The view from here

As I mentioned previously, today I added The Chief’s First Peak to the list of places I’ve been. It was a lovely day with the views absolutely stunning.

I only hope the many climbers on the Chief’s famous faces were being appropriately careful in their enjoyment, and were well supplied with sun screen and lip balm. The iPod’s ability to dynamically build this image as I wafted it unceremoniously in the air is nothing short of amazing. Kudos Apple (and people who know me will agree that that is not something I lightly offer to The Dark Empire).

Click on the image to see a bigger version. The wiggly road to the left is the Sea to Sky highway, linking Vancouver to the left and Whistler to the right.

View from Stawamus Chief, Squamish, BC

Ben Canales – Crater Lake

Couple of years old now, but simply stunning.

Glad to see he dug a small “cold well” at the entrance to his tent.

ben canales – Search Results – Intelligent Travel.

Of Death Star and Doncaster

So we all trekked off to the Auto Show on Friday. Quite a pleasant day out. We then went to the Bellaggio Café for lunch, opposite Canada Place in Vancouver. Near the Giant Blue Sperm. (It’s Art. It’s also German. Just sayin’…)

I have to say that the food was pretty good. The spelling though?! Interesting at the very least. It’s no connection at all with Bellagio (one g) in Las Vegas. There were no fountains or Dale Chihuly glass art.

Now I’m a big fan of Eddie Izzard‘s work. Mainly his stand-up, but also his straight acting. Up there with the best bits though is “Darth Vader in the Death Star canteen”. So famous in fact that it has been done in Lego and re-enacted word perfect by pre-pubescent boys a thousand times on YouTube. If by some fate of nature you’ve made it through life thus far without having seen it, try this video. If you’re well aware of Jeff, Sir Lord Vader of Cheam, then read on. Or eat cake. Your choice.

Now, I’d never actually heard of Penne Arrabbiata prior to Eddie Izzard, and I’ve never seen it on a menu. I thought it was one of those made up names. I once tried ordering the popular-in-Canada Alfredo sauce with my pasta on a trip to Northern Italy to howls of laughter and questions as to who in the name of all that is edible was this Alfredo chap?! Same with Latte – unknown in small town Italy.

Imagine my surprise then to see Penne Arrabbiata on the menu in Bellaggio’s. I opted in the end to share a proper Italian-style pizza (less crust than topping, unlike typical North American 2″ deep doughy monstrosities) with Mrs E., so can’t attest to the quality of the Arrabbiata sauce. Nor, I’m afraid can I attest to what a chocolate mouse tastes like. Even if serverd with ice-cream. Look carefully at Royal Chocolate in the photo…

Chocolate rodents on the menu at Bellaggio Café

Our waitress was very attentive but unfortunately it was other staff who delivered the actual orders. These others seemed to think it odd that we might want side plates in order to share our chicken wings, or regular plates off which to eat our pizzas. On the first attempt we were given teacup saucers!
The actual waitress, as I mentioned, was very attentive though. She was also English. Better – she was from Yorkshire. I know this because she told me so. Years ago, a French Canadian once told me that one need never ask if someone was from Yorkshire, as they’ll have already told you. C’est vrai! She’d married a bloke from Leeds it seems.

Over the space of our lunch we both politely circled around and determined our origins. I’d been in Canada 12 years, she 4. I was from “near Bradford” (in galactic terms at least – actually Silsden), she “from Doncaster”. My sister was born in Doncaster. Later, I said I’d spent my first 4 years in a village called Skellow, but couldn’t recall how close to Donny it actually was. It’s a suburb, she said. It’s where she’s really from! We agreed it was indeed a small world, and went our separate ways.

I just checked on Google Maps at what the old street looks like now. The one I spent my first four years on. Learning not to eat Play-Doh, alongside other life lessons. Watching the Vietnam war on black and white TV.  The old house is still there – and yes: that’s the A1 in spitting distance over the road. The Great North Road built by the Romans, and used ever since for moving untold volumes of goods North/South in England. “Go play in the fast lane of the A1″ was a common repost when I was at school in later years. It really was incredibly possible…

Source: Google Maps – Where QE spent his very early years

And so the wheel turns

What a lovely weekend so far! Highs of 17, despite a cool start.

It was Good Friday. (It’s good any day, in my book…) Mrs E and I took our two remaining offspring and their friends to the Vancouver International Auto Show. Don’t worry – First Born is away at University, she’s not met a gruesome end or anything.

The last time I went to a motor show, it was at the massive National Exhibition Centre in the UK’s Birmingham. Maybe it’s because I was only about 13, but I remember it as being humongous! A whole day to even begin to scratch the surface. There were lorries and fire engines and all manner of things. Not just cars.

Vancouver Auto Show was a much more leisurely affair despite claiming to be Canada’s third largest. (Perhaps the fourth largest is some pub car-park). We got there good and early, safe in the knowledge that Vancouver doesn’t really rise until early afternoon. We spent about 2½ hours there in all… and saw everything. It was just the one large room. The crowds were only just arriving as we left. It didn’t close until 10pm, so I felt a little sorry for the floor staff. A very long day… especially on a Bank Holiday!

Mrs E had gone to scout out a replacement for our aging Honda Pilot. Now the kidlings are moving on to their own things we don’t need such a bus any more, and she delighted in sitting in the driver’s seat of various more sensibly sized offerings from Subaru, VW, Honda and Mazda. Oh – and Mercedes, Audi and BMW… just because she could. It really was a very pleasant couple of hours. No sales pressure at all. Most weird! It was slightly bizarre that all the gear knobs were missing from the manual cars. I couldn’t decide if they had been stolen, or removed to prevent them being stolen. I suppose I could have asked. The staff might have enjoyed the distraction.

I entered every competition I could, and managed to get a sly chuckle from the young lady at the ICBC stand. She was a bit of a hipster with large framed glasses with no lenses. Along with a couple of other folk I’d encountered at other stands, she was bemoaning the temperamental behaviour of the tethered iPads being used for data entry. “Be patient – it’s an iPad” seemed to be all that was needed to explain things. I has pressing, she was pressing, she was holding my finger to press. All to no avail. In the end, I tried my bestest “finger-tip caress”. The word “caress” seemed to cause her fits of giggles. But it didn’t work either. In the end, we found that if you sneaked up on the iPad and pressed the on-screen button when it wasn’t looking, it seemed to work OK. And no – I didn’t get her phone number. Number 3 offspring was there watching.

Chevrolet had a couple of concept cars on show, and were asking people to vote on them. I asked the young lady what it was all about and she explained that they were testing market reception to the Code 130R and Tru140S in Toronto. My face caused her to think, and then she blurted “I mean Vancouver”. Chevrolet claim Vancouver was their Canadian debut for the concept cars so I can only think she herself was the Torontonian. The show runs 10am to 10pm and was already a few days old. I’ve staffed trade shows. I know the evenings can be, er, fluid. I suspect she was just tired. Very tired.

One of the first booths we went to was Fiat. The cinquecento (500 to you) looks very familiar to my European eye, though I wait to see how resilient the famously rustable Italian bodywork proves on the Wet (sic) Coast. I did happen to notice that the booth manager had done their job well, and the “500″ logo was parallel with the floor on all four wheel hubs. A little detail to be sure, but just helped to show that care had been taken.

The highlight for me of course were the “super cars”, or “exotics” as they were being billed.  (Believe it or not – I know next to nothing about cars. Or sport. Or the finer points of beer. My manhood has been called into question on more than one occasion due to these facts). There was the Jaguar F-type; the Aston Martin Vanquish; Lotus Evora; Lamborghini Gallardo; some Maserati or other (not that big on them); ditto some Ferrari (red of course)… but then, oh – delight! The McLarens. A brace of MP4-12Cs. One in red, one in a lovely shade of grey.

The Aston Martin was modelled in “Silver – Skyfall Silver”. With obsidian black and spicy red interior.

But the wheels! The wheels were all over the place on the “exotic” cars!

It was as if to say “Look, if you’re paying $15k for a Fiat, we’ll put some effort in and make the car look the best it can. If you’re willing to pay $300k for the McLaren though… Come on… who care’s if it even has wheels?!”

They have a point, perhaps.

Jaguar F-Type roadster. Cougars beware.

Purrr. This big cat’s made to play fast.

Aston Martin Vanquish in Skyfall Silver.

Ferrari wheel – not a Fiat. Not presented horizontally. You care? Who the hell are you?

Some Maserati wheel – randomly stopped

Lotus Evora. Toyota 3.5litre V6 inside.

Lotus position. Evora. The red in the background is some cheap Ferrari. :)

Hey – stop looking at my rear end!

Lamborghini started making tractors and heavy equipment. It’s why most of their cars are yellow. They got the paint in bulk. ;)

Please Mrs E? Can I take it home? I promise to exercise it every day…

Suck it up, buttercup

The closest I’ll ever get to one

Go on – you know you want one.

If you’re going to put a lid on it. Make it a lovely one

All engine. All the time

Just so you know

Wings over Vancouver

Does my rear end look big?

Rear grill

Details, details

Grey, but not boring

A red light area

A dash of McLaren

Rolls Royce. Or a tank? Came with “night vision”!

Yup 6.3litre engine in that sucker. If you’re concerned about fuel bills this is not the car for you. SLS AMG GT Roadster. FYI!

Those awfully efficient German Audis all in a row.

The Innovation Centre – jetted steam/dry ice was used as a “screen” to project on. a laser detected where you pressed.

On Jaffa Cakes and Socks

Second born came home the other day. She’d been on a school band trip to the UK and France. By all accounts it was a bit disappointing. They spent most of their time there travelling between places rather than actually at places. It culminated in a couple of hours free time to go shopping in Paris.

On a Sunday morning.

Paris, you’ll recall is in France – a nominally Catholic country.

Though shops in La Défence were indeed open… they were ejected from the coach nowhere near there, and therefore were condemned to wander the streets of Paris sans distraction! Still – she brought home most of the Euros I’d given her.

They’d previously spent an entire day going to/from Chartres. Chartres has a cathedral with stained glass windows with a very special blue. It also has… it has… well, it has a cathedral. (These were PNW teenagers remember, not culture vultures who think centuries old stained glass and the science of colour is quite interesting really.)

Source: Wikipedia – Chartres Blue

At least when they were in the UK they got to see Stonehenge and Bath. Not Woodhenge though.

You think I’m joking don’t you? Second born did too. I shit you not – there’s a Woodhenge too near Avebury. Kind of the prototype, I suppose. (The post holes are marked with slightly more resilient concrete posts now.)

Wikipedia: Woodhenge marked now by concrete posts

She was very kind in getting everyone presents though, on her return. Mine were beyond awesome. Firstly a box of Jaffa Cakes! I did share a couple today at work to rapturous, if slightly confused reception. Jaffa Cakes are a British delicacy made by McVitie’s the biscuit company. Oddly, in Canada there’s a French pretender sold by the LU biscuit company, known as Pim’s Orange.

I found this picture of Jaffa Cakes on a web site called “Tea & Sympathy” a very English phrase – despite it being a New York site.

Source: Tea & Sympathy. Jaffa Cakes

There I also found the following delightful quotes:

“An Englishman, even if he is alone, forms an orderly queue of 1.” – George Mikes
“Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room with a tea cozy, doesn’t try it on.” – Billy Connolly
“The British have an umbilical cord which has never been cut and through which tea flows constantly.” – Marlene Dietrich

I also found a good image of the French pretender on Amazon, for comparison. One can’t deny it’s a little more polished. More refined. Chic. In a word – French.

Source: Amazon – LU Pim’s Orange

But that was not all. No – far from it! She also fed my obsession for socks. The more weird and wacky the better. Slowly, slowly my preference is being met in BC, but it’s been a long time coming, and needs regular supplementation from Europe. To date it’s mainly via H&M which is a Swedish company and somehow manages to get around the “boring sock” mandate so rigidly enforced in the North American market. That unwritten rule ensures that most North American men wear only black, grey or Darwin-forbid: white socks. The more daring might go as far as brown, but that’s your lot! I can’t help but feel the market here must surely be ready for socks of more than one colour! Or indeed a colour! I am not averse to wearing neon orange or lime green, if only I could find them! (I used to own a pair of each bought in Germany 8 years ago. Falke was the brand. Their subsequent demise was a low point in my life).

Source: Falke – Helio

Source: Falke – Absinthe

She brought me two pairs of quite jaunty socks from TOPMAN in the UK. Bless her.

Source: TOPMAN – Aztec and Stripe Socks

Source: TOPMAN – Geo Fox Socks

Customer Service

I rang my folks yesterday (Sunday).  My dad answered. We don’t speak that often these days. Father/son/alpha-male kind of thing I suppose. My parents still live in the house I grew up in. They moved there when I was 4 years old. Silsden still had cobbled streets back then. It’s been a while since I was 4 years old…

Source: Random Thoughts from the life of a Random Thinker

The conversation subjects were quite diverse, which was pleasant. As I said – we don’t talk often, and usually if it’s he who answers the phone I am promptly passed to “yamum”. I gather the mater wasn’t in, as he kept talking at length. At last I brought the subject around to their recent holiday trip up the Norwegian coast in search of The Northern Lights. They’d originally planned to see the lights off the coast of Alaska, and stop in to see our little outpost on the way. I guess Norway was significantly closer in the final analysis.

My dad recounted a tale of one fellow passenger who was loudly demanding his money back for the entire trip since he’d not seen the Aurora Borealis. Ignoring for a second that, as a natural phenomenon, it doesn’t appear on cue for tourists, the phenomenon had in fact been sighted several times during the trip – three by my own dad, and potentially other times in addition. The cruise itinerary makes it perfectly clear that – though likely – a sighting is not guaranteed. Some people…

As they arrived in Norway, they were told by the tour courier that the ship was delayed further North, as there had been heavy storms preventing its progress. They were to fly North to meet it and continue as planned from there. No biggy. They were pampered and enjoyed the transfer reasonably well. My parents were travelling with Titan Travel, and they have greatly enjoyed adventures all over the world with them for no less than 12 years! They recognised the  tour guide from a previous trip to New Zealand, and he asked what adventures they were expecting on this trip. My pater is no spring chicken at 73, but he and mum had pre-paid for 5 day trips along the cruise including such adventures as dog-sledding and snowmobiling. Jealous, or what?!

This then caused a stir because the tour guide only had them on his lists for two of the five trips they were expecting. Obviously a cock-up, but weird they were on some of the lists rather than none/all. The fees had been pre-paid (£1,100 or about $1,700), receipts issued, blah, blah, but no explicit confirmation that they’d been booked on the five trip… and they weren’t.

Now, given that this guy’s sole role on the cruise is to be the contact for his little tour group, he was by all accounts next to useless. After actually uttering the words “what do you expect me to do about it now?” he basically shrugged his shoulders and told my folks they’d have to claim their fees back once they got home. As my dad said to me though – he’s knocking on a bit, and the chances of him having an opportunity to go dog-sledding or snowmobiling ever again are slim to nil. He was sure to tell me that they did enjoy the cruise itself, but obviously were left at a bit of a loss on three days they’d expected to be “living large”.

Not a great customer service win there, Titan! Mistakes happen, but it’s how you deal with them that matters.

One of the reasons I’d called though was that the other Sunday was Mothers Day in the UK. There, it’s all part of the spring festival vibe, daffodils being sent home with kids in their droves, that sort of thing. I’d arranged a small package from Betty’s of Harrogate, and both Betty’s and the Royal Mail had sent me a steady stream of (no doubt automated, but never-the-less…) emails telling me my order was confirmed, was ready for shipping, had been shipped, and ultimately had indeed been delivered on the day I requested.

Source: Bettys

As an ex-pat with a mum several thousand miles away, this sort of service (on the few years I remember to invoke it!) is a Darwin-send. I was in no doubt that they’d extracted money (which seemed painless at the time), had kept their side of the bargain and sent something, and ultimately had ensured that it had arrived as agreed. I half expected them to let me know my mum had made her first cup of tea with the contents of the parcel, and report she was refusing to share the biscuits!

A small thing in the end. Just a few highly automated emails. But I felt I’d been kept “in the loop”. So much so I’d use them again. Customer Service. With capital letters!

Fast forward to yesterday (actually – it was he same day. I’m messing with your mind!). Mrs E and I found ourselves in Vancouver visiting the Bloedel Conservatory. My camera greatly enjoyed the outing.

Orchid in Bloedel Conservatory

Regular readers may recall that on Friday the 8th, myself and a couple of colleagues visited Romer’s Burger Bar in SW Burnaby. If not – it’s blogged here. Well it was kinda-sorta on the way home and Mrs E seemed a little peeved I’d been off enjoying myself without her. She was driving, so we made a small detour and headed to Kerr St for tea. It was a pleasant evening, but I’d forgotten (being a Brit!) that it was St. Patrick’s day, and everyone seemed to find it amusing to dress in green and offer lurid drinks to passers by. I don’t expect such exuberance on St. George’s day, unfortunately.

We were seated immediately and ordered our burgers and chips. We went for some fancy chips with garlic and other poncy trimmings. Mrs E’s got a bit of an allergy thing with vinegar and studiously avoids dressings such as mustard. She also dislikes cheese. So, when she selected an impressively meaty option she carefully told the server to skip the Gorgonzola cheese. A few minutes later our appetising burgers arrived, and we were off to the races. Except…

Mrs E is a little more cautious than most, and lifted her burger bun to see… mayonnaise! Her face grimaced and was still holding the pose when the server returned to ask how things were going.

“The menu didn’t say there’d be mayonnaise” was her statement.

True enough, but it’s not exactly a shock to discover it lurking in a North American burger in my experience. (Mine had undisclosed mustard, just for the record). In a heartbeat the server whisked the burger away, promising another – sans sauce.

True to her word, another burger unsullied by dressings was delivered, and she said the manager “had taken care of the fries” because of the mistake. I protested that there had been no mistake, just a misunderstanding, but to no avail. ‘Twas done. I was so impressed by the attitude, and over-correction of the very minor incident that I didn’t even mention that she’d failed to return my wife’s cutlery, forcing her to eat her burger in a most un-English way!

This was definitely “up there” in positive Customer Service experiences. No push-back or argument from the server – just a rapid resolution. And to get a little off the bill to-boot.  Sure a plate of fries isn’t going to make much difference to their bottom line, but it was the gesture. Deliberately going beyond what was strictly necessary.

Would I go back? Of course! Would I recommend it to others? I think I just did.

Now, if only Titan Travel executives ate there too…

A boom left high and dry until next tide

That’s what happens when you rush a bull

What a goosed pigeon looks like

Sun set on the Fraser

Logs at twilight

Romer’s

Falklands vote will not end dispute

Politics aside and all that… don’t you just love the suit?!

Full story at the Vancouver Sun: Falklands vote will not end dispute.

Vancouver Sun: The suit to end all suits

You’re ‘aving me on!

Are you familiar with the Monty Python “String Sketch”? If you are, the rapidly expanding scope of the proposed TV ad may seem a little familiar as you read on…

OK – The Dolomites. North-Eastern Italy. Rugged, beautiful scenery. Good place for Adidas to shoot a couple of young people in their sports clothing out “doing stuff” in the great outdoors. But we need something more…

No not Archbishop Makarios, how about uni-cycling?

Not enough? Then extreme uni-cycling! (Like there’s some layman’s form for the general public?!)

Watch Stephanie Dietze and Lutz Eichholz “extreme uni-cycling” down a tretcherous mountain path in the Dolomites.

I shit you not…

The sound-track is German, but if you’re not a polyglot, don’t worry. Believe me – it’s a visual treat!

Extreme Mountain Unicycling – YouTube.

Lunch by the Fraser

Last weekend and much of this week has been cool and wet in Greater Vancouver. Friday though… oh, Friday was a lovely sunny day!

Mischief was in the air and we three Product Managers slipped away for lunch in the sun. We nominally set off for sushi at my suggestion. This was intended to be at one of the local sushi places in Richmond and therefore relatively quick. However my colleague favours a particular establishment near Metrotown in Burnaby – The Shushi Garden. Since he was driving the other two of us were not entirely unwilling prisoners as we headed North over the Fraser on the Knight Street bridge. As we hacked East along Marine heading for Boundary in Burnaby, he suddenly declared “change of plan” and swerved across three lanes of traffic to head South on the steep but short remnants of Kerr as it heads for the Fraser river.

Source: Romer’s/Google Maps

We crossed the rail tracks and pulled up at what looks like a brand new riverside development of townhouses and apartments  There’s a lovely riverside park, a more well established pier, some log booms and… a restaurant. Well, more a burger and pub kind of place, but very nice looking and lots of river-facing glass frontage. Romer’s Burger Bar is the name. Well worth a visit if you’re in the area. Turns out there’s one in Kitsilano and Yaletown too. A “sleeve” of beer (Canadian way of being non too specific about how much is in it – such is the problem of being a British Commonwealth country (20 oz pint) but doing most of your business with the U.S. (16 oz pint)) was about $5, and the burgers ranged from about $10 to $13 depending how fancy you wanted to get. I had a port and Stilton one which was actually one of the cheapest at $10. The chips came extra though and were none-too-cheap. Still, the ones we selected had truffle oil (my favourite cooking oil) and Reggiano, and were very nearly worth the $7.

The building was modern but in keeping with the area. To the right of this publicity shot is a small community centre that seemed to be showing children’s movies in preparation for the upcoming Spring Break.

Source: Romer’s Burger Bar – River District

I’d definitely go again, if only to enjoy the pleasant surroundings – not dissimilar to Fort Langley.

View from the restaurant patio

A port’n'Stilton burger – Romer’s style

Ahi (yellowfin) tuna “as rare as the cook will allow”

View of the pier and a working log boom waiting to be picked up and processed

This marginal area was full of ducks and other wildlife

Evidence of how eager to escape some logs can be.

The sun glinting off the mighty, mighty Fraser

 

A Wet Weekend in Whistler

It will likely come as no surprise to regulars that Mrs E and I were married on the 29th of February. I’d like to claim it was deliberate and planned – especially as it was in 1992, making the date (in the UK at least, where it happened) 29.2.92. However, honesty forces me to admit that it was just the first free Saturday that the registry office had, though I admit the date did amuse me at the time.

I came to expect that I would be “let off” 3 out of 4 years from having to remember the anniversary, though I totally expected to have to amp up the effort every fourth year. No such luck. The fourth year bit is certainly true, but the other three don’t go by unmarked, by any means. There is however a little wriggle-room in the date. Sometimes the 28th of February, sometimes the 1st of March. Sometimes the nearest weekend. That at least gives me a couple of options to save face, if I forget.

This year, it was “nearest weekend”, and we opted for our old favourite The Chateau Hotel in Whistler. We’d first been about a decade ago, when we won a couple of nights in a Scout raffle draw, and fell in love with the place. It’s 4.5 stars, and they really do treat you very well. This year, I managed to find a pretty sweet deal for half price, and the stage was set.

Enter – El Niño, or “The Pineapple Express” as it’s know here in the Lower Mainland. Basically this has dumped an unholy amount of water on the Lower Mainland (100mm in just 36 hours – that’s 4″ if you live in Liberia, Burma or the US - incidentally, did you know the US sanctioned “going metric” in 1866? Just never got around to it, I guess!), while simultaneously raising the temperature several degrees. The North Shore mountains were all closed late last week due to avalanche danger, and the Friday night drive up the beautiful Sea to Sky highway to Whistler was a blur of dark shadows, nasty puddles suddenly pulling on the steering wheel and lashing rain on the windscreen. Frankly, it was a relief to make it to the hotel in one piece and be able to sit down and relax.

And relax we did. With a little help from the Widow Cliquot, whose acquaintance I firmly encourage if you have a celebration or are just looking for an excuse for a pleasant (if not inexpensive) tipple.

Saturday was a complete wash-out, and even our little foray into the lower village resulted in soggy socks. I took no shame in stuffing mine into the outlet vent of the air conditioning unit, and cranking it up to 30 degrees. They emerged a few minutes later lovely, dry and warm… if a little crispy. We undertook a little exercise in the gym, which had huge picture windows overlooking the hot tubs outside. These were like a scene from a Victorian bordello… with bikinis. I can’t remember the last time I have seen such a density of near-naked female flesh. Well, not since college anyway. There were a few blokes present, to be sure. They seemed to fulfill a dual role of (i) the excuse for the boarding/skiing gels to strip off in the first place and (ii) paying for the non-stop alcohol being consumed from plastic glasses. No matter to me – it was more entertaining than the bewildering North American sports showing on the array of TVs in the gym. After more than a decade here, I’ve almost got the hang of Ice Hockey (here just called “hockey” to confuse anyone expecting that to include a ball and a field of grass), but rounders (er – I mean “baseball”) and basketball leave me in a complete daze. I mean, what’s wrong with a proper sport… like F1?!  :)

After showering and making ourselves look vaguely presentable (something Mrs E is always much better at than I), we were delighted to see the rains had finally given up, and there was even a hint of blue sky. As night fell, we trotted off into town again, with only a vague lingering dampness in the general toe area. We’d heard great things of a restaurant called “Ric’s Grill”, and finally tracked it down in the Crystal Lodge.

If you are in Whistler, I’d like to recommend Ric’s Grill. Unfortunately, I can’t. It was possibly the most appalling restaurant experience I’ve ever had in Canada. (Though I haven’t eaten in McDonald’s on a general point of principle). It was a little busy when we turned up, sans reservation. We were greeted very warmly, and politely told there was likely a 30 minute wait. No biggie, and we were totally fine with that. The very pleasant (Australian – as most service staff tend to be in Canada’s ski resorts) greeter then offered us an immediate seat in the lounge/bar, if we’d prefer not to wait. Done! We were in.

Our server was equally pleasant and took drinks orders which arrived reasonably promptly (the bar was all of 2m away!) and on her return, took our meal order. Starters arrived a few minutes later and a convivial evening looked set to ensue. Fast forward ALMOST AN HOUR and we were literally standing up to leave in disgust when our main courses arrived. The server had walked past us several times while studiously avoiding eye contact, apology or assurances. I think we were asked once if we wanted more drinks early on in the proceedings, and that was it.

Having heard, as I mentioned, good things about Ric and his grill, I was now expecting a steak that was not merely awesome, but was strutting its stuff on the red carpet and surrounded by paparazzi. Well – to be fair, it wasn’t bad. It was quite tasty really. But it was just like any number of steaks I’ve eaten at Cactus Club, Earls or Milestones. All chains, all expected to be “pretty good” for a vaguely (but not too) posh-ish night out.

Prior to writing this blog entry, I even went as far as tracking down their website and formally complaining.  Now, this might not sound like a big thing, until you remember that I was born English. The English “complain” about bad food and service not by yelling, or even quietly complaining to the server (it is rarely their fault in fact). Not even by tipping badly (again – you impact the one person least likely to be able to do anything about it). No, we Brits simply never go there again. But now I’m trying to be more Canadian. I have a blue passport and everything. So I wrote at length and in detail… about why I’m not going there again.

The waitress gamely offered us a dessert menu, but I felt my life was too short for any potential delay, and so we left to deal with some unfinished business with a French widow we’d left in the fridge.

This morning brought the much-anticipated sunshine, post El Niño, and we drove the 10 minutes or so down to Callaghan Valley where we went snowshoeing. It was a perfect day for it. The status board claimed -2 degrees, and it was lovely and bright sunshine. The snow conditions weren’t too bad, despite all the previous rain, though occasionally I sank unexpectedly when the crust gave way to my not inconsiderable weight.

We did a black route to warm up, and it took us to the Alexander Falls which were looking a little turbid as they ejected all the previous day’s rain over the 43m cliff. Realising I’d forgotten to fill the water bottle I’d so proudly remembered to bring from home, we then opted to head for the Lodge, which is at the other parking location in the Callaghan Valley complex. It’s about a 40 minute trek… and we were rewarded by cups of tea and a place to fill our water bottle for the return trip. (No – we never did drink any of it, before you ask.)

The Lodge was peopled by young families (the rental place does these neat little covered sledges you can pull your kids around the Nordic routes in), and bean-poles trying to pass themselves off as people. It really was quite remarkable to see that the vast majority of Nordic skiers were female and as wiry as anything. I wonder what it is that skews the demographics so much. The other thing of note was how many of the aforementioned ladies felt it necessary to perform stretches and various yoga poses whilst the rest of us were trying to concentrate on our Earl Grey! Perhaps they were just trying to get their value from the stretchy clothes they all seemed to wear. You could tell the snowshoers (and there weren’t many today, at all) – we weren’t wearing Lycra. Well – Mrs E was, now I think about it… perhaps it’s just me!

Fizzy pop

Saturday afternoon. A lull in the liquid sunshine…

And then the clouds parted.

The covered bridge at night.

Glorious sun

Alexander Falls

Alexander Falls

Light in the trees

Away from the falls

View from the Lodge

Moss corn dog?

View from one of the bridges in Callaghan Valley