Where else can you nearly break every limb in your body while skiing in bitter 20 below temperatures with constant snowfall, fend off an intoxicated naked Canadian woman sporting a tattoo in a very private area between her legs, (at a very public hot-tub), be lured into a belly dance by a librarian at a Greek restaurant, and live to tell about it?
Canadians, unlike Americans, seem to be much more open about their sexuality. They make us look almost puritan. The Canadian polymer dollar bill is certainly more interesting than the comparatively boring American dollar; their people seem to be similarly colorful.
Take the hot-tub hottie, for example. This 36-year old was naked, save a thin white wet towel slung across her shapely body. She did not seem at all self-conscious about sharing her nakedness with the 55-year-old man and his 16-year-old nephew, who sat, transfixed, in one of the two indoor hotel hot-tubs. Both men, fascinated, and sweating from both the hot temperatures in the room and hot woman bearing all, observed this creature dress, and undress. She periodically covered parts of herself with a towel or two, while she seemed to talk in an endless non-sensical way, admitting to affairs with women, a former professional football player, and a flirtation with a famous pro black basketball player. She claimed to be related to key political figures in Canada. The blond-haired, blue-eyed bombshell with full and likely fake breasts, an upturned nose like the kind plastic surgeons craft, lips so plump she couldn't enunciate her words, fascinated the three of us.
The 16-year-old boy, attentive, and attempting to hide his stares, learned more that night about women than in any sex-ed class. I wondered why his uncle allowed him to hear the conversation and witness her inhibition.
The uncle, clearly amused and entertained, enjoyed watching the bombshell tell me how much she liked my muscular legs, how graceful and pretty I was, and how I should have worn a 2-piece bathing suit to show off my figure, rather than the more conservative one-piece. But he clearly developed fantasy material when slapped my legs in an effort to show that they were muscular. Not trying to encourage this activity, I sat there, unsure of what to do next.
Thankfully, a hotel maintenance worker entered the room and shut the room down for the evening. The hottie grabbed my jacket by mistake, and put it on. I looked at the two men, asking them to NOT leave me alone with this woman. She returned my jacket, found her own, and some thin leggings, and put them on. We all left the hot tub together.
Yes, Canadians seem to be colorful people.
I was also surprised when a stunningly beautiful belly dancer at the Balkan Greek Restaurant in Banff wove her way around the Birmingham Ski Club's members as we finished our celebratory meal. Clad in a sequenced mid-riff and skirt, she delighted and impressed with her belly-rolling and hip shaking gyrations. She lured several of us from our seated positions into a duet in front of all the diners. We mimicked her as she shook, clapped and spun. This lovely woman, who works as a librarian during the day, and belly dancer at night, danced with several delighted ski club members.
When she pulled me away from my lamb shank, she found I did a pretty good job of mimicking her moves. She upped the ante by leaning back into a full back bend. I foolishly followed, just I had followed much better skiers that morning to the top of the mountain with no idea or skill set to successfully ski down to the base lodge. I put my head back and arched into the back bend, thinking all the while, ("I hope I can straighten back up," and "What do I do if I fall down?") 42 people watched as I unashamedly shook and mimicked her moves. She, in her perfect body and costume. Me, in my turtleneck and jeans.
Yes, Canadians seem to be colorful people.
Skiing in Canada requires one to be a bit more responsible than skiing at resorts in the United States. For example, there's the Rock Garden at Lake Louise. It's a run that requires the skier to traverse through trees in order to access the run. This usually "blue" run, given poor conditions, was downgraded to a single "black diamond" run. For non-skiers, let me translate. It means the run is more difficult. There were warning avalanch signs, and one that indicated generally poor conditions.
Sure enough, rocks, trees, branches and roots were exposed where there wasn't enough snow. Good skiers can maneuver around these obstacles, but ordinary ones, like myself had more difficulty.
I followed some very capable, experienced skiers from the Birmingham Ski Club into the Rock Garden. They skillfully missed hitting thick pine trees, exposed rocks, and bare areas. Lacking in confidence to do the same, removed off my skis in an attempt to walk past these treacherous areas. It was a bad plan. Never should have done it. Never should have been there in the first place. Bad, bad idea! With every step I took, I fell more deeply into the powder. I eventually climbed out, much to the amusement of my ski buddies, who watched me struggle. Thankfully, we encountered no avalanches and the understated warning signs were dead on. This run was more difficult!
Yup, these Canadians seem to be colorful people.
20 degrees below zero on Lake Louise
Frozen eyelashes
