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Photos by Vivian Moreau My landlord is unimpressed when I call her in Ontario to complain about the 4 a.m. noise her son and his new roommates are making above me.

Photos by Vivian Moreau

My landlord is unimpressed when I call her in Ontario to complain about the 4 a.m. noise her son and his new roommates are making above me. In their early 20s and pumped with a few too many mid-week brewskis, their cue shots to the right corner pocket, resulting cheers, boos and foot stomping are keeping me awake.

"But that’s the way Whistler is," she says.

Not always. Although some, like my housemates, arrive in Whistler anticipating party central, many come to get away from a life, or like Kostas Lymbertos, to get to a life.

"Moving to Whistler is one of those decisions a lot of us make that live here," says the snowboard instructor and reggae musician. "It’s that turning point in life where you have to decide what is it you want to do, how happy can you be, where do you want to go?"

Statistics Canada reports that over half of Whistler’s population is between 20 and 34. Males make up 56 per cent of that age group. Although the majority have lived here less than five years, almost half have a college diploma or university degree. Three years ago complaints of rowdiness to municipal council were prolific, with police making as many as 15 arrests on weekend nights for drunkenness. But a shift in how Whistler cares for its mobile youth population has resulted in a corresponding shift in behaviour from the resort’s largest demographic.

Lymbertos could be Whistler’s poster guy for reinventing oneself. Born in Germany of Greek parents, Lymbertos grew up in Canada then spent 15 years in Florida. But working in the fast-paced fashion world burned him out and three years ago he came back to Canada.

By immersing himself in the community, he answered questions many young adults face. Lymbertos is one of 28 volunteer and paid Whistler-Blackcomb advisors, the go-to people in the seven staff housing buildings in the village. Each floor of the four and five storey buildings has at least one advisor, a person residents go to for information and advice about where to buy groceries, how to find inexpensive gear or how to get through the rainy November season.

Lisa Trombley supervises the house advisors and has doubled their numbers in her two years on the job. She has also worked to streamline operations, implementing a computerized booking system for new residents and bringing in a flat linen fee.

"You arrive with everything you own on your back, but not necessarily linens and towels," she says.

A cross between den mother and confidante, Trombley, 29, understands the stresses her 1,100-plus residents face, whether financial, physical or emotional.

"Some that come here are used to sunshine and a warmer climate so when they arrive here in November and it’s grey skies and raining sideways I try to warn them about how to dress to keep dry, and even suggest sometimes going to a tanning booth."

Residents pay anywhere from $287 to $487 per month for dorm-like Whistler-Blackcomb accommodation, depending on whether they share a two-bedroom apartment with one or three people. The 21 volunteer house advisors pay reduced rent. There are eight full-time paid house advisors.

Trombley works with advisors to create a monthly series of events – skating outings, trips to the city, potluck dinners – that bring residents together so they can create necessary communal bonds.

"Building this relationship allows us to work better as a community and also get acknowledgement from the (Whistler) community that having these services in place ensures that we are having a positive impact," she says. Her goal is to create a healthy environment, one in which residents, when they do leave, "can say ‘I felt like it was my home not just a place, not that I was labelled a transient, but that I contributed."

Residents learn that being part of a community involves not just receiving but giving. Last year they raised $1,000 toward tsunami relief, donated to the food bank and raised funds for the Make-a-Wish foundation. In February, a multi-cultural pot-luck dinner is planned to celebrate the winter Olympics in Torino.

Resident Lee Dowsett checks a recipe with chef Karen Kay.

For those that don’t know how to cook, classes are offered Wednesday evenings. Although two-bedroom apartments in newer buildings have ovens older buildings in the Glacier Drive complex do not. Instead a communal third-floor kitchen is available and this night Karen Kay of Kaytering Whistler is teaching a half-dozen residents how to pull together spinach lentil soup, mushroom rice burgers and home style fries.

"Depending on how quick you want your wedge fries to cook is how thick or thin you slice them," she tells Lee Dowsett, a newcomer from Perth, Australia, now a Whistler barista.

"Many people have a bag of lentils that’s been sitting in their cupboard for a year, but don’t know what to do with it," Kay says. She shows them what to do. Residents normally pay $5 to take part in the class that includes recipes and a sit down meal with fellow neophyte cooks. Tonight is only the second class of the season and the fee is waived.

"I’ve done worse things for free food," says Jamie Schanlon, from Aldershot, England, who came to snowboard for the season.

Kevin Murphy pokes his head in the door. House advisor for this floor, he is also one of 12 peer educators trained last fall by Whistler Community Services Society and knows in which direction to point people. This is his second season away from Ireland and says learning to cook and eat properly is just one of the challenges residents face.

Issues vary according to the time of year, Murphy says. At the start of the season, people are worried about finding work, learning to live in an expensive town and finding friends. In his building, communal lounges on two floors bring people together.

"It forces people to interact straight off and everybody knows everybody a lot better."

Judging from the bowl of condoms at the housing front desk, interaction is more than just verbal. And with a sexually active population comes risk.

Whistler public health nurse Juniper Gordon says SAFE Clinic, Whistler’s sexual health clinic open two evenings a week, doesn’t have statistics on how prevalent a problem sexually transmitted diseases are in Whistler. But she does say about five people a week come in for HIV testing and she may see up to nine people a night for testing or results. That’s about the same rate as for a university campus clinic.

Gordon says that chlamydia, a bacterial infection often mistaken for a yeast infection, is the most common sexually transmitted medical condition in Whistler. "It’s easily treated with antibiotics," she said, "but can go unnoticed and if untreated can lead to infertility."

At Sammy’s Snacks, the 250-square-foot housing tuck shop on Glacier Drive, Alvar Nunez’s most pressing problem is that he’s got pancake mix on the shelves, milk in the cooler, but no eggs. "And that goes for the cookie mix, too." he says.

In addition to working 20 hours a week as an advisor in Icemantle or building six, Nunez, 21, works 10 hours a week running the small shop for residents. He’s pragmatic about why he became a house advisor.

"I’ve got a lot of personal experience with a lot of problems," he says as he narrowly misses taking his eye out on a shelving bracket above the freezer he is filling with ice cream bars.

Originally from Ontario Nunez has a brother and a sister, both house advisors at UBC, so had some idea of the job. He fields concerns about everything, from where the light bulbs are to first arrival loneliness.

"But for the most part it’s about the guy across the hall getting locked out."

He says each of the seven Glacier Drive residences has a unique character. He particularly likes his building, which is not only the newest and the one closest to gondola, but the quietest.

"People come back from the bars by building one and two after a few wobbly pops singing songs they don’t know half the words to, but they’re gone by building six."

"For the most part it’s about the guy across the hall getting locked out." resident Alvar Nunez, with supervisor Lisa Trombley.

For those who need a break from bar hopping there is LUNA, Late and Unique Night time Alternatives. Whistler Community Services started the program two years ago in reaction to complaints to Whistler council about evening rowdiness and violence in the village. LUNA is now administered by the municipality and statistics show that alcohol-related calls to local RCMP are down by almost one-quarter on LUNA nights.

Cst. Devon Jones, RCMP spokesperson, says three years ago up to 15 people on weekend nights were charged with disorderly conduct, but those numbers have been reduced by 50 per cent.

"The situation has improved," Jones says. "With our zero tolerance to open alcohol and with the programs offered by staff housing and Whistler Community Services Society, people have figured out they can still have fun but to do it responsibly."

Sharing Millennium Place basement space with Whistler Youth Centre, which caters to under 19s, LUNA will offer 55 alcohol-free events for 19-35 year olds this year.

LUNA co-ordinator Kiran Pal brings in pro snowboarders to give tips and advice, organizes pool parties and drum sessions, but also arranges skill-building sessions like event co-ordination training. In summer LUNA’s Thursday night movie showings at Lost Lake attract up to 500 people.

Kevin Murphy also recommends his personal favorite activities: indoor wall climbing and Monday night music jams.

"I’m Irish and I enjoy the pub culture as much as anybody, but it’s good to get a break away from that. With a lot of people who come here just to party a lot of burnout can happen, so it’s handy to have other things aside from that."

"Nothing exists outside of Whistler..., but then you leave and realize there is a world out there.” Kevin Murphy, second season liftie.

One of two outreach workers in the Whistler area, Claire Mozes, 29, is there for those emotionally stressed out.

"I’ll sit down in a coffee shop, someplace casual, and try to find out what is going on," says Mozes, who works for Whistler Community Services Society. "If it’s a homesickness thing I’ll find what they like to do at home and can they do that here?"

Sometimes just the one session can help, other times she recommends a therapist. "People will say ‘I did see a therapist and didn’t like them’ and I always encourage them to try someone else, because it doesn’t always work at first and I don’t think people get that."

Jamey Kramer, 27, came to Whistler nine years ago. A snowboard instructor and independent filmmaker who lived "in-house" when he first arrived, he says living in staff residence is a wise choice for newcomers.

"I really like what the mountain does for the employees in the community. I was a mommy’s boy growing up so the way (Whistler-Blackcomb) have everything set up they go out of their way to help you make it."

Kostas Lymbertos echoes that sentiment.

"I’ve always had tremendous support from the mountain, from housing all the way to the top," he says. "People like this (touches his dreadlocks) can’t work on the mountain – it’s not allowed, period. But they recognize the work I do, the energy and love I put into the community, housing and the people I work with and they cut me some slack."

Kramer, who ran unsuccessfully for council in last fall’s municipal elections, says although he has no intention of climbing the corporate ladder he is a firm proponent on working for Whistler-Blackcomb. He says newcomers need a people collective around them.

"You need to get a job where you’re working with a big crew of people – that’s where you build your base from. You don’t want a job in some retail shop where you’re there by yourself all day."

Kevin Murphy says there is another kind of isolation to watch for.

"Nothing exists outside of Whistler as long as you’re inside Whistler, but then you leave and realize there is a world out there." He feels lucky if he reads one-third of the Georgia Straight and Pique NewsMagazine each week, he says.

"I’m enjoying living here and that’s why I’m still here, because I haven’t got bored with Whistler," he says. "It’s hard to get bored with Whistler – there’s always something new and yet it never changes."

Lymbertos, now 40, says ever-evolving Whistler youth reinforce what is important in life.

"I was at a house party and a newcomer was saying he’d never seen anything so beautiful, a house with logs and a vaulted ceiling," he says. "They remind us how exciting things are that are every day to us. Sometimes you lose that feeling but being in touch with these people with their bright eyes, they remind us every day how special everything is."

At the end of the snowiest January on record I am shovelling my driveway. I hear a cough and look up to my party-hardy housemate who has been considerately quiet this past month offering a smoke. Over our cigarettes he tells me about trying to find a place for himself here, about the transience of friendship, about learning to help others. I listen.

"I’m glad we talked," he says "it’s good to know you’re, you’re…"

"Human?"

He nods.



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