After mutterings of an approaching ‘snow
storm’, the rumours materialised and last week the world of Carleton and Ottawa
was buried overnight. So a foot of snow
here isn’t exactly much (only the beginning, they all say. Just wait for the freezing rain) but at home it would be the most
we would get in a year and even then it would be gone in a week (its staying
strong here and I feel like I’m not going to see any colour other than white
and grey for ever. Green grass? What even
is that...). If England had been hit by
what we’ve had over here, there would be chaos.
A similar amount fell at home a few years ago and the world seemed to stop
turning (prevented from returning home for a good three days sums up how well
England can deal with any kind of weather other than fifteen degrees and
drizzling rain). Here however, life
continues as normal; except everyone is now wearing real sexy winter boots and
is bundled up in massive coats with woolly hats (or a toque as they say out
here) worn everywhere, even in lectures and in the caf. Necessary indeed.
No dramatic falls (yet) but some rather
close calls and unexpected steps into snow about three times deeper than
expected (cue frozen numb ankles and pretending in front of the mass of people
waiting for the bus that I totally meant to do that, whilst trying to scoop the
snow out of my boot and basically crying inside - frozen tears of course.)
To fully appreciate this arrival of
winter my weekend was filled with snow-related activities. Saturday had me hiking through Thousand
Islands National Park for the day. Was a
casual minus twenty degrees. It actually
wasn’t too bad until you stopped (and even then we had a spontaneous fire
started. As you do) Indeed, the journey
there was actually colder on a rickety school bus with metal sides...not ideal
having the window seat. But overall, a nice
little excursion out of the grey jungle that is Carleton.
Sunday meant first ski of the season.
And I’m still alive! Excellent (and
surprising) stuff. I thankfully hadn’t
forgotten what I had learnt earlier this year and it even took until my third
run to actually fall over. Achievement. No catastrophic disasters either other than having
a 5 year old boy ask if I was okay when I’d fallen over. Less than half my height, a quarter my age
and ten times as good as me. Great. The ski
resort we go to is Mont Tremblant in Québec and it is as picturesque as you can
get. Cute little fairy lights everywhere,
beaver tail cafes and cosy bars means that skiing is not going to be the only
entertainment when we go (Après Ski anyone?). Anyway, the plan is now to go most weekends if possible to make the most of my ski pass and kit. Might actually get to an acceptable level by the end of the year out here...
Final week of assignments then just exam
period for the next two weeks. Oh
joys. My advent calendar sent from home –
thanks parents – has the combined role of counting down to Christmas and my
flight home (the excitement over receiving an advent calendar will never
diminish no matter how old one gets, particularly when it has survived its
journey across the Atlantic). Until then,
essays, exams but with more skiing and internationals Secret Santa to look
forward to.
