excited, I just can’t wait to see my friends, my dogs, the mountains and feel the cold again!
I’m coming home. Only one flight away.
The Blues of a White Day
The mountain opens today. The most important day of the year in Whistler. A day expected by all, where skis and snowboards are tuned up, where playlists are created, where kids are geared up for months, in shape, eager and more than ready to play. Crazy passionnates camp at the base of the hill before the day light breaks and the tail of the line grows like Pinocchio’s nose as the sun rises over the virgin mountains.
As of me, I am standing at the end of the line. Miles away on a piece of earth detached from home. I opened my curtains early this morning only to realize that I was so far away. It hurts. I feel homesick again. This special day of the year where everybody gathers together and share the newborn particles of winter. There’s no reason to miss it. Nothing can get in the way. You wake up early and do it. And I can’t let go of the fact that I put distance in the way of such a day. I hate the easy availability of information on Facebook that shows me all these comments and pictures of what I miss. I hate missing out on things and this one is by far the hardest to swallow. Call me warped mind, call me overly analytical, call me nostalgic, call me whatever you want, but the reality is that I suffer the distance and I can’t let go.
My pain probably goes beyond missing out on opening day. It spreads over missing my friends, missing my life of the past. I haven’t quite made this current place home. I am still uncertain of my mission on this piece of sand, even though there were reasons why I left. Adaptation is a long process and this branch of the tree hasn’t blossomed yet.
I feel the blues today, but I need to stay connected with my current reality and look at the beauties around me. I will make it through this storm and will find refuge in the present moment that I am in. I will open my curtains again and look outside. It’ll not be falling snow and there won’t be any mountains, but there’ll be a blue sea and a shiny sun ready for me to embrace.
Have fun Whistlerites, I am jealous like hell but hey, it is actually a nice day outside. So wherever you are, have a good one and enjoy every second of it!
Thank you Foster the People. This song was for today: Waste
A City Infested of Crazy Canucks
That was it. The moment that made history. But this time there was no gold medal, nor a Stanley Cup. All that was left to the ground were burnt flags, garbage, broken glass, and alcohol streams. All that is left in our minds are degrading images of drunk, high, and sadistic anarchists, criminals, and grungy followers destroying our city.
Let’s rewind.
Friday, June 10, 2011. The Canucks of Vancouver win 1-0 against the Bruins of Boston. Game 5 of the Stanley Cup. Two days closer to celebration. The game was tight, the game was strong. Around 100,000 fans reunited downtown to watch the game on the big screens. And there it is: Max Lappiere scores the first and last goal of the game. Notching his team to within one win of the Cup. Evoking joy and sanity in the city. When the period ends with a third-game win for our team, the crowd disconnected from the ground, jumping and bouncing around from happiness and excitement. Not only flags were flying high, but also smiles and high fives! My hand couldn’t get tired of clapping people’s flat palms. My cheeks were holding my smile up high. Celebrations went on and on. It was a good night, yes, a good night.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011. The Canucks of Vancouver lost 4-0 against the Bruins of Boston. Game 7. The Stanley Cup. I rushed my way down to the city to embrace one more time the energy of the crowd. Yes, I was hoping for another win. Perhaps I was selfish or too positive. But I felt that we could do this, this time. The sun was warm, the fans were ready. I squeezed my way amongst old and young Canucks for a place to glimpse. The game was hard to see. I mean, there were so many people in front of me… But seriously, it was hard to see. The last minutes of it were the most painful. I mean, bottles and shoes were thrown at the big screen until it broke. We couldn’t see the end, only could we imagine. It could’ve stopped right there. We knew our defeat and so be it.
We arrived second, didn’t we? Isn’t this enough for us, Canucks? Yes, it was. But for an incomprehensible percentage of idiots, calling a riot in our beautiful streets seemed the plan for the night. After the main screen broke, a car got flipped, then burned. Black smoke ruined the air and rioters got hit by the flame; hit by the flame of destruction and mayhem. Cocktail bombs were thrown to the ground, and glass bottles were propelled in the air. Reactions arose amongst the crowd: fires, fights, screams, vomits, loots, blood. The perfect recipe for a nightmare in beautiful BC.
Currents of hundreds of fans were crashing one way, then the other. At some point, following the pod, I had no idea if I was running away from something, or running after something. The city was turned into a massive ocean infested with crazy Canucks.
Fools were jumping on cars set on fire, while others were looting stores and breaking windows. Some were shooting cocktail bombs at cops, while others were smashing residents’ vehicles. Aren’t we in 2011 where the invention of such things like iPhone and social media offer direct online information? Yes, fools. You are all fools to think you will be able to run away safely from your mess.
I feel angry. I feel sad. I feel scared. But somehow, I am standing in the middle of this civil disorder. Call it excitement, call it curiosity, I feel ashamed, but I wanted/needed to be there and capture the moment, from my own eyes. And let me tell you: it was absolutely insane.
After the army of police lined up with their mounted team and announced their advancement in the square to disperse the crowd, I decided it was time to leave. I snapped some more pictures and we left the scene on our motorcycle, dodging flying items as we rode through the chaos and managing to make our way through the police line. When I thought I was getting away from all this commotion, it didn’t take too long for me to realize that the riot had already spread to all the nearby streets. The parking garages were filled with people vandalizing cars. An old man collecting money at the entrance of the garage was forced out of his booth after the window was smashed. Rocks and glass were being thrown, and people were getting injured. There was blood everywhere. Two young men with bandanas covering their faces robbed a private boutique, stealing mannequins and clothing, then rushed past me while running. A 10-year-old kid hit an advertisement lightbox with a hockey stick, breaking the glass and gleefully replaying the hit. What the hell happened to our citizens? Damn. That’s it. I’d had enough.
Whistler Exposed
Whistler is a four-season resort destination located in the Southern Pacific Ranges of The Coast Mountains, and only a short drive from one of Canada’s largest cities, Vancouver. Its two adjacent mountains surrounded by ancient glaciers offer the greatest vertical rise and best terrain variety for skiing and snowboarding in all of North America. This young century-old town is a not only ‘a place of scenic wonders’,but also a region with a rich history and cultural background.
Originally known as London Mountain, Whistler was found by British explorers in the 1880’s. Its convenient location became a trading route attracting trappers and prospectors, such as John Millar and Henry ‘Harry’ Horstman. In the early 20th century, during a trip to the city to sell fur, Millar influenced Alex Philips to come experience fishing up north. With his wife Myrtle, the Phillips made the three-day trip to the valley. Inspired by their surroundings, they fell in love with the place and decided it would be the perfect location to realize their dream: To open a fishing lodge. They bought 10 acres of land and started to build cabins. With the help of the Tapley’s family, the Rainbow Lodge was completed in 1914. The Pacific Great Easter Railway also reached Alta Lake that year, making the area more accessible, with only one day travelling time from the city. With easier access, renowned hospitality, perfect setting, andexcellent fishing, the Rainbow Lodge became the most popular tourist resort of the 1920’s. Their work inspired others and new lodges opened throughout the valley in the 1950’s.
In 1965, Whistler officially found its name from the sound of Hoary Marmots. The village of Creekside was built that same year with a narrow gravel road and a few hydro lines. Then came the first lifts. In 1966, a new era in Canadian skiing was born in with the opening of Whistler Mountain.
An emerging ski-bum culture arose throughout the 1960’s and 1970’s attracting youthful, fun-seekers and free-spirited individuals. With nowhere else to stay, ski bums occupied empty buildings, or squatted on crown land.
The iconic picture of Toad Hall reminds us of this era, showing bare-bummed Whistler skiers posing outside the squat from which they were getting evicted. 
Whistler Village became a municipality in 1976 when the garbage dump was changed into a tourist village. And when Intrawest bought and merged Whistler and Blackcomb mountains, also operating a mountain bike park during the summer, the resort of Whistler/Blackcomb became a year-round global attraction. 
In 2003, when the resort won the bid of hosting the 2010 Olympic Games, a 50 year dream was realized.
The construction of the remarkable Peak to Peak gondola connecting both mountains peaks followed in 2008. 
In just a few decades, Whistler has grown from a little sleepy fishing village to a word-class, year-round resort destination attracting over 2 millions visitors each year. Nowadays, many establishments, mountain runs, and parks hold the names of the dreamers that built the town. Places such as the Horstman Hut, Tapley’s Pub, Millar’s Creek, and the Phillips cabins at Rainbow Lake commemorate the work and achievement of such visionary pioneers. The five Olympic rings standing,in the now called Ceremony Plaza in the village,remind us of another dream that came true. Once in a while, a bare-naked skier might be seen running through the cobble-stoned streets of the village, reminiscent of the town’s humble and free spirited beginnings. 
For more information about the beginnings of Whistler, visit:
Note: This post was written for a researching assignment with MatadorU. Images were taken from the Internet.
Footloose Diary 