2016 has finally come around and my social media news feeds continue to be clogged up with updates about first spinning classes, new passions for yoga, and how to make a kale smoothie to finally get the bikini body you’ve been helplessly searching for since 2008 (let’s be honest, despite Kate Moss’s view, some things will always taste better than skinny feels). But, in spite of all these painful new years’ resolutions, as I enter semester two of UBC, I’m quite confident that the next four months will be exactly the same as the last, and I couldn’t be happier about that.
The last time I wrote on this blog was November, and the past two months have been a whirlwind of learning to ski, cramming for final exams, and spending my first Christmas away from home (in New York City, of all places).
Exam results have come around, and proved that Inbetweeners-esque, energy-fuelled, night before revision, where you power through an entire textbook and approximately two tubs of cookie dough, can in fact pay off. But before I realised I had miraculously passed all my courses, I jumped on plane to New York, ready to experience my first American Christmas.
Although the absence of waitressing at Christmas parties at work, and going on the annual family trip to pick a Christmas tree made the festive season all feel a little peculiar, that all changed when I was reunited with an old friend at Newark airport. Checked into our hotel, we spent Christmas Eve Eve (yes, that’s an actual thing in my mind) watching the lights show at Saks Fifth Avenue, visiting Rockefelller Centre’s Christmas tree, eating at the Hard Rock Café and finally, curling up in an Irish pub just off Times Square, making our way through a bottle of wine whilst “Fairy-tale of New York” played out in the background.
Christmas Eve was spent mad dashing around New York city sights in the heat. Yes, you did read that right. New York was about 23 degrees on Christmas Eve, and something felt a little strange about watching the ice rink at Bryant Park melt away, as people walked past in shorts and t-shirts. Not exactly the snowy East Coast Christmas Eve that I’d pictured. But, as we walked through Central Park, and stopped at the Met steps and pretended to be eating lunch on Gossip girl, I couldn’t complain.
(pictured below is a man at work on Christmas Eve, supposed to be entertaining the kids, but clearly he hadn’t been warned of the temperature, and wasn’t all too happy about his work uniform).
After pushing through the mosh pit of people crammed in Grand Central station on Christmas Eve afternoon, all waiting to get out of the city to family homes, we made it onto a train to New Jersey, tired and ready to crash at my friend’s family home. If I hadn’t felt festive enough before, then arriving at my friend’s home in Hillsborough definitely solved that problem. Walking into a Home-alone style beautiful house with a huge decorated tree and Christmas songs playing throughout the house, it finally felt like Christmas Eve.
After a few days of amazing food and even better wine (and lots of it!), alongside a day exploring Princeton’s beautiful campus and many hours spent enjoying episodes of Peep Show on the sofa, it was sadly time for me to return to Canada. My return was made so much better by an old friend from home greeting me at the airport.
My poor knowledge of Vancouver geography in general and my inability to work the Google Maps apps proved to be a slight issue, but I managed to be a half-decent tour guide– and after a cycle around Stanley Park seawall, it felt good to be back in this city again.
A trip to Whistler saw my (very much amateur) ski skills tested, as my athlete friend who hadn’t skied in a decade whizzed past me on the beginner slope and suggested skiing all the way down the mountain. This proved a challenge for me, who’d spent the past two weekends in Whistler in ski school, with three year olds racing past me as I focused solely on holding down the tequila I’d consumed the night before. However, only a few falls later, I made it to the bottom of the mountain, feeling just a little bit proud of myself as we prepared to head back to the city for New Years Eve.
For once, I was able to spend New Years with friends and not serving extremely drunk customers and polishing plates. I definitely made the most of this, with a night that began with a house party of fellow exchangers, and ended in a 4.30am limousine ride back from a club downtown.
With 2016 here, it was time to start classes at UBC again and things began to feel oh so familiar. Namely: the painful calculation of textbook costs at the terrifying over-priced bookstore, the froyo breaks in between lectures, and the recurring “ah well, we only need 50 to pass the year” attitude every time anybody suggests a night out. As I try to budget my student loan around a weekend trip to Portland and more days exploring the slopes of Whistler, alongside a fair few Wine Wednesdays at Mahony’s, and numerous trips to the Bimini, I’ve got a feeling this semester may not be so bad. And an even stronger feeling that Wakefield won’t seem so appealing come summer time when I have to get a return flight home.
(back at UBC and exploring the beaches on campus)