The highlight of my day today was participating in an insurance fraud sting. I noticed a guy riding the lift all day who seemed to be continually rolling his video camera. At the end of the day he sidled up to me, flashed an ID and asked if he could sit in my little hut to video some 'injured' conman riding the chairlift. Apparently, a team of insurance guys were assigned the case early in the morning and waited outside the conman's place to see what he'd get up to. They were caught a bit off guard (but were pretty stoked!) when the guy took off up the mountain with a friend. The insurance guy I met was the most capable skier, so the team threw together some gear and sent him up the mountain for the day. Needless to say he got some golden material. It was amusing to see the conman disapeering over the crest of a black diamond run. Apparently this guy was going to be up for over $200,000 if they successfully busted him...craziness! Who said being a lifty is boring?

up to speed

I'm obsessive about posting stuff in chronological order. It's getting a bit ridiculous because I left New York over two months ago now yet I'm still writing about my first day in town.

My map is up to date. I'm hanging out in Vancouver at the moment. My plans changed somewhat once I arrived. Originally I was going to spend Christmas with my family in here before joining the rest of Australia at one of the bigger ski resorts in the Rockies. I'd work the winter, hit the slopes, and kill time before meeting some friends for a trip through Europe. However, speaking to a mate who went to Banff after harvest, it dawned on me that this would not facilitate the $$ saving that I needed to do before I landing in Europe.

By all accounts, if I'd joined Dan 'Sniffa' Phelan in Banff I would have had the time of my life but, by now, I would have run out of the money I'd earned holding up merchandise at a Persian rug auction, called my folks for a loan, bought a ticket for a much more economical holiday in Mexico, only to be robbed by a couple of cops on arrival (I miss the crazy adventures that arise simply from being in close proximity to an Australian farm boy).

No, I am living like a miser now so that I can live it up in Europe in a couple of months time. Greatly due to a lot of help from my aunt and uncle here, I've found some work and a little basement to live in for the next couple of months. I'm living in an amazing location at the foot of the mountains that look down on Vancouver from the North.

By day, one of these mountains is my office - I man the lifts at Cypress Bowl. By night, I sell popcorn at the candy bar of a local cinema (or the 'concession bar' as they call it here). My supervisor is 17. He's not sure what to make of me, but I do what I'm told without complaint in return for $8 an hour.

Those who have followed my blog will have picked up that I can get quite fixated on something when I set my mind to it (the post about my coffee quests throughout New York is a timely example). As such, when I went into saving mode, I'd look for every opertunity to save a dime here and few pennies there. I completely lost focus of why I was here, and with that, all of the enjoyment of what it is that I am doing. In many ways, accepting the cinema job was a reminder to me that I am not here to earn the big bucks or advance my standing on the corporate ladder; I'm here to get a feel for a place by living in a community and meeting some of the locals (moody 15 year olds included).

I guess the more 'normal' of my two jobs is up the mountain. Working as a lifty is potentially mind-numbingly boring. I turn up at 8 in the morning (an hour before the public hit the slopes), I get a assigned a lift with another operator, one of us goes to the top station, the other to the bottom, we do some checks, open the lift, and stand there for eight hours helping people on and off, stopping and slowing it every now and then for the odd rookie passenger. Ironically, the inactivity and repetativeness makes the job strenuous.

Each day when I start to contemplate bludgeoning myself to death with a snow shovel, I have to remind myself of where I am. My favourite lift is called 'Raven's'. It's an old high speed quad that you need to arm wrestle in order to load people. This means you're kept quite active down the bottom, making time pass a bit quicker. It's the opposite at the top. Most people riding the lift know what they're doing - i.e. they don't fall over when getting off - so there's rarely any action for the operator at the top. However, the top of Ravens is also one of the highest points on the mountain and provides what has to be one of the best vistas in Vancouver - an amazing aerial of the city and harbour.

One of the other ways I pass time is by taking stupid photos of myself around the lift - I'm perfectinng the art of the 'selfie'. The best is when you set the shot up, hit the 10 second timer, strike a pose, only to have a customer some swishing out of nowhere. The second photo unfortunately turned out like a cheesy professional portrait, but the idea was to capture the view of the city from the top of Raven's (over my left shoulder).

The other adavantage of working Raven's is that it is quite isolated. To get in and out we get a lift on a snow mobile. Awesome fun! I took a video of my ride down the mountain this afternoon (the ride in and out are the highlights of my day). The lift we pass under is Raven's.



So there you go, I broke the chronology (and I survided!); an up-to-the-day update! Plenty of back dated stories still to come, but I'm sure y'all survive if they're a bit out of order.

Joe

The coffee was pretty awful. But that was OK. I walked one block West and I was on Broadway. I had another (much better one) in my hand within a couple of minutes.

I became obsessive in my search for New York's best espresso. This is what deprivation will do to you: I bought a special guide book that listed all the best spots by neighbourhood. Wherever I was in Manhattan, I could find a spot to try within a couple of blocks. After a shot, I'd make margin notes in my guide book so that I'd know where to come back.

#1: a little cafe called Zibetto in Midtown (Sixth Ave and 56th). The note in the margin says "best esp yet!". The shop front was simply a glass door. It led into a long skinny room with a bar (standing room only). The vibe was pretentious - lots of suits, most of whom were clearly regulars. I got brushed several times by the Italian guy behind the counter, but I'm pleased I persevered because, as the locals would say, it was a bloody good 'cup-a-Joe'.

I pretty much crashed as soon as I got to the hostel. I’ve stayed in hostels before but I’ve always opted for a private room. On this trip I’m going for the dorm option wherever I can. Speaking to other travellers there are some pretty gnarly stories that come out of bunkrooms. The best I’ve heard was from an Irish guy I met in Portland. He roomed with a schizophrenic Nigerian guy in Toronto who slept with a machete. One night the Irish guy woke to find the Nigerian at the foot of his bed. The Irish guy asked what was going on. After a long pause the Nigerian started to cry and asked, “is it wrong to love someone”.

I’m glad I heard that story after my dorm-room debut, however it was a weird experience checking in at five in the morning. I couldn’t see anything as I entered the room. All I could hear was the sound of more than one person breathing. As I felt for my bunk in the pitch black, the lucky dip nature of the scenario dawned on me.

I woke to the soft giggles and chatter of female voices. German female voices. Hearing that in a state of half sleep it may as well have been a choir of angels in serenade above my top bunk. Well, that’s a scenario that my best mate Tom and I would have dreamt up (I miss those sessions man!). I was a little excited but I just smiled to myself and drifted off to sleep again.

When I did wake again it was lunch time and I was alone in the room. Including my own, only three of the six beds were occupied. (Turns out my roomies were German. Really nice girls. One was taking a week off from her job as an au pair in Delaware. Her friend had come from Germany to spend the week with her.)

I walked over to a huge window (pictured) looked out and got that arrival buzz again only this time I could express it a bit more freely. I spotted the first port of call for my big walk, “Café Pizza” (you can see it next to the deli in the pic). They advertised espresso. I was sold.