Pow--Not just for knocking people out in cartoons.

There are a lot of words that I have learned since coming here. They fall into two categories: embarrassing and words for the Cambridge English Test. Let's start with the first category. Anyone who has lived in/near a ski resort or has ever chanced to sit in a gondola with four young Australian snowboarders might have come across the word "pow." Short for powder, and usually paired with "sick", (as in "it was the sickest pow I ever saw mate,") this is a well used word in Whistler, because of its heavy coastal precipitation and consequently pow making abilities. The next word, which is promoted in numerous publicity campaigns by the Whistler Blackcomb corporation, possibly to show a chummy, we-know-what-you're-all-about relationship to its mainly young, Australian employees, is the verb "to shred." Shredding is almost synonomous to skiing or boarding, but not quite, cuz when you are skiing or boarding you might be doing it awesomely or unawesomely, the nuance is left open to interpretation. Not so with shredding--when you shred, you are doing some fucking awesome skiing or boarding, dude.

"I work safe cuz there is so much shredding to do."
Whistler Blackcomb poster, in the lodge staff room.

I'm missing umpteen other exceptionally cool words for riding up a large rock on a lift and then getting back down on variously shaped pieces of wood and metal. But I've had my ears and eyes full of teaching English to eight Swiss guys who are studying for a Cambridge English test. Their favorite words in English are either "Fuck" or "you're useless," both of which they say with giggly enthusiasm. The more scholarly words we have been reviewing (and honestly, some of which I have been learning for the first time) will have to wait for another time.

Today though, there were blue skies. Fresh snow had fallen on the previous day's fresh snow. It was sick dude, all that fresh pow. And I don't mean I skied sort of awesome--I shredded it.

West Coast Canada Represent or Mountains Mountains Mountains

2011 was a travel year. After a bike trip through Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia-Hercegovinia, Montenegro, and Albania, we hopped to England, then the United States and finally to Canada. Our trip across the United States was like a never ending movie reel--Vibrant Vermont colors, rain soaked Great Lakes towns, armpit strip malls in Illinois, beige frozen fields from Minnesota through South Dakota, the deep Bad lands and the endless bill boards for road side attractions. We were quieted by the yellow and brown emptiness that was Wyoming and tramped through Yellow Stone National Park (stopped for a glimpse of those coughing geysers). Then flew across the highway in Montana, catching a glimpse of Idaho as we quickly descended into the dry prairie of Eastern Washington state, and then were sucked quickly into the rain and gaping temperate rain forests of the coastal mountains. Whew. By the time we reached Whistler, BC, our destination, my brain was spinning with pictures.

East Coast Americans aren't too sure what Whistler is. Many have some dim memory of possible Olympic Games. You can be sure that they've never heard of Pemberton, BC, the town next door with a history of farming, horses and gold. Pemberton is where we settled--due to cheaper rental prices, and a good 25 minutes respite from the resort mania that Whistler generates--and on clear days, snow streaked Mount Currie towers over us from 2,591 meters or 8,501 feet. (On other days, it is entirely enveloped by fog). The area was first settled by the Salish tribe of First Nations people, and now the neighboring town of Mt. Currie serves as the administrative seat of the Lil'Wat Nation. It was settled later by pioneers who were not-the-faint-of-heart. For a long time, you had to take a ferry from Vancouver to Squamish, and then travel by rutted dirt road up over the mountains and into the Pemberton Valley. Now, after a revamped highway due to the 2010 Olympics, Vancouver is a 2.5 hour car trip away. Because of its proximity to the Whistler Blackcomb ski mountain, Pemberton is one of the fastest growing communities in BC, though it lies in a low valley susceptible to floods. Here there are a few interesting juxtapositions--old farms with white fences stretching along the river bed and new condos built in a "frontier style." There are hunters and fishers and potato farmers living next to Whistler marketing managers, writers, artists and moms who jog with SUV strollers. The scenery is stunning.

Mile One Lake

Top of Whistler Mountain

Postcard from Olomouc

Jen and I took the train to Olomouc . Olomouc is a small city tucked into Northern Moravia in the Czech Republic, and it boasts two main squares, a Socialist themed Astronomical clock and a very large Holy Trinity Column which in part celebrates the end of the Plague. It also houses the densest number of university students in Central Europe, including a Theology Faculty at the Palacký University of Olomouc. We saw many young men in black robes roaming the streets before and after Sunday Mass. Church spires gleamed brilliantly in the cold, spring sun, and their bells pierced the air.
(March 2011)

Belgrade

From Podgorice, we took a night bus to Belgrade. Arrived at 5am, and wandered like ghosts until the bakery opened. Saw this graffiti on a street in the center. "Smrt" means "death". Dunno about the cyrilics, anyone?

Leaving Albania and heading North

What else would you rather do than cycle in mid-August at one pm in Albania on a highway that is being completely reconstructed? Nothing!

We said farewell to our friends in Tirana, young and old, and took a bus to Skodra, at the side of Lake Skodra. All attempts to find another bus to take us to the capital of Montenegro, Podgorice, failed. The road it turned out, was bad. Not bad, one taxi driver told us, very bad. We bought gyros at a fast food shop, and a guy eating pizza started chatting with us. Turned out he had lived in Michigan for six years. "You're going to cycle on that road?" He raised his eyebrows. "I just drove on it, it's terrible."

Lacking another choice, we went for it. The only positive part of the experience was that no one drove fast, as the gravel, dirt and rocks prohibited it. Giant trucks passed us constantly, and our mouths, nose and ears filled up with dust. The heat beat down. We passed an old bunker that had been refashioned into a tattoo studio. We finally reached the border with Montenegro, saw the lake again, and headed for the city.