There's No Place Like Home

Where in the world is KH?

KH is at home. In Australia.

SURPRISE!

I know, I know. I apologise for fooling you. There was only a handful of people in on it and had I made it public to... the public... that would have ruined the big heart-palpitating surprise I had organised for my clueless parents. They had no idea, until I was standing at the front door at 9:30pm last night.

I am not sick or ill or unhappy. In fact, it's quite the opposite. It sounds unbelievable, but I actually reached a point where I felt ready to come home. You can't blame a girl. After 15 months of living out of a suitcase (or three) I started to miss certain things - my fancy summer dresses, my high heels, my books. And you know, my friends and family.

The realisation that maybe I didn't want to move to Vancouver came to me about half way through the summer. I came to realise that if I moved to Vancouver, I would have to set up a life for myself all over again. Find a job, make enough money to support my addictions (to clothes), find a house (preferably where I didn't have to share a room, again), find friends, find hobbies, find a local watering hole. I would have to set up my life all over again, put myself out there, be the fearless ball-buster. And I thought, I could be a fearless ball-buster in Vancouver. Or I could move home to Australia, set up my life again and be a fearless ball-buster in Sydney instead.

And for the first time, the idea of going home didn't rise bile in my throat. It actually sounded, kinda nice. Seeing my friends and family, moving back to Sydney, drinking good coffee, going running on my running track - all the things I loved about living there. But also, implementing all the things I want for myself now, like satisfying this parching thirst I have for making art and music.

So I made one of the biggest decisions I've ever made. I rebooked my flight for September. I came up with a detailed plan for arrival, wherein my best friend was going to pick me up on the Sunday I arrived and then her parents would drive me the two hours home to surprise my parents.

The week leading up to my departure was tough enough - all those ghastly goodbyes I had to make - but by the time I got to Vancouver airport, I felt like I was ready. All I had to do was get on the plane.

Then the plane sprouted a fuel leak.

I was stranded at Vancouver airport until 1am (five hours after my flight was scheduled to leave) when they finally decided that despite the plane no longer leaking fuel, it was not safe to fly (yah think?) and the flight was cancelled. They had organised buses to take us to a hotel, but having a plane-full of people all trying to do the same thing is like being stuck in a perpetual line for a Disneyland ride. By 4:30am I finally climbed into my hotel bed only to wake up at 9am the next morning, feeling like I was suffering the world's worst hangover, and be told that the flight was rescheduled for noon on SUNDAY.

So there I was, stuck in a Vancouver hotel, wobbling between insanity and reality as I tried to work out if this was all a cosmic road sign that I was supposed to stay in Vancouver and not return to Sydney.

But my flight eventually took off, with me in it and after another night's stay in Auckland, I touched down in Brisbane on Thursday morning and into the welcome arms of one of my best friends. I hung out with her for the day and then she put me on a train bound for my home town.

Half way there, the train broke down. They put us on a bus.

Half way home on the bus, a rock flys up from the road and smashes the driver's side window.

They put us on another bus.

I finally make it home where my friend's mum picks me up and we make it to my house without anything going wrong. With more excitement in my stomach than I knew what to do with, I knock on the front door. My dad answers, acknowledges me with a bemused face and next thing my mum is coming down the passageway wailing like a banshee. I'm pretty sure they both thought I was a figment of their imaginations. They're still waiting for me to disappear in a puff of smoke.

But it's not a dream. I am home and my journey, this beautiful adventure that has been the last 15 months of my life is over. It doesn't feel like it though. I feel like this is just another port on my travels and tomorrow, I will pack up all my belongings and head off again.

But this is for real and it's for good, for now at least. I thought I would be scared and bitter about coming home, back to a life which I fled from 15 months ago. But what I have come to realise is that my tale might be over, but it's not the end of the book altogether. This journey was just another short story in my life's collection. Tomorrow, a new adventure will begin.

I don't think I'll ever understand how everything came together like it did. How I ended up at Appel Farm; how I started working as a musician in Banff; how I travelled for 15 months without running out of money, losing my posessions or getting bed bugs. The person I was 15 months ago pinned all her hopes and sanity on this trip. She was looking for something she didn't yet understand. And she returned having found it.

Ciao for now. xo

What I've Learnt From Living in Banff, Canada

After eight months of living in the Land of Maple Syrup, I have officially left Banff and therefore, Canada. A couple of tough goodbyes, not to mention a teary farewell at Calgary Airport with the people I have shared every waking moment, every drunken night, every drunken drama, every snowboard stack and every game of pool, reassured me that my time in Canada has left me a changed person.


You certainly can't spend eight months in a foreign country - even Canada - and not learn a little something about yourself and the place that you've temporarily called home.

So here are a couple of things I've learnt about Canada, Canadians and what it's like to exist in their country.

1. Tim Hortons - the purveyor of doughnuts, 'doughnut holes' (referred to by CAers as TimBits), bagels and other sugary treats and the brewer of what CAers consider to be gourmet coffee - is not just a Canadian institution, but a deliciously cheap religious experience.

2. Just like How I Met Your Mother insinuates, Canadians really do put 'eh' on the end of everything, therefore turning everything into a question. It's such a strange custom, eh?

3. Eight months living in a ski town has turned me into a professional at pool. I am also in the draft to turn pro at foosball - wicked attack line. Not so great at defence.

4. Clamato juice and tomato juice are two different things.

5. Which brings me to ceasers. While at first I turned my nose up at Canada's national beverage, I can't deny I have developed quite a thirst for these little cocktail concoctions. Vodka, clamato juice (which, for the life of me, I STILL don't know what is made out of), a splash of tobasco, a shake of worcestershire, a couple of olives and a green bean, all topped off in a celery salt rimmed glass. Hello, I'm drunk.

7. Don't live in Banff if you don't like Jagermeister. Something like 30 per cent of all Jager is ingested in Banff (Okay, so that's not a real statistic. But when you’re knocking back the 50 bazillionth shot of jager in the last two hours, it sure as hell feels true). Statistic or not, live in Banff and be prepared to drink Jager like its running water.

8. After a surprisingly drunk night where we both woke up asking, "What the hell happened?", Housemate Maadi and I decided, under no circumstances, should we be left at home alone with a bottle of Housemate Luke's Jager, a ski shooter and a couple of leftover party hats.

9. Ski shooter = a ski with four or five shot glasses attached to it, wherein the people shotting must hold the ski, lift it together and drink their shot all at the same time. Inability to do this results in Jager down your front.

10. When it's -15 degrees outside and your freezer is too full to hold the giant punnet of vanilla ice cream you bought for Christmas, you would think putting it outside on the patio would keep it frozen. This isn't true. The ice cream melts and gluttonous deer try to eat it.

11. In a similar idea, leaving cans of coke out on the patio in -15 degree weather doesn't keep the coke cold. It makes the cans explode.

12. When you live in a ski town and you want some coke, be sure to call it coca cola. Coke is something different altogether.

13. Every national or international holiday, regardless of whether you celebrate it in your own country or not, are guaranteed to be celebrated in Banff. Drunkenly.

14. Being a musician in Banff is surprisingly lucrative. I think it comes down to hotels, bars and establishments being kind of lazy when it comes to finding talent, not when they can simply steal their competitors' instead. And I'm certainly not complaining. In all seriousness though, Banff is extremely supportive of local artists and being a musician as your full time job is certainly do-able.

15. When it's -30 degrees outside, never underestimate how many layers you can actually wear. However, no matter how many thermals you put on under your jeans or how many t-shirts you wear under your coat, your hair, your eyelashes and your snot will still freeze.

16. Living in a house with four girls, results in a lot of hair ending up tangled around the drain. It's embarrassing when the hot plumber has to come over and yank it out.

17. No matter what the boys in your house think at the time, finding an 80s exercise bike on the side of the street is like striking gold. It might rattle a bit when you ride it, but it makes for the best clothes horse.

18. Milk and bread crates stolen from the backdoor of the pub make for the best shoe racks.

19. Give it eight months and you're guaranteed to become as freaking ice hockey-crazed as every other puck enthusiast in the country.

20. Canada might be Australia's version of New Zealand - the USA's overshadowed side-kick who gets bullied and poked-fun at - but after eight months of living there, you're quick to realise that the side-kick has his own attributes to offer. I may have been on the other side of the world, but I found commonalities between Oz and Canada which made me feel strangely at home. And it's the reason I intend on returning and moving to Vancouver in August.

Ciao for now, Canada. xo

Life of a Rockstar

My friend, Troy Fagan - snowboarder and aspiring photographer - was kind enough to stop by one of my Bruno's gigs a couple of Thursdays ago and take a few paparazzi shots.

It was an empty bar, but it was fun making art together each in our different way.

This is just a sample.

I think his talent speaks for itself.

Ciao for now. xo

Slush Slush Slush

On Monday 23rd May, 4500 very drunk, very colourful, very rowdy snow enthusiasts arrived at Sunshine Village to celebrate the end of eight months of record breaking snowfall. And they did that by skiing and snowboarding down a hill and trying to make it across a dug-out of chilly, winter water.

This is what they call Slush Cup.

From the beginning of the season, Slush Cup had been pegged as the loosest, craziest, busiest day we would experience on hill and its reputation certainly delivered. After a few days of bipolar weather patterns, the sun got its act together at the last minute and rewarded us with a beautiful, blue bird spring day for our last day at SSV.

My boss at Trappers very kindly gave me the day off (as well as the Saturday and Sunday before it) to play my final gigs at Sunshine with Lisa Baskin. We spent one and half very memorable hours playing our final show together on the main stage that morning. It was the perfect way to end my season - playing my music in front of the snowy hills that hold so many happy and unfogettable memories.

It was my pleasure to then boot up, line Bluejuice up on my iPod and ride those snowy hills one last time before fighting my way through the crowds to buy a jug of Richards Red and a good posie for the big show.

Slush Cup is a well-known Sunshine Village tradition and 2011 marked the 83rd year that skiing and snowboarding extremists have streamlined down Angel run in hope of making it across the watery dug out. While many of the snowboarders crashed to their aquatic end, a few skiers had the skill to make it without getting their feet wet and were rewarded by an appreciative drunk crowd.

After polishing off a jug of beer to myself, it was back to the slopes with all the confidence and bravado of a professional. Needless to say, I ended up back at the bar with a spiced ceaser on one arm and a bloody, ice graze up the other.

But beneath the beer haze, I hardly felt the pain. All I could feel was happy. A happiness that continued well into the evening until the ceasers, snowboarding and sun-burn sent me home around 2am.

Yes, my snow season was over. But that was not the point. The point was that it happened.

Ciao for now. xo

The Bye Bye Bruno's Gig

After eight months of singing, drinking, collaborating and hoping that one day we might each be KT Tunstall in our own way, Lisa and I's Thursday ritual of playing together at Bruno's came to an end last night.

And what an end it was.With pretty much everybody I know and love in Banff in the audience and with Gary (the bartender and our in-house roadie) letting the beer and the Jager flow freely (and I mean, free) it was always going to be a night to remember.

And remember it I do, despite shotting more than I care to blog about and having a couple of very deep-and-meaningful conversations thanks to my inebriation and impaired judgement. How I was still standing, let alone still singing, is yet to be determined.

 While standing on stage in front of my friends and family (even if I was seeing two of everybody), all of who had come to support me at the finale of my musical journey at Bruno's, I had another one of those moments. The kind that will be a defining memory when I'm a little old lady remeniscing about those crazy 12 months I spent overseas, running away from responsibility. In that moment, I felt like I had achieved something and it wasn't to do with my music. It was my friends - the fact that these people were in my life and had been for the last eight months and they had come to support me. And the realisation that in one week, this community of people we have forged around us, will all be going their seperate ways and making new communities for themselves.

While last night was not the last time Lisa and I will play together (we're fully booked out this weekend playing up at Sunshine for Slush Cup), playing our last show at Bruno's left me feeling melancholy. Bruno's was where it all began - this whole unplanned musical blessing I've been so fortunate to experience while in Banff.

While my snowboarding enthusiastic friends learnt to do 360s and ride rails and throw themselves off cliffs, I played my music and established myself because of it. Despite all the other experiences I've had since being in Banff, that one thing is what I will take away with me proudly.

Ciao for now. xo

You, Me and Vitamin D

I returned 'home' to Cranbrook last week to spend a few days with the lovely Steph Murray.

There's something about Cranbrook. There's not much too it but it has the small-town goodness that you don't find in big cities. It reminds me alot of Gympie which is a comforting thing when you're on the other side of the world. Returning to C-Brook after being in Banff is like coming home from work and pulling on a pair of comfy old sweats. It just fits.

The sun was shining in B.C so I made the most of it by lying in the sun and getting my first sunburn of the summer - my back and my bum are now two different colours! Hurrah! There are no words to express how it feels to have the sun back in my life and be able to lie in it wearing minimal clothing. Instead of wearing thermals, jeans, a singlet, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved t-shirt, three sweaters, my snow jacket and a beanie and still be freezing my kahootz off.

Cranbrook's local professional junior ice-hockey team, the Kootenay Ice, were playing two home games while I was there so I was very willingly dragged along to watch with Steph and her ice-hockey enthusiast father. Both games were pretty important in the series, determining the Ice's lead up to the Memorial Cup so the whole town was packed into Cranbrook's stadium. Now that I've got the hang of watching ice hockey (penalties, power plays - I've got the jargon down pat), I don't know if I can ever go back to watching the cricket.  All the skating and the slamming and the violent throw-downs on the ice - it's just so damn addictive.

I did all the things typical of my trips to Cranbrook - went to Boston Pizza, drank a lot of ceasers, went to the movies, went shopping, played Steph's out-of-tune piano and painted my toenails. It was lovely to feel like I was back in the 'real' world, rather than the Banff bubble. It felt like I had crawled out of my winter hibernation like a bleary-eyed bear and was feeling those first welcome effects after a healthy dose of Vitamin D.

Ciao for now. xo

I've Got The Music In Me

I haven't blogged about it much, but every Thursday night since arriving in Banff, I've been performing at Bruno's. I haven't blogged about it because it became such a regular part of my routine. I'd rock up, have a few beers, play a few songs with my muso-friend Lisa, do a few shots and stumble home to wake up with a hangover.

I mentioned it to a friend at work who has contacts all over town and next thing you know, I'd lined up another gig playing the piano at the Banff Park Lodge every Friday night. So I'd go along, drink a few waters, play a few songs, help myself to their seafood buffet and go home with a bit of cashola in my pocket.

So there I was, running a fairly self-sustainable side business as a musician in Banff without really trying. When my contract at the BPL ran out a few weeks ago due to their seafood buffet finishing, I was left with my un-paid, alcohol supplemented gig at Bruno's and thought that would be it until the end of the season.

But word got out, as it always does in Banff, and next thing you know my boss is lining me up another (paid) gig to play three hours each Saturday and Sunday at Creekside - the bar at the base of Sunshine Village. Knowing that I don't have enough songs, or enough voice, to hold out three hours, I invited my Bruno's buddy Lisa to join in with me.

So there we are on the mini-stage at our first performance at Creekside, doing the set we do each Thursday night at Bruno's, when the director of events from Sunshine walks in. In the middle of our gig, he pulls us to the side and asks us if we would like to open each Saturday for the head-lining acts on the mainstage at Sunshine's Spring Music Series. To which we answered,

"Um... HELL YEAH!"

So last Saturday, admist the sunshine at Sunshine, Lisa&Kristen played their very first mainstage show. Okay, so we were simply the opening act, but when you're plugged into a professional system, playing your own songs and hearing your own music amplified out among the masses, not to mention standing on a big fancy stage surrounded by big fancy equipment, you can't help but feel like a bit of a big, fancy rockstar.

We played for an hour, took about a bazillion photos, and then headed down to Creekside for our afternoon gig. I got home at six o'clock feeling absolutely wasted.

Like a true rockstar, minus the addictions.

Ciao for now. xo

The Sister Dearest Series: Part Two

I’ll admit - it was a little strange having Sister Dearest in Banff.

Strange in the way that absolutely nothing has changed in the 12 months since I’ve been out of the country. We still cracked the same personal jokes, still bantered like we were the Gilmore Girls, still obsessed over poached eggs and espresso coffee and still couldn’t understand when people said we looked exactly alike.

I just don’t see it, people.

I did my best to give Sister Dearest the royal Banff treatment, right down to pizza at Aardarks after stumbling home from a 2am dance session at HooDoo’s. It’s something she would probably prefer to forget, but midnight pizza is crucial to anyone’s overall Banff experience.

Thanks to it being Spring Break, I had to work most of the days she was here but we found time to ride most afternoons, leaving my days-off free for more interesting things.

Like dog-sledding.

Dog-sledding is a long-practiced Canadian tradition, originally used to transport produce and medicine back in the day when there were no highways or semi-trailers. Now, dog-sledding does more for the tourism trade than it does anything else, putting willing (and sometimes unwilling) tourists in the driving seat of seven over-excited huskies.

The dogs were gorgeous, but not quite as gorgeous as our tour guide, Phil. Phil was especially gorgeous when he was holding a puppy. I regret to admit, I may have shamelessly lusted in his direction in hope that we might live happily ever after in his mountain lodge.

After Phil and the huskies, Sister Dearest and I took a break from Sunshine and went riding at Lake Louise. I hadn’t been to The Lake since the start of the season when the runs were covered in ice and the snow-guns were working overtime. I was pleasantly surprised at the conditions and the steeper terrain, a welcome change from Sunshine. We spent the better part of an hour building a pathetic-looking kicker off a green run on Larch and the better part of an hour throwing ourselves off it as we took photos.

The expiry date on Sister Dearest and I’s time together came all too quickly and before I knew it, I was standing on the footpath waving goodbye to her as she headed back to Calgary airport. Being back together after so long apart was like reuniting Lorelei and Rory and then cancelling the Gilmore Girls all over again.

Who knows when we will see each other again, but until then, we will always have our memories of Banff.

And Phil.

Ciao for now. xo

The Sister Dearest Series: Part One

It’s been a month after the fact, but my sister was here. In Banff. With me. 

Thought I should tell you all. It seemed like something worthy of blogging about. Even if it has been almost a month since she was here.

Tale of the tardy blogger strikes again.

Given that it had been six months since we had last seen each other (the last time being our jaunt in ol’ N.Y.C), we decided the occasion should be marked by a little trip to Whistler, BC – home of the 2010 Winter Olympics and pretty much every sexually transmitted disease known to man, thanks to the hordes of 20-something snowboard and skiing extremists who flood its village every winter season.

As Bethany was flying in from Sydney, we decided to meet in Vancouver and make stop-over. We spent a whole 24 hours there which was just enough time for me to decide that I wanted to move there after summer camp finishes in August – consequently adding another 12 months to my never ending North American adventure.

While 24 hours definitely wasn’t sufficient time to see everything Vancouver has to offer, we squeezed in as much as possible to our time-pressed itinerary. Such experiences included:

- Afternoon tea with Zosia Cassie, my beloved bunk director from Appel Farm
- An afternoon stroll through the famous Stanley Park

- Breakfast at 'Crave' on Main Street. No espresso coffee, but deliciously gooey poached eggs made up for it

- Shopping, wandering and more shopping
- Lunch in Yaletown, the yuppie-ville of Vancouver where sister dearest fit right in

But the real gem in the Vancouver crown was dinner at 'Salt', a wine-and-cheese bar where the menu consists of nothing but cheese, meats and condiments and all you drink is wine, wine and more wine. We had a lovely waiter who received a rather generous tip, given that he was considerably more delicious than the blue-cheese cheesecake he recommended for dessert.

From Vancouver, we made the two and a half hour bus trip to Whistler where I was reunited with Clare Thomas, another Appel Farm friend who was to be our host for the next two days. Even on arrival, it was clear why Whistler reigns supreme as the leading destination for snow bums. Not only is Whistler Village like an alpine country town that you just want to paint red, but the mountain is so close you can see the runs from the highway exit.

It must be awfully nice dragging one’s hungover butt out of bed and stumbling straight onto the mountain. Instead of, say, a 40 minute bus and gondola commute that could make any iron stomach churn with last night’s bad decisions.

We spent two days riding Whistler and Blackcomb mountains, a fairly expensive experience which was without a doubt, worth every penny. Both mountains are a bevy of green, blue and black runs where one not only experiences every form of terrain, but every form of weather as well. The mountains are both so high that riding from top to bottom can take you from bluebird sunshine to snow to white-out to spring slush in all of 20 minutes. We were there Monday and Tuesday and even then, the lift lines were that bit too long, which only made me wonder what the weekend warriors must put up with every Saturday and Sunday.

When we weren’t snowboarding ourselves into a powder high, we were experiencing the village’s evening delights. With Clare as our guide, we visited Moe Joe’s club, Longhorns Saloon, did a spot of karaoke at Crystal Lounge (okay, so I did a spot of karaoke while Clare and Sister Dearest watched) and ate a few too many late-night poutines from Zog’s (where I’d make a reference to Peak Season – MTV’s reality TV representation of working in a snow town – but that would mean admitting that I’ve watched an episode.... or seven.)

Despite trying not to, I found myself constantly comparing Whistler with Banff and feeling just that wee-bit jealous. It is easy to be immediately smitten with everything Whistler has to offer – the village atmosphere, the incredible mountain conditions, the simple satisfaction of saying that’s where you did a season. It was so different to what I’ve known for the last half of the year and with Banff beginning to feel like the winter of my discontent, I wondered if I had made the right decision choosing Sunshine Village.

But on returning to Banff, with Sister Dearest in tow, I couldn’t help but feel a little proud of the town I’ve called home for seven months. The Rocky Mountains looming tall in every direction, being recognised as ‘that girl who sings at Bruno’s’ when I’m walking down the street and the days when the sky on top of Goat’s Eye mountain is so blue and so clear that there’s nothing hidden on the national park’s rocky outcrop.

Fine. I heart Banff.

Whatever.

Ciao for now. xo

Luck of the Irish

I'm going to skip the part where I apologise for, once again, letting an entire month go by without posting anything about my travels. 

Instead, I'm going to move right along to St Patrick's Day.

It seems one thing Banff knows how to do (other than be blisteringly cold) is celebrate holidays which have nothing much to do with the town or Canada itself. Much like Australia Day, St Patrick's Day is celebrated with all the green gusto Ireland has to offer, thanks to its community of Irish ex-pats. In fact, it's incredible the amount of people of sudden Irish-descent who crawl out of the woodwork when this holiday rolls around every year.

However, it seems celebrating the shamrock is as good an excuse as any to wear as much greenery as possible and drink until your thirsty again, no matter what your citizenship.

And if it's one thing the locals of Banff feel comfortable doing it's getting dressed up, getting drunk and ultimately making fools of themselves.

Which, of course, is exactly what we did. I wouldn't want to mess around with tradition now.

After a few beers at Bruno's (it was a Thursday night afterall and therefore my musical duties were required. I wore a hat in the shape of an over-flowing pint especially for the occassion), we headed to the ever lovely HooDoo nightclub, a hot spot frequented by old men with bloodshot eyes and roaming hands who've confused themselves for being 30 years younger than what they are. The old men were few and far between once us young-ens took over the dance floor with all the bravado of Michael Flatley. Lucky for my housemates and I, we had practiced our best Riverdance kicks in the comfort of our own kitchen before leaving the house.

Okay, so it was under the supervision of a few vodka-cokes.

Fiddle-dee-dee potatoes.

Ciao for now. xo

Spring Awakening

After three months of mind-numbingly cold weather, of wearing thermals under everything, of having my eyelashes freeze, my hair freeze and my snot freeze, spring has finally come to Banff, Alberta.

And how do I know this?

Because Banff itself is melting.

What used to be a winter wonderland of white has now melted into a slushy pit of brown. The gravel spread over the roads during the winter to stop cars from slipping on the ice has turned the melting snow to sludge, leaving large pools of stagnent icy water all over the footpaths.

The melting snow, however, is thanks to the balmy above minus weather we have welcomed in with the new season. No more -25 degree days up on hill. Oh happy days.

As nice as it is to have the sun back in my life and to feel it slowly burning a goggle tan into my face, I can't help but feel just a little nostalgic for the depths of winter - for the roads covered in snow and waking up to my phone beeping messages that the mountain is closed due to the freezing temperatures. Those were good times.

In rememberance of the winter wonderland we lived in, my housemates and I spent last week ice-skating at the Fairmont Springs outdoor ice-rink. We walked home along the Bow River trail (what seemed like a great idea at the time, until we realised the trail was actually closed due to snow conditions) and as we walked, the sky started puking snow.

It may be warming up, but with the spring comes the spring snowfall.

And that means powder days.

Ciao for now. xo

Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues

I've found it hard to blog since being in Banff, which is the reason for my lack of posts. My life has fallen into a routine - wake up, go to work, go for a ride, come home, go out, go to sleep - and the ins-and-outs of my day to day living barely seem blog-worthy.

I have been in Banff for six months now and find myself suffering from a common sickness to seasonal ski bums - the mid-season blues. I find myself tiring of Banff and the all-too-familiarity of it. Of doing the same things, seeing the same people, living in a town that's city centre consists of one by two blocks of store fronts. And the drama... The drama is wearing me out most of all. If it weren't for the lack of cameras following me around each day, I could swear I was part of a trashy MTV reality show.

The irony of this is that I remember a time when I craved routine, when I ached for a cupboard and a place to unpack. And now that my feet have remained in the same place for so long, I can feel them starting to grow numb. Like a cup of coffee left to sit to long, I'm growing stagnate and cold.

I don't know if it's the fatigue of familiarity, a touch of homesickness or just the feeling that maybe it's time to give this travel tale a time of death, but I've been feeling a real pull to return home. I find comfort in looking at what jobs are available and at cute one bedroom studios available in Sydney. I remember my wardrobe and what it felt like to wear high heels and order cocktails and flirt with the suits at Ryan's Bar. I remember my life.

But at the same time, the thought of home terrifies me. It would mean leaving the life I've come to know now. A life of backpacking and exploring and eating at cute cafes in city backstreets and sleeping on long-haul buses and wondering who I'll meet at the next hostel and what waits around the next bend in the road. It would mean finding a new job, a new home, a new sense of stability. It would mean collecting the broken fragments of the life I left and I trying to piece it back together to fit everything I know now. I'm not sure if the strange feeling sitting in the pit of my stomach means I'm terrified of having to do all that or if I'm terrified because I feel I might be ready to do all that.

But despite this strange state I'm in, I'm reassured that with time and a good dose of Vitamin-Stop-Being-A-Sad-Sack, these mid-season blues will pass. Just like the cold, miserable winter weather will make way for blue skies and spring snowboarding, I'll find my stride again as a traveller and all the things I love about backpacking will be returned to me. And I bet the routine of going to work and seeing the same people doing the same things and creating the same drama will be something I'll miss as I'm pulling everything out of my backpack just to find a clean shirt to wear. I guess as a traveller you're always struck between something good, and something better.

And soon I'll find myself back at Appel Farm and Banff will be another folder of photos I'll look back on and ache over.

Ciao for now. xo

I Come From The Land Down Under

Ever since leaving home, there has been one celebration I have looked forward to with great expectation.

I considered my birthday, Halloween, Christmas and New Years Eve combined to be nothing in comparison to celebrating the one day a year when Australians are allowed to do what we do best - eat vegemite and meat pies, sizzle sausages, wear wife-beaters, reap the sunny rewards of our hole in the ozone layer and drink beer. Lots and lots of beer.

Usually, I would do all this in a bikini on the shoreline of my favourite Australian beach.

This year, I did it on the snowy plateau of Sunshine Village.

In Banff, Australia Day is regarded by Canadian locals and non-Australian internationals as the only acceptable day to stay as far away from the ski hill as humanly possible. For Australians, it's regarded as the one day when we can drink, eat, wear and behave like the rowdy bogans we all know we are, while standing in -15 weather.

Dressed in as much Australian paraphernalia as I could don - Australian flag shirt, Australian flag tattoos, Australian flag banadana and... an Australian flag, I made my way to the top of hill by 11am. Unlike many of the other Aussies celebrating in Banff, I did not stay up until the crack of dawn to see in Triple J's Hottest 100 song. Bright-eyed, bushy tailed and  flag-bearing, I snowboarded my favourite runs and then headed to Trappers

where an organised staff party was being held complete with VB and Toohey's Extra Dry bottles, 'Aussie' burgers with a beef pattie, fried egg, beetroot, pineapple, tomato and lettuce, home-made meat pies and a hundred of my closest, drunkest, rowdiest Australian 'mates'.

After I'd drank a few too many Toohey's - affectionately referred to as Teddy's and of which I wouldn't ever otherwise drink if it weren't for the sake of national pride - and initiated a few too many Jager shots, it was fair to say I was in a pretty good mood. I went snowboarding, which at the time seemed like the smartest idea, but in retrospect was probably the wintery equivalent of drinking and driving and where I would have certainly lost my license had snow patrol been bearing breathelizers. Being alcoholically-fueled however, proved a great source of confidence on the slopes and I probably fell over less than if I was stone-cold sober as well as just plain stone-cold.

I may have been tipsy from the alcohol, but what made me all the more drunk was the pure happiness of simply being from Australia and celebrating my home-country like I had never celebrated if before. Sure, there was the occassional pang for home as I thought about how I would have spent the day lying at Tamara Beach with Sister Dearest, but surrounded by Aussies shouting 'Oi Oi Oi' and my neighbours attempting to toboggan down Strawberry run on a blowup Australian thong, I certainly felt more Australian than all the Australia Days I'd spent at home.

And while I may be losing my Australian accent more and more and consider watching ice hockey more thrilling than cricket, I still try to walk down the left hand side of the pathway.

I haven't converted just yet.

Ciao for now. xo

To Cranbrook, With Love

As much as I love Banff - living in the ski town, working on a ski hill, snowboarding down Angel run in the sunny afternoons, seeing the snow pile up on our balcony, playing foosball at the Gap, even finding a kind of satisfaction in slipping over on the icy walkways - sometimes a girl can get a bit tired of it all. The incestuous nature of living in a ski town, dragging my tired ass one hour up a hill to go to work where I get stiffed the tip off a $100 bill, falling on my ass too many times as I come down Angel run on a windy afternoon, the water leaking into my bedroom as the snow on the balcony melts, being refused entry to the Gap because it's too crowded and not being able to walk out the front door without wearing a pair of iceskates.

So when Banff loses its sunny appeal, I pack up and return 'home' to Steph Murray in Cranbrook.

It had been four months since my initial visit to Cranbrook and while little had changed in my favourite Canadian town, it was a relief to see Cranbrook's fast-food strip and somehow feel like I had returned home. But my trip back wasn't without effort. After a few days of epic snowing, Mother Nature smighted my attempts to leave Banff and caused an avalanche on the BC/Alberta border. What should have been an easy four hour journey on the Greyhound (my favourite form of transport in Northern America), I ended up spending nine very mind-numbing and sinus-aggravating hours travelling the long way through Calgary and Fernie before finally making it to C-Brook at 5am in the morning.

Another memorable trip to add to my list of Greyhound adventures.

But after a long sleep (in my OWN room) and a shower (in my OWN bathroom) the slog was definitely made worthwhile. As Steph went to school and work, I set up permanent residence on the couch were I wasted my way through the third season of The Hills and played her out-of-tune piano like it was a Broadwood Grand and I was Billy Joel. I went to Boston Pizza, ate some Dairy Queen, went to a junior league hockey game and spent some quality time enjoying life outside of the Banff bubble.

And I got my hair cut - every tired, down-and-out girl's saving grace.

So I returned to Banff feeling relaxed, renewed and rejuvenated and like I'd missed it - just the tiniest bit.

Ciao for now. xo

Banffing In The New Year

Happy New Year!

So I'm nine days late. Cut a girl some slack.

I welcomed the end of 2010 and the bright shiney future of 2011 in the main street of Banff, surrounded by hundreds of drunk, probably high, if not completely pilled up, party-goers. While the only drugs in my system where some vodka and the sheer joy of waving goodbye to what has been a turbulent 2010, I still had a memorable and enjoyable new years eve. But let's face it - after I up-ended in a garden bed, lost a hoop earring, most of the skin off my shins and the entirity of my dignity at last year's celebration, 2011 would have had to bring something pretty mean to top 2010. But with the worst being that I smashed my favourite mug on the floor of my neighbour's house party, I've got a good feeling about where 2011 is heading.

And to start the new year off, my housemate's and I decided it was time to head out beyond our Banff boundaries and explore our other local landmark, Lake Louise. The Lake is located about 40 minutes from Banff and while being as the name suggests, a lake, Lake Louise is also the sister ski-hill to Sunshine Village, which means employees of either ski for free. Being a steeper mountain to Sunshine, the terrain is a lot different and while the snow machines keep the runs covered, boarding on real powder verses fake powder is like eating meat and then living of tofu for the rest of your life. But the idea was to board outside our comfort zone and I would rather board on fake powder, than no powder at all.

With the Christmas/New Year mania over, business has slowed right down at Sunshine which is a major relief to its staff. And as Mother Nature's christmas gift to us, she rolled in the clouds and sent a massive snow dump our way, just in time for the majority of the mountain to come down with the flu. And when one worker bee gets a cold, they share it with the whole hive (and we all know how that happens, don't we...). With most of us laid up on the couch watching Friends reruns (okay, so maybe that's just me) and the snow falling like wedding confetti outside, you could say it's been a slow, painful start to 2011.

But powder is powder, and even if I'm not out in it, I'm not complaining.

Ciao for now. xo

I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas

How I was going to survive Christmas away from the folks and friends was always a major concern when I was planning my trip. The idea of not returning to Gympie, not having a big breakfast with my family, opening presents, stuffing our faces and drinking a lot of white wine made me slightly fearful of the holiday season. Would Santa find me in Banff, Alberta?

Santa may not have found me (let's be honest, I haven't been a very good girl this year..) and I may not have been in the company of my blood relatives, but I still celebrated Christmas with my family - my Banff family, that is.

Sitting in the living room of my house, surrounded by snow and the people I have come to love and rely on, I could not have felt more blessed. It made me so aware of just how lucky I have been on my journey so far - to constantly be provided with health, safety and good company, no matter where I have found myself. Here I was, a million kilometres away from home, surrounded by twelve people who had all managed to meet each other in the same place, at the same time, for whatever reason and I never felt quite so at home.

In honour of the festive season, we cooked our friends an epic Christmas feast complete with cranberry sauce, baked potatoes, vegetables, gravy and a turkey - stuffed, basted and cooked by yours truly. That's right, not only did I put my hand up a raw turkey but I managed to cook the damn thing with out giving anyone food poisoning. This goes down as one of my greatest travel achievements thus far.

So, much to my relief, I didn't spend Christmas curled up in my bed, crying over my absence from my family and lamenting the delicious meal I know my mother would have cooked. I thought of them fondly, missed them as much as I could allow myself to and carried on celebrating my first white Christmas alongside our cardboard cut-out tree (we're travel junkies on a budget, after all).

Ciao for now.