This Week in Culture: Western Canadiana

5 days ago I experienced a quintessentially Western Canadian moment. A buddy and I were driving up from Calgary to Banff, windows down, facing the breathtaking backdrop of the Canadian Rocky Mountains, listening to the Calgary Flames game on CBC radio, stoned off our gourds on good, BC-grade weed. I thought to myself, as the spring air rushed through my thinning hair, "This! This is what it means to be Canadian!" I felt like some kind of Canada-specific Voltron robot, with the arms of Bryan Adams, the chest of Don Cherry, the legs of Marshall Macluhan, the head of William Lyon Mackenzie, and wielding a sword made out of the fiery piss'n'vinegar that runs through the blood of our own, aggro, Quebecois separatists. Like I said, it was good weed.

We drove past Banff and were on our way to ski the much-hyped Kicking Horse Mountain. This was a new ski resort that aimed to be Canada's answer to Jackson Hole - certainly some lofty shoes to fill. In the end, very gnarly [brah!] terrain and fantastic snow made for epic skiing and great, great times. There were a surprising number of German tourists on the mountain, as Europe had been in the midst of a miserable snow drought this season, and Klaus, Uli, and Liesl clearly needed their fix. It's funny how, regardless of the season, German tourists always stand out with their choice of attire. In the summer time, they prefer short shorts, wildly patterned oxford shirts, and black socks with white shoes (or white shoes with black socks - apparently the master race does not mind mixing colours where footwear is concerned), and in the winter they don one-piece ski suits with color schemes that would make even the stylists from the set of Miami Vice blush.

By the end of the weekend, it was time to return to Calgary and fly out. A word on that city: it is hopelessly dull. Whereas Montreal is the rogue, bon-vivant foreign cousin who travels the world, has an eternity's worth of stories to tell sure as he has a bastard child in every port, and is always in need of a dollar (if you can spare it), Calgary is the well-to-do relative who never really left home, but saved and invested his money wisely. Money is one of the top three things people like to discuss in Calgary, after the Flames and who else might be moving to Fort MacMurray (where the oil is). They talk about skyrocketing housing prices with the frequency that we discuss the weather. It's a bit deppressing. Also, all Calgarians are physically huge. And i mean ALL Calgarians. Full disclosure: I missed out on a lunchtime feast of Alberta prime rib because, hours earlier, a 9-year-old girl accosted me and forced me give her all of my lunch money. I think I'm going to sign up for some boxing classes.



FS