It was to be one of our last family trips – with an almost 20-year-old college student son, Zach and a 16-year old daughter, Chloe – my husband and I could see our family travel days coming to an end. My daughter, a weather-starved Los Angeles girl, had been craving a snow vacation. She had fond memories of winter vacations in Mammoth when she was younger. Whistler, British Columbia, seemed to fit the bill perfectly. Close, yet not too close. A “foreign” country.

The vacation was perfectly planned, or so we thought. We arrived at LAX on December 20 two hours before our flight was to leave, and got in the line. The line didn’t move. Signs everywhere stated if you didn’t check in 45 minutes before your flight, you wouldn’t be able to board (and I couldn’t get a boarding pass online because this was an Air Canada flight run by United). As the moments ticked away, I was still hopeful, but when we stepped up to the counter 44 minutes before our flight, we were locked out. It was chaos – no agents to speak with and many people in the same boat.

My daughter broke down in tears and my mama bear attitude kicked in. I found an agent and begged her to help us. The best she could do was to put us on standby. Chloe and I were willing, but my art student son didn’t want to risk being separated from his luggage. Chloe and I went standby, and easily got on the next flight. Zach and my husband, Stuart, made plans to join us the next day.

Whistler Blackcomb, the site of the 2010 Olympics, is idyllic. The setting, with a walkable village full of great restaurants and shops is perfect—you get our of your car and don’t have to get in it again until you leave. Everything, including the lifts, are a few minutes from most of the hotels.

We picked up our gear right in our hotel that night. The next morning, Chloe and I ventured out into a crisp, dark morning (it doesn’t get light until around 7:30 a.m.) to get her started with her teen snowboard class and buy lift tickets. I sent her off and took a moment to stop at one of the several independent coffee shops in town (yes, they have Starbucks too), and just drank in the atmosphere with my mocha.

With over 8,000 acres of terrain on both Whistler and Blackcomb mountains, this is an impressive ski venue, and with its incredible new Peak to Peak Gondola that goes from the top of each mountain to the other in 11 minutes offering sweeping views, the setting is world class. But for me, a New York transplant who grew up skiing in Switzerland, the cozy mountain village just felt familiar and comfortable.

Unfortunately, the rest of our family never made it. They got on a plane the next night, flew an hour north, and turned around because of bad weather. We were sad, but decided to make the best of it. In the days to come, Whistler felt more and more like Zermatt, where I skied as a child. Chloe loved her snowboard class, and met kids from Hong Kong, Australia, and England, while I brushed up on my skiing.

I took a daily walk in the village, sometimes venturing out to the cross country skiing area, Lost Lake, where you could still walk because it was early in the season. We went snowmobiling to the top of the mountain one evening—terrifying but exhilarating, ate raclette (a melted cheese dish from Switzerland), fondue and other great food. We didn’t have time for sleighing or dog-sledding on this trip. Maybe next time when (hopefully) we get to experience the alpine magic of Whistler with the whole family.

January 12th, 2009 | by Mary Jane Horton Comment