A hitchhikers guide to our universe (Don’t Panic)

By G.D. Maxwell

I’d like to take this opportunity to personally offer a warm welcome to each and every one of this year’s batch of fresh-faced suckers, er, workers. Welcome to Whistler. Got skis? Got boards? Good. Now put ‘em away until you really need ‘em and stop treating them like some bizarre pet or lover. Patience, Grasshopper.

You’ve probably heard by now this is an El Niño year. For those of you unfamiliar with Latin, El Niño loosely translates to "the Niño." You’ve probably heard the last El Niño year was a kickass affair with snow so deep we all started to grow snorkels out of our foreheads. That’s true. Some of us still have our proto-snorkels and are training them, without much luck, to be secondary sex organs. Not that I have any first-hand knowledge of this phenomenon.

You’ve probably heard – doubtless offered up as the sage ramblings of some ageless, wizened mountain man guru, Jacques Morel perhaps – the snowfall will be early and hard this year. Let’s hope so. During the last El Niño, snow in Whistler was as elusive as those great housing deals and high paying jobs you’ve been looking for. When the White Circus came to town in November, the only snow on the lower three-quarters of the mountain was a manmade boulevard of ice on the Dave Murray Downhill run. Everything else was decorated for the occasion in earth tones.

When it finally came, the snow fell in buckets. So much snow fell – and so many people were knocked unconscious by the buckets – they had to cancel the World Cup downhill race. All was not lost though. The whole town gathered at the Conference Centre and watched the most elite ski racers in the world play video games. That may be the only sentence on this page without at least one major fabrication in it. If you can find anyone who lives here with enough memory left to remember that far back – hint: don’t look for them at parties or in bars – ask ‘em about it; I’m just reading old columns to remind myself.

Which brings me to this penetrating analysis of just how good the last El Niño season really was:

Whatcha have to remember is this: an average season ‘round these parts is enough to leave most skiers and boarders limp, broken shells of their former selves. There were plenty of powder days, lots of faceshots, enough injuries to fill an orthopaedic ward and nearly the entire population of Quebec who came out here as part of a massive humanitarian airlift to escape late winter’s epic ice storm and tourtière shortage. Vive Quebec froid.

But all that is beside the point. This season will be what it will be – case of Syrah, Syrah. What I really feel compelled to offer is some hard information you, the new local, can take to heart. Generally this is accomplished through the quaint, timeless Xit’olacw custom of Spirit Day, a day of joyous singing and dancing and folk tales wherein those of us who previously joined the tribe pass on necessary information to newcomers, share our spirit herbs and generally have what the Chamber of Commerce refers to as a really fun day.

This year though, Spirit Day is an online, soulless affair. That’s because Tourism Whistler has conned several levels of government into renovating – from the Latin words reno , "this is a stickup", and vate , "everybody stay calm" – the Conference Centre where Spirit Day is usually held. The ultimate cost of the renovation will likely be enough to raise every child in Canada and the Third World out of poverty or, alternatively, solve Whistler’s affordable housing problem. But hey, first things first.

It has fallen to me to provide you with the kernels of knowledge you’re going to need to survive in Whistler. Here they are:

First, find a good physio. In the dark ages – the 90s – before the first nonpagans came to Whistler and built Our Lady of Perpetual Powder and Millennium place, everybody in town worshipped one, or several physiotherapists. Physios are Gods, or more often, Goddesses, but let’s not wade into the minefield of sexual politics. Find a physio and worship her for she will keep your sorry ass sliding down the mountains this winter. I worship Allison but I’d appreciate it if at least half of you found someone else; it’s getting hard enough to get an appointment.

Second, write home... often. Practice these lines, both in print and with a sobby catch in the back of your throat for when Mom and Dad call you unexpectedly. "Gee, I really miss you guys." "I can’t believe how expensive everything is here." "I’ve got two jobs but they pay less than my old paper route/babysitting job used to." "I can’t believe the pharmacy is out of Vitamin C and Echinacea again." Especially practice them when you’ve been out and partying hard. They don’t work if you slur the words or fall asleep mid sentence.

The reference to Vitamin C and Echinacea is particularly important. Get a lot of both. If you don’t have the money or are inclined to shoplifting, do it in Squamish, they expect that sort of behaviour down there and pretty much turn a blind eye to it as long as you don’t crush the pharmacist’s head in with a baseball bat while you’re robbing them blind. Eat both more often than you have a good meal. Whistler is nothing if not a world class destination for every lowlife disease know to man, all of which will find their way into your nose sooner or later.

I don’t have space to give you directions to the foodbank but just ask around, we’ve all been there. Your money goes further at Nester’s although it may be just as filling to simply eat the money. Always chat up tourists and offer to tell them about the secret places on the mountains if they’ll buy you a beer. Assuming you discover any yourselves, don’t, under any circumstances, actually reveal any secret places to tourists unless you want to go home neutered. Read Pique. Practice safe sex, left or right handed. Ski/board hard and often. Respect patrol, they’re suckers for respect. Be proudly apathetic. Don’t rip off your roommates unless they deserve it.

Yup, that just about covers it. Enjoy.