Author Archives: Anna Downing

About Anna Downing

I'm a freelance magazine editor and I work to travel. I have roots in London but whenever I have the chance I get on a plane to the latest far-flung destination. In the past two years I have been to Australia, Turkey, France, Portugal, Italy, Cuba, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Peru, The Amazon, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Valencia, Madrid and Amsterdam. I'm permanently in possession of a flight ticket to somewhere new and exciting. But I do love other things: my cats, baking cakes and Breaking Bad, mainly.

New Year’s Dive, Scheveningen, the Netherlands

I hate New Year’s Eve. Normal pubs charge you money to get in, people seem to think they can act like complete idiots and the night is almost always a total letdown.

For years I’ve stayed home with a movie, a bottle of champers and my cats. This year, I had a new boyfriend and no fixed abode, so I decided to do something different. I was in the Netherlands over Christmas, visiting Thomas and his family, and our plan was to stay in and watch telly for New Year’s Eve. But when I woke up that morning, the first thing I thought was, “We have to do something fun for new year’s! We must go to the New Year’s Dive!” I excitedly told Thomas this the moment he woke up, and he sleepily agreed, so we booked a hotel in Scheveningen, jumped in the car and headed north to Scheveningen, a beach town near The Hague.

As soon as we got there, I felt ill. It was the worst timing. I had a fever, I was hot and cold and my bones hurt. Midnight was creeping closer and my desire to get out of bed was getting lower. But I was determined. So I downed a blackcurrant Lemsip, dragged myself out of bed and put on all my clothes. I looked like the Michelin man.

Realising that a taxi was a very expensive, and at that time, unavailable option, we got in the car on the off-chance there’s be parking somewhere within two miles of the beach. We drove around for ages, but all the parking meters had a 30-minute maximum. But our luck was in. Thanks to the fireworks maniacs of the Netherlands (they’re only legal between 10am and 2pm on New Year, no other time of year, so people go a bit mental) a parking meter had been obliterated by fireworks. No one would know how long we’d been there!

We got out the car and crossed the road. Right behind us there was a massive bang, as if someone had shot a gun right behind our heads. We looked back at the smouldering firework in the middle of the street – right where we’d just crossed. I felt like I was in Afghanistan, dodging landmines. I could have lost my legs! And it wouldn’t have even been for the good of my country!

As we walked to the beach, kids threw fireworks in our path and massive explosions were going off everywhere, the sound reverberating off the tall buildings and along the roads trees and trash were on fire. It was terrifying.

We got to the beach at about 11.15pm, and in contrast to the streets, it was completely dead. Hardly any people, bars were closed, no big bonfire as promised by YouTube videos of past years.

We walked up and down, disappointed, until I suggested we go sit on the sand and have a glass of wine from the bottle we’d brought. As soon as we hit the sand, we noticed a massive lit-up 2012 sign facing the sea. No one knew it was there! We sat facing the water, bracing ourselves against the odd sandstorm and discussing whether we would tell people that, while we’d spent NYE on the beach, it was actually pissing down with rain, freezing cold and not, in fact, in Thailand, as people might assume.

At 11.45pm we turned around to see if anything was happening. The beach was packed! People were playing with sparklers, the 2012 sign was flashing, and everyone was in a great mood.

As midnight struck, loads of previously unassuming white vans opened their doors and thousands of white balloons filled the sky. Fireworks went wild and a huge bonfire started up down the beach. What a difference 45 minutes can make!

 

 

The next morning was the famous New Year’s Dive. It involved 10,000 people wearing orange bobble hats and running into the ocean at midday. When we got down there the beach was heaving – it was taking place on the exact spot we’d been sitting the night before. The atmosphere was electric. A band played onstage, jollying up the crowd, and the originator of the dive was there too, although he’s about 100 now.

At midday, they counted down and everyone ran into the water and out again. It looked like fun and I cursed my sickness for stopping me from joining in. Next year I swear I’ll do it… Brrrrr…

Why the UK isn’t so bad after all

Just like every other British person, I love to moan about Britain. What awful weather we have. Why must the bin man only come every fortnight? My Waitrose sausages aren’t as good as they used to be, can I have my money back?

I have always dreamed of moving away, to Australia, Canada, even Spain. They have sunshine, laid-back attitudes and loads of fun. What does England have? Nothing. I thought…

That is, until I went exploring last week to discover more about this rainy, miserable country.

My partner and I decided to set off to Somerset – Bath, in particular. Why? I don’t know. Because it’s not too far from London, it has nice countryside and because they make cider there, I guess.

My boyfriend is from Holland, so I really wanted to showcase the best of Britain. We started off by driving past Stonehenge, entirely unexpectedly, which brought back memories of childhood holidays for him and feelings of disappointment for me. It’s a lot bigger in the pictures, isn’t it?

We then made our way to Bradford On Avon, where we were going to be staying on a farm for two nights. It’s a gorgeous little town with narrow streets, old buildings and winding country roads. The sun was shining, our B&B was lovely and we felt pretty good.

As soon as we’d dropped our stuff off, it was time to go to Bath, where we were going to visit the Thermae Spa.

Getting to Bath was easy. Driving around the city was not. It’s not a big place, but my god it’s confusing if you’re behind the wheel. For a start, the Sat Nav suddenly had no idea what it was doing. I expected it to say “I give up. This city is a mess. You’re on your own.” Instead it tried to make me drive down streets that didn’t exist and sent me down the same roads three times. Google maps had no better an idea of what was going on there, and the maps app on my iPhone had no interest whatsoever in helping me out.

So we drove round and round and round. Signposts were everywhere, but every one of them pointed down a road that had a no entry sign. You literally couldn’t get anywhere. I started going mad. I also expected the Thermae Spa to be outside of the city, and to have its own car park. If I’d known it was smack bang in the middle and had no car park I’d have dropped the car off the moment we hit the city limits and walked.

Anyway, after an hour of driving round and going mad, we asked for directions and finally found a car park, ditched the wheels, and headed spa-wards for a relaxing four hours of hot-water bliss.

The spa was like an oasis of calm in the middle of a mental-breakdown-inducing city. The girl who met us at reception completely sympathised with our situation, and said the first time she’d come to Bath was from Birmingham, and she’d arrived in the city, driven around and gone mad, and turned around and gone straight back to Birmingham without even getting out of the car.

So I felt like our eventual arrival at the spa was a miracle. We quickly stripped down to our swimmers, grabbed a robe, towel and slippers and a wristband that times your stay and opens and closes lockers, and jumped into the indoor spa pool. It was full of people bobbing about on blue foam sticks, and warming up in the bubbly area. I was disappointed with the temperature, though. Earlier, we’d been shown the VIP pool, where they have a small fountain of natural spring water bubbling up from underground, and that water was seriously hot. But the spa water was as warm as the bath is when you decide it’s time to get out. But to be fair, I like my baths so hot I almost get blisters.

The spa also has a beautiful rooftop pool, which is a great place to be at sunset. The steam rises off the water and the sky glows orange as you bob about in admittedly tepid (for me) water. The main incentive to stay in was that the outside air was freezing. It is November after all.

The best bit had to be the steam room. It’s one big room with four small, round, glass-walled compartments inside. Each steam room compartment had a different aroma, from eucalyptus to lemongrass. In the middle of them all was a waterfall shower, and to the sides were hot and cold showers. It was wonderfully hot in the steam rooms, and a perfect way to end the evening.

I used to think spas were boring, but this place, with its chilled-out atmosphere and rooftop pool makes me think there’s something in it after all.

After the spa, we grabbed a Chinese from a restaurant full of Chinese people (always a sign of good food), then drove out of Bath as fast as the Sat Nav would allow (not very).

The next day was uneventful, as Thomas had to work (he convinced his boss to let him visit me once a month for a week at a time as long as he still did his work), so we sat in a cute cafe in Bradford On Avon eating lots of food and drinking lots of tea.

The next day we went to Wales, to visit one of our fellow Trek America group members. Tristan lives in a farm on the edge of the Brecon Beacons, and the area is just gorgeous. Rolling hills, fresh air, nice people. Plus, Tristan’s farm was awesome and he has five cats and three dogs, so I was very happy. They also had a few ghosts, a fact that scared the crap out of me.

We spent our time wandering the hills and playing with the dogs. Went to see Skyfall, and the cinema had 95% old ladies (the other 5% was us). They were clearly just there for Daniel Craig.

Soon it was time to head home, and I realised that I don’t hate the UK after all. In fact, it’s absolutely beautiful and has so many really nice people (and complicated cities, but who doesn’t like to punch the steering wheel in frustration?). As long as you’re not inside the M25. Which is where I live. Until I buy a farmhouse in the countryside…

Trek America part III – reporting straight from Holland

It’s been a while since I last posted, and there’s a good reason for that: my memory is terrible and I can barely remember what happened on the Trek America trip to the Canadian Rockies in September – and in what order. But I have a little helper in my blog writing today: Thomas! As you might remember (or know, if you were on the trip), Thomas is the Dutch guy who likes wearing checked shirts. I have since seen his wardrobe and counted them – he has eight. And a pair of checked trousers, but I will be making sure they stay in the wardrobe.

Anyway, another thing you should know about Thomas is that he has an incredible memory. In my last post I got several dates and activities mixed up, and this has upset him greatly, so I am going to be editing it so it’s correct – and writing the following installments of the Trek America trip with his help. So here I am, in Holland, blonde beer in hand and surrounded by lots of confused Dutch people, tapping out the blog with Thomas’s help.

So where did I finish the last post on the Canadian Rockies Trek America trip? Oh yes, not being asked for ID when I bought Bailey’s. You’ll be unsurprised to learn that the Bailey’s didn’t last very long at all – especially when I bought hot chocolate and made it with two parts Bailey’s, one part chocolate powder and one part hot milk. Amazing.

Next on the agenda was Wells Gray – a national park centred around adventure and outdoor activities. We met up with our tour guide, Heather, a South African girl who told us a delightful story about how she once used a pit toilet in Belize and fell in. She decided to go into a lot of detail when she told us this story. I won’t go into it, but let’s just say it involved a lot of maggots.

Anyway, Heather first of all took us to see some upstream salmon trying to fly over rocks. She told us most of them don’t make it and they die. The rest get caught and barbequed in Teriyaki sauce.

As usual in these places, there was a public pit toilet that you could smell from 50 metres away, so we took turns to pee 55 metres away from the pit toilets, in the bushes (I discovered that 50m away from every pit toilet in the country is a tree surrounded by toilet paper and stinking of pee. Hence the 55m). We then got back in the van to drive to our next destination – the canoe centre. The plan was to pair up, get in canoes and paddle across a lake for two and a half hours to a remote piece of land that is inaccessible apart from by boat.

I squeezed the biceps of all the boys to see who the best canoe partner would be. Unfortunately Tristan, outdoor enthusiast and canoe instructor, was taken by Erin. And Grant had already picked Julia. Kenneth was part of a couple. The only boy left was Thomas. So I was stuck with him and his zig zag canoeing skills. We were soon being called a married couple by the rest of the group, as we bickered the whole way. Him saying I wasn’t doing anything, and me saying his steering was terrible. We had the booze cooler though – and thinking that was a good thing to be carrying was the only thing we agreed on. We needed it.

Being a competitive group, we raced most of the way and got there much quicker than Heather had expected us to. I think they base their timings on the elderly and infirm.

Arriving at our campsite, which consisted of a couple of benches, a fire pit and – oh joy – a pit toilet, felt like we were in a scene from Lost. There was nowhere to run from the bears here.

The first half hour was spent wrestling each other – literally – for the flattest, softest spot to pitch our tents. Tristan had the best spot, cos he’s good at that sort of thing, and Thomas and Grant nicked our spot because we were too slow at pitching the tent. In the end we found what seemed like a great spot – which turned out to be on a slope, and I spent the night wriggling up the tent from the corner. I also managed to put the cap of my water bottle on wrong and woke up in the morning to jokes that I’d peed the tent. The funny thing is that the same evening, we’d played ‘I have never’ and discovered that three people in the group had had experience of a partner peeing in the bed. Lovely.

Talking of that evening, it was possibly the most drunken and eventful of them all. We found out a lot (too much) about everybody, and with more alcohol came more sordid details. It was just as two of the group started to strip off to go skinnydipping in the freezing cold lake that I decided to slink off to bed.

The next morning the rest of the group was too hungover to get out of bed, so Kathryn and I went for a wander in the woods. It didn’t last very long – too much talk of bears and thoughts of breakfast.

We left straight after breakfast – another canoe trip across the lake. Back in the van, we warmed up and started driving to Wells Gray Ranch, where we were promised steak and beers. On the way we stopped at a waterfall, next to which we cooked hotdogs – with onions and everything. I must admit I barely glanced at the waterfall – the lure of hot dogs far too enticing.

When we got to the ranch, we were given the choice of a free upgrade to a cabin. Sounds luxurious and romantic, doesn’t it? The room had 10 beds, no lights and lots of cobwebs. But it was one degree warmer than the tents, and it had rectangles of foam covered in plastic, which was better than lying on the hard ground with just a skimpy yoga mat.

That night was filled with the promised steak and beer, plus hot chocolate, a warm bar and most importantly, wifi. I quickly shot off an email to my mum. Didn’t want her thinking I was lying dead in a ditch. Again.

Trek America part II – the bear! And other stuff…

Day two with Trek America began the same way all our mornings did: with Thomas and Tristan knocking on our tents to wake us up, and shouting “breakfast!” As became the usual routine, Julia and I stayed in bed just long enough that the boys would have the tea brewed by the time we emerged.

They’d also already undertaken the group’s least favourite task – unloading all the food an cooking equipment from the trailer and setting up the table. We had to keep everything in the trailer, from our food supplies to all our toiletries, because apparently bears like lip balm and toothpaste. I then took up my regular spot at the stove making batches of porridge or everyone. They told me I had to do it because I made the best porridge. In hindsight, this was a very cunning and clever move on their part, and being a sucker for flattery on mine…

After breakfast we bundled into the van to drive to the start of a trek. And five minutes in, what did I spot hiding in the bushes right next to the road? This fella! The elusive bear that tour leader Charlie stresses about for the duration of every trip he leads because all anyone wants is to see a bear, and Charlie when will we see a bear? Charlie where are the bears? Charlie will we see a bear today?? He sidled over to me at dinner the next night (Charlie, not the bear) and said: “You’re a really nice person and all, but the best thing about you is that you spotted that bear. I can now sleep at night. I’m serious. I lose sleep over this.” I felt pretty chuffed. And the gang was happy. Except Tristan, who said, “Yeah it was great seeing a bear and all, but that was just one bear. I want to see lots of bears. I want to see grizzlies and entire families of them.” I’ll see what I can do…

After that, we went to the Kicking Horse River, where we went white-water rafting. I was terrified. Almost pooping my pants. I’m not good with water. There were two options – the tough rapids and the death-defying rapids. I decided there was no way I was doing the second part of the rapids – the deathy one. No way.

I did both. And the worst thing that happened was that Tristan whacked me across the face with his paddle as we went over a rapid.

The rest of the day was spent buying food for dinner and playing with the campground cat, as you do.

The next day, we went for a 12km hike from Emerald Lake (below) to Yoho Pass. It rained and it was all uphill, but I was carrying bear spray, so not only was I the most popular person to walk with, but I also felt super cool and hard. I didn’t look so super cool and hard as I puffed up the hill, but I felt it. I felt it.

Here’s a pic of me with bear spray sticking out the side of my bag. Next to a banana. Don’t get those two mixed up.

We got to the end of the trek and the rain started to seriously come down. This was the point when we realised Charlie (and more importantly, the warm, dry van), wasn’t where he should be. He eventually rolled up, laughing at us, and somehow Tristan was already in the van, dry and laughing even more than Charlie at our unfortunate state.

And so, wet and tired, we travelled to our next campground, in Banff. And had a little group nap on the way…

When we arrived it was still chucking down with rain, and a few people wimped out and got a room in a hostel. The rest of us put up our tents in the rain – then were told they were in the wrong section of the campground and had to re- put up the tents in the rain. Fun.

We cheered ourselves up with a night out on the town. This is a ski-resort town, so it was weird to be there when there was no snow and no tourists. It was all fancy and resorty, and had restaurants with names like Wild Bills. And that’s where we went for dinner…

The next day was a free day, which meant we could go out and enjoy everything that beautiful Banff had to offer. We could hike, we could bike, we could shop, eat, sunbathe. What did we do? Laundry.

Here’s a photo incase you don’t believe me. We finally got out of the laudromat at lunchtime, and followed our noses to a pizza place where you dip the pizza into a mixture of honey and chilli oil. They also had wifi, so we all spent the first half hour furiously emailing people to tell them we were alive, checking Facebook and Googling all the things we’d said “we must google that when we have internet!” about.

Then the gang went our separate ways – Erin and I decided to do the uber-touristy gondola up Sulphur Mountain. It was just as tacky as I’d imagined, and the Japanese tourists were in full force with their cameras at the top. But we got photos of views that my friends later said looked photoshopped, which is always a sign of a good view. I think. (Ok, ok it’s Instagrammed. I admit it.)

We had to rush to get back to the campsite in time for dinner (I was on the cooking crew), and when we got back we saw that Tristan had bought a new T-shirt, which said “same shirt, different day”. We found this funny simply because our tour leader, Charlie, literally wore the same shirt every day. Just as I was having a good giggle at his expense, Charlie pipes up, “Laugh it up, cos your mom called to say she was worried about you because she hasn’t heard from you.” The group erupted into laughter, and the jokes kept on coming, thick and fast, for the remainder of the two weeks. Stuff like, “I don’t know, ask your mum” and mature things like that. Thanks mum. (When I got home I quizzed her about it and she said that wasn’t why she called at all, and that Trek America had taken it upon themselves to contact all the tour leaders.) Still embarrassing. The other group heard about it and asked me later: “Did you hear about that person whose mum called?” Yeah, that was me…

That night we went to the hot springs, which were unfortunately not natural – but they did rent out 1920s bathers. This did not help anyone forget about the mum thing. Anyway, here I am in a woolly bather and being held up by the guys. I know it looks like it, but that dude was not holding my boob. I swear.

We discovered that night, in a haze of steamy gossip, something terrible, something that would prevent us from ever having a good night’s sleep in the tents again: the other Trek America group had pillows and blow-up mattresses. We had yoga mats. Old yoga mats. And nothing else. Then I discovered that Erin and Kathryn from our group were both using three sleeping bags each – four of which were from Trek America. We’d been freezing our butts off with just one! I was waking up every night at 3am shivering! Julia and I couldn’t believe it, and nabbed two bags from them. It was bliss. Everything was right with the world again. Three sleeping bags, I don’t know. Tsh.

The next morning, warm and well-slept, we were up bright and early for a trek at Lake Louise. I’d always wanted to go there, but was disappointed at the amount of tourists. But all we had to do was outwalk all the Americans, as they started dropping off and heading back to the start trembling with hunger. The other tourists didn’t make it further than the perimeter of the lake. So many posed photos to be taken, so little time.

Talking of posed photos, here’s ours… I walked with Grant and Thomas, and we stopped for a well-earned apple pie at the teahouse halfway. Then we carried on up to a glacier and a constantly avalanching mountain. Here it is, in fact!

After Lake Louise came a trip to Lake Moraine, Lake Louise’s even more stunning sister. The idea was to go there and get some pictures and all that, then jump in the icy cold water. In the warmth of the van I found it very easy to be all macho and say I was up for it. When it came to it (and when I discovered the water was now only 2ft deep and I’d have to make a concerted effort to submerge myself) I regretted my decision bitterly. I tried to pretend I’d never agreed to it, but I’d boasted about my braveness so much that no one was going to let me get away with it. I tried to get away with just dipping my feet in, but they were having none of it. Then this happened (pic below):

He dunked me. I breathed in the ice-cold water. A boob fell out. Everyone got pictures.

(No one has noticed the boob pictures yet. They will now I’ve written this. But it can’t get more embarrassing than having your mum call the tour leaders, so do your worst…)

The next day it was on to Jasper. The drive included 100km along the Icefields Parkway, said to be the most scenic drive in the world. But it was Erin’s turn in charge of the music, and she has pretty bad music. I thoroughly enjoyed teasing her for it, as she justified every song to me. “Come on, Garbage are classic!” “But the Black Eyed Peas are awesome.” “Oh but Justin Timberlake is such a great singer.” These aren’t the exact things she said, but in my memory it’s close enough. I found it most amusing. But since this was a beautiful drive, everyone agreed to rip into Erin until she gave in and let Charlie choose some more fitting music. He chose Old Crow Medicine Show. The song Wagon Wheel became our most played, and the theme tune of the whole trip.  I recommend you listen to this song. But never in a city. It would be like knitting with a drug dealer. Or your grandpa using an iPhone. They just don’t go together.

Anyway, the Icefield Parkway was all the superlatives you can think of. It even had a chipmunk. He’s so cute I could eat him. Here he is.

That night, we had homemade burgers and lots more marshmallows. Plus what became the regular gossip session around the campfire. After several ‘my friend once…’ stories, we went to bed to the sound of screaming elk looking for lady elks with whom to spend the night. It sounded like children being murdered. Sleep well!

Mountain biking in Jasper National Park was the plan for the next day. We had two options: the hard trail or the really hard trail. Thomas, Sabrine and I went for the hard trail. It was hard. Near the end, we came across some elk on our trail. Now we had a decision to make: go back a few miles and detour along the highway, or get past the elk. We’d been told every day not to go near them as they’re in mating season and are very dangerous. So what did we do? We went past them. Singing. Apparently this was so they didn’t think we were trying to creep up on them. Later that day we saw a massive male elk wandering around the campsite screaming for a girlfriend. I was just worried that I’d walk right into him on my way to the bathroom at night. Face full of elk. It could happen.

That night turned out to be pretty amazing. Why? Because I learned how to make Baileys shot glasses out of toasted marshmallows. Two of the greatest things known to man. Together. I’ll be honest, it wasn’t easy, and swigging from the bottle before munching a marshmallow soon became the preferred method of getting them in my belly. But one thing did disturb me about the whole thing: I didn’t get IDd for the Baileys. How old do I look?? Don’t answer that.

 

 

Team Trek America hit the Rockies

I just came back from a two-week tour around the Western Canadian Rockies. It is 5am and I am still awake. Jet lag is a bitch.

So what do I do? I write. I write every detail of the trip (well, not every detail….). Some of it you might find interesting. Some of it you might find boring. But I’ll cut the boring bits out in the morning.

Anyway, my story begins in Seattle. I arrived three days before the Trek America tour started, and had arranged to stay at a local’s house, via couchsurfing.org.

Matt, my couchsurfing host, Matt, was brilliant – he lent me his bike, let me walk his dog (below), and even gave me a lift to the airport at 6.30am for the Trek America pick-up. And I only got myself into trouble a couple of times. Once when I lost Matt’s spare keys and blamed it on the dog and then when I chased a bus down the freeway on the bike because it was better than being murdered by a sketchy character on the dark streets of downtown.

Anyway, after a few days of biking round the city, eating deep-fried peanut butter and jam sandwiches and rocking out at Bumbershoot Festival, the morning of the Trek America tour came, and I met all 19 of the other people on the tour. Standing in the dated, musty lobby of the Clarion hotel, we were split into two groups by Charlie and Adam – the tour leaders “not tour guides. We don’t guide. We lead“.

In my group there was a fellow Brit, Grant, who is a car designer living in Milton Keynes; Thomas the Dutch web developer who likes checked shirts and looks like Bambi when he rollerskates; Erin and Kathryn, chalk-and-cheese Aussie sisters who bickered all the time, which I found most entertaining; Tristan, one of my favourite people in the world, a Welsh farm boy who had an amusing eight-year-old persona that only showed up in restaurants; Aisling, an Irish girl who valiantly got by on a two-week trek with no luggage; Sabrine and Kenneth, a Danish couple – she had such gorgeous hair I just wanted to stroke it all the time (and did) and he was very shy except when drunk, when he danced with all the girls; and Julia, a German nurse and my awesome tent-mate. Oh and I can’t forget Charlie, our Trek America tour leader. He also liked checked shirts, but the same one. Every day. We liked Charlie a lot.

So back in the hotel lobby, Charlie talked us through what to expect on the trip. “Um so we’re in two groups cos there are so many of us and we’ll be doing everything in parallel. But you’re my group. And um, yeah, so we’re gonna be camping every night apart from Vancouver, when we’ll stay in a hostel, cos, like, there aren’t really campgrounds in the city. What else? So we’ll be cooking at the campsites and getting our food every couple of days from a local supermarket. You’ll be in three teams: cooking, cleaning, and erm, other cleaning. Um, that’s about it.”

So we piled into our van, cranked up the music and hit the road. A quick stop for the customs limit of cheap booze just before the border, and we were soon in Canada, home of maple syrup, moose and expensive booze. Here we are, all very excited. Well, Thomas is. (See, I wasn’t lying about the checked shirts.)

We finally arrived at our first campsite, in the nothing town of Kamloops, just in time to take a dip in the arctic lake, have a beer and cook a Thai curry before the sun went down.

Yep, here I am cooking Thai curry. So anyway, we went to bed, and it was my second night to ever sleep in a tent. I loved it. On the first morning I got up super early and photographed the sunrise (I actually got up to pee but don’t tell the others that). I told everyone proudly that I’d be getting up to see the sunrise every morning. I didn’t. Not once.

That day, we drove into Yoho National Park, where we were told we’d be staying at the most scenic campground of the whole trip, Beaverfoot Lodge, in Golden BC. It was gorgeous, but being told “this is as good as it’s gonna get” doesn’t really get you all excited about the next place, does it? We were eaten alive by mozzies there too, and that doesn’t sound all that great, does it? It was beautiful, to be fair. In fact, here’s a photo:

 

That night, four Trek America groups on different tours happened to be staying at the same place. Three of the groups partied and played beer pong. We were all way too mature for all that, so ate our bodyweights in toasted marshmallows. Like adults.

We also ate like flipping kings. The cooking group made lasagne and moussaka – all on the barbecue. Oh, and sweet potatoes. Charlie kept stressing out about us overspending the food kitty ($10 each per day) because we were buying SO much. In the end, after 14 days, we had $6 left in the kitty. Not too bad…

So that’s the first couple of days – pretty exciting stuff, I know. Don’t worry, it gets better than: we stood in a hotel/we drove in a van/I woke up in the morning. I promise.