Travel Section: Christmas in Vancouver by Georgia

Christmas in Vancouver travel

After kicking off the first four months of my year abroad surrounded by the never-ending heat and humidity of the southern states of America, my friend’s suggestion to spend Christmas in Vancouver couldn’t have been more welcome. However, after hopping off my 7hour flight and stepping out of the airport doors, I quickly realised just how different an English December could feel to a Canadian one. In the following days it continued to get colder and yet the cheerful, multicultural aspect of the city is something that only grew over the course of our visit. One of my personal highlights was taking the short bus ride into the mountains to see the Christmas lights on the Capilano Suspension Bridge. Strings of white lights had been wrapped around the trunks and roots of Douglas Fir trees as old as 250 years, which above us had

On our final day, we finally woke to the release of snow. The city’s pavements were now heavy blankets of white and we watched from the window of our small Airbnb as the gates to Chinatown began to frost. Our final evening was spent at the German Christmas market, and as we sipped mulled wine and ate chocolate covered strawberries, I think we all wished for a Christmas like this again.

I’d never been to Canada before but the quickly falling temperatures of around 2 degrees was an exciting (if not slightly painful) reminder that this year I would be experiencing a proper, white Christmas. Our first morning was filled with an air of delight as we walked around the iconic waterfront at Canada Place and past the frozen lakes of Stanley Park. The dense trees, surrounding mountains and “beware of the wild coyotes” sign, felt like we had walked onto the set of one of the Twilight movies. In the evenings, the streets were adorned with the glow of Christmas lights and on a walk to Granville Island’s public market, we made sure to taste the huge array of fresh fruit, cheese and macarons of every flavour. stretched to heights of 110 feet. The ropey bridges, pools of water and wooden log cabins made it feel as if we had been pulled into a real-life Santa’s grotto. I think we all felt it was an extraordinary reminder of how important Vancouver’s surrounding landscape is to the city’s cultural identity.

by Georgia Sweeney

The peak district in one day

The hilly path zigzagged away from a boiling Nottingham, and within 45 minutes, lush, rolling hills, dotted with willowy trees, began to flash past the window. Castleton, a charming village with a perfect little stream, quaint squares, and adorable chocolate-box stone buildings, was the first stop.

A quick google found that one of the Peak District’s most beautiful roads, Winnats Pass, was just on the outskirts of the village and, as Google Images led us to believe, it was a vision. Picture a dream-like, thin road winding its way through a valley of green hills. It was an Instagram-worthy sight. Coupled with a family of sheep bouncing along the roads, was a comically large queue of tourists in cars waiting patiently for the family to finish their Tuesday morning stroll. Peveril Castle (free for English Heritage members) sits on an impressive hill overlooking Castleton and offers a fabulous view of the village and opposite hill, which was definitely worth the excruciating walk up. Spoilt for lunch choices, an old man in a fudge shop (in which we may have treated ourselves to a ridiculously sized, mouthwatering rum and raisin fudge) recommended one of the local pubs. I can safely say that their fresh Mediterranean bowl really hit the spot!

Heading to Bakewell, we had to stop for a photo of the sturdy bridge and Amazon-like forest, nestled in a marvellous hill named Monsal Head. Eight minutes later, we had made it to The Bakewell Tart shop.

It was exploding with splendid treats, but nothing compared to the buttery, sweet and scrumptiously delicious tart. Bakewell hummed with life, with bustling quirky cafés and artisanal shops lining the pretty streets. Sadly, it was getting late and so it was time to say goodbye to the magical, rolling hills and begin the 3 hour trek back to London.

by Natasha Djanogly