Lindsay Rose and Krista Alexander<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Warning: the following article may induce feelings of excessive nostalgia and envy. If you are easily disturbed or offended, we urge you to turn the page now.<\/p>\n
After countless months of planning, hearing stories of past trips and
\nstressing, family day weekend finally came. For some, that meant hitting up the
\ncottage with the fam, or maybe a weekend getaway to a long distance
\ndestination. But for 14 grade 11 NT students, it was destined to be a weekend
\nwe’d never forget. Four days at Mont Tremblant, QC with no parents, no cares,
\nand the only rule being not to use the family designated hot tub located on the
\nwest mountain. We left on Thursday at midnight- most of us were planning to
\nsleep through the all-night bus ride. Wrong. If there was one rule we would
\nlearn about Tremblant, it was that sleeping was not an option.<\/p>\n
Day one, we groggily rolled up to the grocery store just outside Tremblant at 9
\nam that morning, and aimlessly wandered the aisles wondering what to buy to
\nfeed ourselves for the next four days. Turns out we did even less eating than
\nwe did sleeping. (Although I’m sure the Kraft Dinner and various liquids we
\nlived off of did our bodies \u201cabsolut\u201d wonders.) By the time we were out of the
\ngrocery store, back on the bus and in Tremblant, it was 10 am, and we were
\nbeing dropped off at our house in the mountain. Yes, you did read that
\ncorrectly – our house. Unlike previous years, we decided to break away from
\nBreakaway Tours and put our lives in the hands of S-Trip (voted best decision
\nmade regarding the trip). The S-Trip staff were really friendly, and their
\noccasional drop-ins to make sure everyone still had all their limbs were always
\neventful, such as hearing stories about the people they had sent home the night
\nbefore.<\/p>\n
By the second day, twelve people had been sent home, one of which was a girl
\nthey found naked in a ditch halfway up the mountain. Rough. The first night
\nthere was no planned event, so we quickly made some new friends and had a small
\nget together where we sat around drinking hot chocolate in our pajamas,
\nbraiding each other’s hair and singing along to One Direction. It was so much
\nfun that we were tempted to stay in from the Graffiti Party the next night and
\ndo it all over again. But when our guide came by to drop off the shirts we were
\nin charge of designing ourselves, we quickly changed our minds. Maybe it was
\nfate, (we’re convinced it was planned) but the shirts only got dropped off with
\n10 minutes to spare before we had to catch the bus to leave for the event. It
\nwas a blur of snips and cuts, and next thing we knew, our t-shirts now
\nresembled dishcloths. It was between wearing that, or something nice that would
\nget written all over, so we downed a little bit of liquid courage, put on our
\nfabric that was called a t-shirt, and boarded the bus to hell.<\/p>\n
The rest of the trip was a blur, I guess exhaustion can erase one’s memory,
\ncause extreme nausea and encourage you to make awful choices (who knew?). Many
\nthings were left behind (none of which were luggage, like last year), but
\nbetween finding phone numbers on our backs, avoiding the window of shame,
\nbreaking into our house in the middle of the night because nobody had a key,
\nbreaking into the wrong house, and having a family lunch in the village, the
\nfourteen of us who took the challenge of Tremblant made it out alive (somehow)
\nand bonded along the way. We’ll miss you Trembs, and don\u2019t forget ladies and
\ngentleman, you have to be rad, to B-rad. Oh, and mystery York Mills boy, if you\u2019re
\nout there somewhere and you ever see this \u2013 chocolate is always
\nthe way to go. You made the right choice.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lindsay Rose and Krista Alexander Warning: the following article may induce feelings of excessive nostalgia and envy. If you are easily disturbed or offended, we urge you to turn the page now. After countless months of planning, hearing stories … Continue reading