Happy Holidays! Skiing In The New Year

A mere 130 kilometres north of Montréal lies Mont Tremblant, "Eastern North America's Premier Ski Resort" and a destination Johnny had been drooling over ever since landing in gorgeously snow-covered Canada. The Twixmas-New Year period is Mont Tremblant's most popular time, and it had been tricky and expensive to book a couple of nights over the 2008-09 join, so we had very high expectations.

The drive up from Montréal was both ridiculously easy and gorgeous, with stunning wood cabins sitting in picture-perfect glades of snow-frosted pine and fir trees:


Driver Johnny had expected some twisting mountain roads but they never eventuated - we were now so far north that no altitude is necessary to guarantee good snow. We drove past several other resorts where slopes were so close to the road that the skiers actually passed under the highway in a tunnel!

After only a couple of gentle hours we had arrived in a wonderland. The entire resort village has been constructed to look like the perfect European alpine township, and the effect is very convincing. Yes it's fake, and most of the buildings were all built by the same company at exactly the same time (about 5 years ago), but it sure is perdy:

A major advantage of staying at a resort where the one company owns almost everything, is the level of connectedness everything has. When we checked in, we were handed our lift tickets, and later that evening, a lovely guy from the ski rental shop called in to fit us for our gear. The next morning, our equipment was magically waiting for us in our locker in the changing rooms. Slick.

Of course all of it would come to nothing if the skiing was rubbish, and Johnny was nervous that the slopes would be choked with most of Eastern North America. The reality was, this puny 850m pimple-on-the-base-of-an-Alp had so many trails that for long periods we felt like the only people on the mountain. We never waited more than 30 seconds for a lift, and the snow was deep. And crisp. And eeeeven. Check it out for yourself:


John apologises to the snowboard police for having arms flailing everywhere - this was a very icy black diamond! (Bec would like it noted that she completed said run several times with some aplomb, albeit at a slightly lower speed).

We love Mont Tremblant and would recommend it to any snow-fans out there, with one proviso. It is cold. Colder than we had ever experienced before. -25° Celsius-plus-significant-windchill cold. Some examples:

• It took 5 minutes to regain any feeling in John's hand after filming the video on the left barehanded.
• Bec was wearing two pairs of gloves and still had painfully cold hands at the summit.
• Johnny had a sliver of earlobe peeking out from under his hat for a couple of hours. Frostnip caused it to swell up to twice its normal size and it hurt for the next week.

But if you can deal with the cold (and all it takes is appropriate clothing), just look at the rewards:




What a perfect place to ski in the new year.

Happy Holidays! Keeping It Réal

After an interminable customs-stop at the Canadian border, we finally rolled into Montréal station - clean, airy, businesslike. A friendly, uniformed porter was helping people with their bags, and was greeting every passenger with a cheery "bienvenue!". It was great to be back in Canada again!

Montréal is the capital of the province of Québec - where French is the official first language - so we both had a strange period of adjustment while we got used to the seemingly-implausible Franco-American mixture:

	The French Like	Americans Like
Housing	City-centre apartments	Large suburban houses
Cars	Small, efficient hatchbacks	Gas-guzzling SUVs and large sedans
Clothes	Elegant, tailored minimalism	Elasticated-waist trousers, logos, bling
Food	Fresh ingredients, rich flavours	Hot dogs, orange cheese

Our first morning in Montréal was spent in a picture-perfect clone of a 1950's American diner - all chrome, posters and booths - but we ordered our pancakes and coffees in French. Mostly. It's quite amazing (and amusing) how quickly everyone can switch from rapidfire, properly-accented French to full American English drawl.

The weather was, frankly, nasty, so we did as the locals do and headed for the souterrain - the network of underground passageways and shopping malls that keeps central Montréal running during the long winter months. It was quite fun seeing how far we could go without setting foot outside, but eventually we had to brave the cold in order to explore the Old Town and Port areas.


As you can see in the picture above, the streets were perilously icy, and on more than one occasion we had to save each other from a painful and embarrassing tumble. Montréalers, on the other hand, are very adept at dealing with icy surfaces, as demonstrated by this multi-tasking mother:


A visit to Montréal is (apparently) not complete without sampling The Smoked Meat at a deli - the most famous of which is (apparently) Reuben's. We didn't really know what we were getting ourselves into when we ordered a couple of classic deli sandwiches - and we're still reeling. The key idea seems to be to cram as much meat between two slices of bread as possible (more than can conceivably fit into any normal mouth), adding mustard and other substances as throat lubricant. Quite a challenge to eat!


Our final mission was to climb the city's namesake - Mount Royal - which rises up behind the city to a dizzying 233 metres (!) What should have been a gentle stroll became quite an adventure however, as the entire park was covered in deep snow and treacherous ice. Most of the staircases resembled frozen waterslides, but we managed to reach the top with no significant damage.


Let's not mention the trip back down the hill...

Happy Holidays! Riding The Rails

Finally it was time to leave both Brandy and the Big Apple and head back up into Canada again. We'd decided to mix it up a bit and take the train to get there. Johnny had been looking forward to this train journey since Andy had first made him aware of The Adirondack; New York to Montréal in ten hours, undoubtedly passing through stunning forested scenes, frosted with snow. Andy's Amtrak catalogue reinforced the picture of scenic, 1950's golden-era elegance, with glossy pictures of Vista-Dome observation cars, uniformed porters and small pockets of well-heeled retirees enjoying their SKI* funds.

The reality, of course, was very different. Despite its noble history as a unifier of a vast nation, American train travel has unfortunately been relegated to, at-best, a third-class mode of travel behind the automobile and the aeroplane.

The dismal experience began at Penn Station, a subterranean maze of dingy, claustrophobic corridors populated by shambling hordes of drunks, the homeless, and the insane. And the occasional horrified European, accustomed to the airy, clean, businesslike style of modern terminals like St. Pancras or the Gare de l'Est. We had arrived with plenty of time to spare - our train hadn't yet been allocated a platform - so we spent a couple of minutes obtaining bagel and coffee supplies. Unfortunately, during that time, the platform was announced, and a truly epic queue had formed at the escalator leading down to the platform.

After a shambolic documentation-check (America still struggles with international formalities, despite sharing the world's longest peaceful border with Canada) we boarded the train, and quickly forgot any notions we'd had about Vista-Dome, Electro-Glide style. The train was clearly insufficiently long for the number of passengers, and the carriage's internal styling was a mixture of the forced intimacy of a Greyhound bus and the porthole windows of an aircraft, reminding all passengers of their exact position in the American travel pecking-order.

Seats on board were in short supply and none could be reserved in advance, resulting in jockeying for position which as unassertive non-Americans, we had no chance of competing with. So the two of us ended up sitting in line-astern, hoping that one of our neighbours would get off at the next stop - they never did.

As an aside which illustrates the blackness of Johnny's mood, here's an excerpt from his original set of blog notes written during the journey:

Hypothetical time: You have a gun with one bullet; which fellow traveller do you shoot, the snoring old lady next door or the eye-wateringly smelly guy in the seat in front?
I'd take the snoring old bat - it'd shut her up, and if the stinky guy was dead he'd only start getting smellier. Hypothetically of course...

The train clattered on through some pretty nice scenery, it must be admitted, but none of our photos really turned out because the windows of the train were so dirty. Pretty symbolic of the whole experience really. America's railways could be, and should be, great. Instead they have been allowed to rot away - what a horrendous waste.

*Spending Kids' Inheritance

Happy Holidays! Niagara Chills

Seeing as Niagara Falls is a mere 120 kilometres from Toronto, we decided to take one of the many coach tours available from downtown to check out this famous spot. A little bit of research had already uncovered that the Maid Of The Mist (the boat which takes you right up to the foot of the waterfall) does not operate in the winter - but it still looked like a good day out, and had been recommended to us as a "must-do" while in Ontario.

First stop was a winery situated on the fertile strip of land between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. Despite the frosty conditions they have to deal with for months each year, they manage to produce many varieties of wine - indeed they have taken advantage of the cold to develop their own unique variety of ice wine, made from frozen grapes. We had a taste and were impressed by the rich sweetness of the flavour.

From the winery we took the road Winston Churchill described as "the prettiest Sunday afternoon drive in the world" - Niagara Parkway - which runs from the cute town of Niagara-on-the-Lake (where Mike and Krista co-incidentally were honeymooning) right up to the Falls. The snowy conditions made everything look pristine, and combined with copious Christmas decorations, even the biggest house (and they were all BIG) looked like a snug little cottage:


Next stop was lunch at a restaurant with a great view of the falls, both the Horseshoe Falls (on the right in our pictures) and the smaller American Falls. We were lucky enough to score a window table, and almost spent more time looking out the window than eating!

After lunch we took to the tunnels drilled into the rock behind the falls. These give you a great feel for the power and sheer quantity of water that launches off the 53m Horseshoe Falls. It also makes you partially deaf!

As you can see, there is a lot of ice around the falls. This is almost entirely due to the constant mist that they produce, which freezes in the cold temperatures. The day of our visit was no exception, with a nearby building telling us that it was -15°C! The mist freezes onto trees, fences, lamp-posts, etc making the whole place look like a winter wonderland!