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

Thank God I'm A Country...er...Girl

After another pleasant journey on the Greyhound, (I sat in front of a man who was having a phone conversation about an ex-friend who just got out of jail - "He was let out with nothing but the clothes on his back, a bag of Cheetoes and a bible" - direct quote), I arrived in Nashville, the home of country music.

I feel every night spent out at the Toyota Country Music Muster listening to country rock, every performance I've seen courtesy of the School of Country Music and every time I've sung Keith Urbans' 'Love Somebody Like You' at the top of my lungs has prepared me for being in Nashville.

Even on a Wednesday night, Down Town was a side-show fair of bars bursting with people listening to local bands hoping to make it big. With some new friends I met at my hostel - AAE Music City Hostel (a winner) - we saw a cover group who were like a countrified beer garden band. The streets are full of buskers, some playing spoons and using a suitcase and a kick as their slapdash drum kit. Every corner boasts another leather boot store and everywhere everywhere, cowboy hats. It's like the Muster on uppers. 

But as tantalizing as the music has been, I got to Nashville with only one thing on my mind.

Cowboys.

Ha, just kidding.

The one thing on my mind was - vegetables. Fresh fruit and vegetables. For days, I couldn't work out why I was so lethargic and tired until I realised, I haven't eaten vegetables in weeks (well, months if you gloss over the sad excuse for vegetables we got served at camp). My poor body has been running on bagels and granola bars and the occassional serving of pulled pork (my new favourite American pastime).

So armed with eyes bigger than my backpack, I made a trip to the Farmers Market on 8th and Jackson where I found manna from heaven. Beans, eggplants, peppers (capsicums), squash, cucumbers, onions, avocados, peaches, nectaries, apples, oranges, bananas and tomatoes as big as your face. And with the intention of eating it all, I arrived back at my hostel with enough produce to open my own stall.

And tonight, I'm cooking me a feast.

And then finding a cowbow.

Ciao for now. xo

Walking in Memphis

It took me 10 and a half harrowing hours on the Greyhound to get to Memphis, Tennessee. Let's just say, Greyhound buses in the USA have a bad reputation for a very good reason. The people who ride them look like those gracing a prison line up. Actually, most of them probably have.

 Anyway, I eventually arrived at the Pilgrim House Hostel relatively unscathered and sporting a very numb bum.

Memphis - home of the rhythm and blues, Beale Street, Sun Studio and Elvis's plantation home, Graceland. For a city with a reputation that proceeds itself - I mean, it has a song dedicated to it, after all - Down Town is fairly small and a part from the tourist draw cards, there isn't much else to explore.

The first stop I made on my own Memphis Tour was the Memphis Rock n Soul Museum - a good place to start as it definitely made me inspired to be in the city. The museum treats you to a video presentation, which is followed by a self-directed audio tour through the displays. The museum covers every notable moment and Memphis megastar in rhythm and blues history - Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Howlin' Wolf and of course, Mr Elvis Presley (more on him later). A little over-priced for what it offered, the museum definitely helped me come to grips with just how much talent had passed through the Memphis streets. Beale St, now covered in bars much like New Orleans' Bourbon strip, was the epicentre of music and the length that rhythm, blues, soul and even country has come in the last 50 years can be contributed to it.

After getting my music fill at the museum and a fill of pulled pork for lunch (a Memphis specialty), I moved on to Sun Studios. What was originally the Memhis Recording Studio, opened by Sam Phillips back in the day, Sun Studios made a name for itself when it recorded the first big hits of the bluesy big-wigs. The above names have all graced its floors at one point or another and can owe the start of their careers to Sam Phillips' small studio.

I have a feeling that Memphis is not the sort of place a female, 20-something backpacker comes to as I got a few stares as I wandered throught the studio alongside the rockin, 50-something 50's fans. As much as I enjoyed seeing where some of my own favourite music was first created, seeing the oldies get all in a tizz because they got to stand in the exact same place that Elvis first recorded 'That's All Right' was an amusement in itself.

But more on Elvis later.

Ciao for now. xo