So Greyhound wasn't at all bad. Sure, the seats are a bit cramped and traveling by coach is ssssllloooooowwww, but the ride was pretty decent. Also, unlike its American counterpart, Greyhound Canada isn't the Ex-con Express. While Greyhound at home is the unofficial transit provider of the US penal system, the one here is, well, just a bus.
We checked into our new pimp accommodations in the village and unwound, while I tried desperately to get the WiFi working, only to moderate success. (Hence the choppy bulk updates for you regular readers...)
Susanna and Elena immediately went to work scouting the village for drinking locations, and after a while, J and I met up with them on the Longhorn's back patio, with a perfect view of the Telus festival stage. Sam Roberts - whom I'd never heard of - was rocking the fuck out of the stage, the beers were flowing, and the snow was dumping. So much for the forecast for rain!
It dumped 4 inches just while we were out, and before heading back we went to the Village liquor store we went to pick up some supplies...
J complained that people were looking at him funny for buying so much beer. I mean, this is the country that gave us the McKenzie brothers. STRANGE BREW, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I find it hard to believe that any Canuck would begrudge someone for buying a shitload of suds.