I still have to look up at Mt. Begbie from time to time to remind myself that I moved 6,500 kilometres across the country to live here.
Through trial and error, I’m slowly learning what it means to be a Revelstokian.
Being super impressed when I know that ‘Revy’ is what you locals call it? Not cool.
Strapping a milk crate onto the back of your bike, and then proceeding to put nothing in it? Cool.
Having the ability to shop at a grocery store past 6 p.m.? Not cool.
Having an ‘absolutely’ attitude towards anyone asking you to do any activity? Very cool.
Three weeks into my time in Revelstoke and I’ve gone rock climbing, found a local watering hole, met some really cool people and learned that this place has a lot to offer for a little town tucked away in the mountains.
As a loud and proud Newf (in case you were wondering, yes, I have the Newfoundland flag hung up next to my desk at the Review) our lifestyles aren’t all that different: we both live life at a slower pace than most, we both sing a little louder than most, we both party without apology.
Is it all sunshine and rainbows? No, of course not. It never is.
Why does it feel like this town is jamming 100,000 bright-eyed bushy-tailed guys and gals into 13 living spaces? Why has such a beautiful place with so much up-side made it so difficult to find a place to lay your head?
Why do I get the feeling that before my time in Revelstoke is up, I’ll be living in a tent on the side of Victoria Road? Mind you, the view would be immaculate, but a man needs running water, WiFi and a roof over his head.
And don’t get me started on your mosquitoes. Who has been juicing those bad-boys up? Clearly someone has been pumping their food supply full of growth hormones, because a crew of maybe six or seven mosquitoes could pick me up and fly me all the way to the top of Mt. Revelstoke, I swear.
Did I freak out a little the first time I saw a bear trotting around in someone’s front yard? Yeah, maybe a little, but who could blame me?
The worst thing you’ll find prancing around your yard in Newfoundland is a drunk 36-year-old bayman with a lip like a cold bucket.
But, for every bear sighting, there’s a perfect view of the stars at night. For every mosquito bite, there’s the promise of new adventure. For every house-searching induced headache, there’s a crisp mountain morning to remind myself of why I’m here.
So, here’s to everything yet to come. If I’ve met you already, a big Newfie cheers for welcoming me into your little slice of the world. If I haven’t met you yet, I’ll be sure to try and make a good first impression.
After all, it’s only been three weeks.