For those of you who aren’t well-versed in area codes, that’s Stowe, Vermont. Ok, 802 is all of Vermont. But I happened to be in Stowe. There’s is no 514 equivalent, because well, I’m given to understand it’s pretty much been colonized by Montrealers. In addition to their distinctive white and blue license plates, you can tell them apart because they forget they can turn right on red everywhere else in North America.
The plan was to go skiing, but this being the US of A and with global warming definitely not happening there, it rained the night we arrived and the mountain was a frozen hell the first morning. Being at best an ok skier on a fresh powder day, I decided to not tempt fate and do some Vermonting in the village instead.
Referred to as “the Vale of the East”, the Stowe ski resort is known for manufacturing the largest amount of artificial snow on the East coast. Even so, the inconvenient truth is that there simply wasn’t enough winter happening. In the first week of March. Make of that what you will…
A charming, if slightly overpriced (especially when converting to CAD!!!) destination, there’s everything you’d expect from a Vermont tourist town from farms, to artisanal arts and crafts shops, to fromageries, to sleigh rides, to a Ben & Jerry’s factory.
Everything except snow that is. Day 2 brought much better groomed slopes but, still scarred from last year’s experience of essentially skating down Owl’s head (I repeat, global warming, not a thing), I was not brave enough to shell out over 100 USD for a lift ticket in the hopes that I make it back down in the same condition I went up.
And that’s the best possible outcome.
Also the least likely one.
So I rented skates and showed some toddlers a move or two and ate overpriced handmade chocolates. I had worked very hard and this was America after all.