At the end of July we spent a week in Whistler, British Columbia, with Michael's dad's family. For some reason, I wasn't feeling inspired on the photos and didn't take many. But the ones I did sum up the vacations pretty well: Michael and I got up early every morning, went for a long walk around the lake, ended up in the village for crepes and coffee, then sat around reading, breaking occasionally to do group-events like riding the gondolas or zip lining.
It was beautiful, I saw an actual bear (from the safety of the gondola), and we had fun with family, but Whistler doesn't exist in any particular place. The village was built in a neo-alpine style for the 2010 Winter Olympics and is full of Australians on their Overseas Experience making coffee for Germans in order to pay for their extreme sports habits. This meant that we had flat whites, excellent pies, and there was vegemite in the supermarket, but even with all the pretty maple leaf flags, it didn't feel especially Canadian.
The drive up from Vancouver was one of the most stunning road trips I've taken in a long time and I'd recommend it heartily, if it wasn't that I had recently read this article from the New Yorker about the Cascade Fault, and so spent most of the journey scouting out tsumani escape routes up the mountains.