We were not expecting our first trip to Canada to be in the winter, but after postponing it so many times, this is exactly how it ended up.
Our Canadian friends invited us to join them for a ski trip, staying at their ski-in, ski-out home, and it was one of those invitations you don’t overthink. You just say yes.
We added a few extra stops along the way to spend time with other friends we’ve met throughout our travels, and suddenly this next chapter was taking shape on its own.
I’ll be honest, while I was on the plane on our way to Vancouver, looking out the window, I was expecting to see everything covered in snow. It felt like that’s what Canada should look like in my mind. But I quickly learned from our friend that Vancouver rarely gets snow, just a lot of rain. So our excitement for snow had to wait a few more days.
We landed in early December, stepping out into that quiet gray light that seems to hold the whole city in a kind of pause. After a few months of warmer places, the shift was immediate, not just in temperature, but in how everything felt. Even though we knew we would keep moving, something in us was already slowing down.
It’s hard to explain, but it was there from the beginning.
Vancouver: A Soft Arrival in Canada
Vancouver was short, just a few days, but it was exactly what it needed to be.
We were welcomed into a friend’s home, and from the moment we arrived, everything seemed to fall into place. Shakya opened his doors to us, but more than that, he shared his space in a way that made it feel like ours too. There’s something about being welcomed like that, especially when you’re constantly moving, that softens everything.
We’re deeply grateful for that kind of kindness.
Vancouver is one of those cities that sits between mountains and ocean, something you feel even without trying. It’s known as much for its nature as for its city life, and somehow it holds both at the same time.
Our days there weren’t filled with plans. They unfolded in small moments. Chats during breakfast. A matcha tasting. Walking through the city as the light faded. Letting ourselves wander without needing to turn it into anything more than what it was.
We made our way to Gastown to see the steam clock, one of the few working steam clocks in the world. Every fifteen minutes, it releases steam and whistles. It is a small piece of history that still manages to surprise people. We stood there, watching it, not because it was something we had to see, but because we happened to be there at the right moment.
One evening, we drove through Stanley Park, stopping along the way to take in the view. The city lights reflected on the water, quiet and steady. Vancouver at night has its own kind of beauty. Even though it’s a city, the combination of lights, fog, and the softness left behind by the rain creates a peacefulness you don’t expect.
And then there are the moments you could never plan during your time in a place.
Like the woman at a store who gifted us a turkey, we still don’t fully understand why, but we like to think it was our welcome to Canada. With no oven in the house, it turned into a small adventure, part slow cooker, part grill, a bit of improvisation, and a lot of laughter. One of those meals that becomes more about the experience than the food, even though it somehow turned out really good.
Or the time we were standing in line at a café in the bus station, trying to decide what to drink, when a simple conversation led to learning the story behind the London Fog. A drink we had never really thought about suddenly became something else entirely. We were told it was created in Vancouver when a pregnant woman asked for a drink without coffee, and the barista came up with a mix of Earl Grey tea, milk, and lavender. Whether the story has changed over time or not, it has stayed with us. A small detail, but one that became part of our experience there.
Could we have explored more? Of course.
But this wasn’t that kind of visit.
It was a reminder that travel doesn’t always need to be full to be meaningful. Sometimes it’s about being welcomed into someone’s world, about shared moments, unexpected kindness, and allowing a place to meet you exactly where you are.
So as we said goodbye to our friend Shakya and his cats, we boarded a bus, heading toward the mountains, ready to finally find the snow and see what this next part of the journey had in store for us.
Sun Peaks: Where Winter Became Real
After leaving Vancouver, we made our way into the mountains. That’s when winter truly began.
We spent two weeks in Sun Peaks with our friends Randy, Kyla, Calais, and Kacela, something that had been talked about a few years earlier, but kept getting postponed, waiting for the “right time.” And then, without much planning, it finally happened.
And it was worth the wait!
The kids had been talking about snow long before we arrived. That kind of excitement that builds quietly and then suddenly takes over. And the moment we got there, it didn’t take long for it to become real. That first night, while everything was still unfamiliar and we hadn’t fully settled in, Cosimo and Luca were already outside, sledding in the dark.
That’s how it started.
The days that followed fell into a rhythm of their own. Skiing together, long stretches outside in the cold, coming back in to warm up, hot tub chats, home-cooked meals shared around the table, games, movies, and quiet evenings with tea and Gilmore Girls. The kind of days that don’t feel full in a busy way, but full in a way that settles into you slowly.
We stepped into their life for a while.
Learning small things about Canadian traditions, meeting their friends and family, tasting foods we had only heard about before, such as poutine, ketchup chips, and maple taffy. Simple things, but somehow part of the experience of being there, not just visiting, but sharing.
And then there was Sun Peaks itself.
Even though it’s one of the largest ski resorts in Canada, Sun Peaks doesn’t feel big. It feels like a small, walkable village where everything naturally connects. Almost like something imagined rather than built.
Everything is within reach. Snow-covered paths, cozy cafés, and slopes stretching across two mountains. It didn’t feel like a place you go to for a few days; it felt like a place you could settle into for a while.
Luca quickly found his favorite part. Skiing through the village. Skiing to grab something to eat, sometimes even stopping for a delicious crêpe. Something that felt so unusual to us, and yet completely normal there. And then the ski-in, ski-out home, walking outside and being right on the snow, no transition needed. It changed how the days unfolded without us even realizing it.
There was no separation between “being home” and “being out.” It was all part of the same experience. And maybe that’s what made it feel the way it did.
Not like a trip. But like stepping into someone else’s life for a while, and being welcomed fully into it. We are deeply grateful for that kind of friendship.
The kind where doors open without hesitation. Where time passes, and distance doesn’t really change anything. Where you can meet again, somewhere completely different, and it still feels the same.
Some families you meet once. Others, you keep crossing paths with, again and again, no matter where in the world you are. They are one of those families.
After two unforgettable weeks, it was time to say goodbye to this welcoming family and make our way to our next stop, where we would spend Christmas. It was time to leave the mountains behind and begin the next part of the journey.
Armstrong: The Quiet Before Christmas
After the rhythm of Sun Peaks, Armstrong felt like a gentle pause, coming after all the activity and connection of the weeks before.
Armstrong is a small rural town in British Columbia, surrounded by farmland and open space, the kind of place where life naturally slows down without needing to try. Specially in the winter.
We arrived just before Christmas, stepping into a home that wasn’t ours, but slowly began to feel like it could be, even if only for a short time. Housesitting always adds a different layer to travel. You’re not just passing through a place, you’re caring for it, living inside someone else’s rhythm, sharing space with their everyday life. The owner had left the Christmas tree up for us so we could celebrate, and Oakley and Lexi were there to greet us as we walked in. It felt, in the simplest way, like coming home.
It was magical in its own quiet way.
There was one moment that stayed with me.
Luca was sitting near the tree, some gifts already placed underneath, waiting. He looked at each one, trying to guess what might be inside. The dogs moved around him, playfully wrestling, and he gently pushed them away from the tree, laughing at their bursts of energy. Nothing big was happening, and yet it felt full. One of those moments you don’t plan, don’t interrupt, you just notice.
It felt like the quiet right before something begins.
That’s something we’ve come to appreciate about housesitting, especially during the holidays. The way a place slowly opens to you. Routines form without effort. The way a house, a space, a few small daily actions begin to feel familiar. Not because it’s yours. But because you’re present in it.
Our days were slower. We walked the dogs, moved without a plan, let the days unfold. On Christmas Day, it snowed, and for the week we were there, everything was covered in white, turning it into the kind of Christmas you imagine more than expect. There wasn’t much to “do,” and that’s what made it feel right. We explored the small village, watched deer cross the road on our way home, and found a café with a hidden door behind a bookshelf that led into a bookshop next door. Small moments that make a place feel unique, but only to you.
And in that stillness, in the simplicity of it, something shifts.
When you’re constantly moving, there’s always something new pulling your attention. But in places like this, where nothing is asking for it, your attention turns inward without you even realizing it.
Thoughts come up. Reflections you don’t usually make space for. Not in a heavy way, just quietly present, like everything else around you.
It reminded us of something simple, something we often say but don’t always stop to feel. That home isn’t always a place. It’s a feeling. And sometimes, it appears in the most unexpected places, for a short moment, and then gently moves on with you.
After saying goodbye to the dogs who made our Christmas feel even more special, we packed up and made our way to the next stop.
Kelowna: In Between
Our final city before heading back into the mountains was Kelowna.
We came here to visit friends and spend a few more days in the snow before leaving Canada. Set along the shores of Okanagan Lake, Kelowna feels like a place that comes alive in the summer, full of vineyards, beaches, and long warm days. But in winter, it softens. Things quiet down, the pace shifts, and what’s left is something slower, more understated.
And in a way, that suited us perfectly.
There wasn’t much we felt we needed to do. No pressure to see everything, no sense of missing out. Just space to move through the days gently, following whatever felt right in the moment.
After all, isn’t winter meant for slowing down?
So we did just that. We visited a few cafés, stopped by a chocolate shop, walked along the lake, and even learned about the legend of the local sea monster. They call it Ogopogo, a creature said to live in Okanagan Lake, with stories passed down through generations, long before it became a curiosity for visitors. Some say it moves quietly beneath the surface, rarely seen but often felt, part of the lake’s mystery rather than something to be proven.
We also stepped into Sandhill Wines, the only urban winery in the city to taste British Columbia wine, something we hadn’t expected to find here.
Wine in this region, especially around Kelowna in the Okanagan Valley, has quietly grown in reputation thanks to its unique climate, hot, dry summers balanced by cooler nights that help the grapes develop strong, distinct flavors. It’s a younger wine region compared to Europe, but one that has found its place in its own way.
It felt like discovering another side of Canada we hadn’t anticipated.
One day, we stepped carefully onto a small frozen patch by the lake, testing it with that mix of curiosity and hesitation that comes with something unfamiliar. The ice held, thankfully. It wasn’t something we were trying to push, just something interesting to experience in that moment.
One of the reasons for this trip to Canada was for Cosimo to work toward his ski instructor certification. He had started the course in Sun Peaks and completed part of it, but not all, so Big White became his second chance. This time, he wanted to feel more prepared. Before we officially moved up there, Mass and Cosimo drove up a few times from Kelowna to get extra runs in.
As we prepared to head up to Big White, we realized we needed a car again, something reliable for the snow, and this was actually our first time using Discover Cars. I went on their website, saw a range of options right away, and picked what worked best for us without overthinking it. Within minutes, it was booked, and we were able to pick it up just a few hours later. It felt surprisingly easy, especially in the middle of travel, where things don’t always go as smoothly as you hope.
Having that flexibility changed how those days unfolded. It allowed Mass to take Cosimo up to Big White early in the mornings while the rest of us stayed back in a slower rhythm, and later, it meant we could all move together without needing to plan too much ahead. We could adjust the day as it went, take our time, or simply follow what felt right.
With kids, that kind of freedom makes everything feel a bit lighter. It removes a layer of pressure you don’t always realize is there.
Big White: A Final Sky Trip
Big White was our final stop of the season.
Less than an hour from Kelowna, it was one of the few places still holding onto winter. This year had been unusual, with less snow, milder temperatures, and arriving here felt almost like catching the last moments of something that was already beginning to shift.
It felt like a gift.
Big White itself has an interesting story. It started as a small, family-run ski hill back in the 1960s and slowly grew into one of Canada’s largest ski resorts. Even as it expanded, it kept that feeling of being built around families. It is less about being flashy, more about creating a place where people could return year after year. You can still feel that in the way everything is designed, simple, connected, and centered around time spent together.
We stayed in a ski-in, ski-out apartment, after trying it in SunPeaks we loved this and needed to do it again. It changed the rhythm of our days without us even realizing it at first. There was no transition between being inside and being out on the mountain. You stepped outside, and you were already there.
Even when not all of us were skiing, we still felt connected to it. Everyone had their own rhythm. If someone wanted to go back and rest, they could. It gave us a kind of independence that made the days feel lighter. It also meant we didn’t need to stop at a café for every break, although we still did sometimes, just because we wanted to.
A gondola took us straight to the village in just a few minutes. No effort, no planning. Just movement that felt simple and natural. And that simplicity created something we’ve come to value more and more, a sense of freedom within our days.
The first few days, it was just Cosimo and Luca on the slopes.
Cosimo was preparing for his ski instructor certification, focused in a way that felt new, more intentional. And Luca, without hesitation, stepped into the role of his student. Run after run, falling, improving, trying again. Watching them together like that, one guiding, the other trusting, was something quiet but meaningful.
A few days later, Emma and I joined in.
One moment that stood out was when we rented ski boots. They used a 3D scanning machine to analyze the shape of our feet and pressure points to find the best fit. It was one of those moments that makes you realize how much things have evolved, even in the smallest details.
Big White had a different energy from Sun Peaks. More compact, more movement, more people, but still centered around families. In the evenings, there was always something happening. A small carnival, lantern decorating, a juggling show that made everyone laugh, fireworks lighting up the sky, and bringing everyone together for a moment.
Nothing felt forced. It was simply there, creating a sense of community for families to share both their days and evenings.
The village was easy to move through, full of options that didn’t require planning. Skiing, tubing, ice skating, and snowshoe walks. Everyone could find their own rhythm and still come back together without effort. That sense of independence, within connection, felt important. The days became simple.
Ski. Rest. Warm up. Repeat.
On our final day, Cosimo passed his instructor certification.
To celebrate, we went for one last ski in the evening, watching the sun set over the slopes and quietly taking in the moment. It felt like the right way to close this chapter. He had reached his goal. We had slowed down, experienced a white Christmas, and seen more snow than we ever had as a family. We had shared meaningful time with friends and, along the way, formed new connections that we’ll carry with us.
It was a moment of calm. Of clarity.
Canada, in its own quiet way, had given us something we didn’t fully expect, but will carry with us for a long time.
A Different Kind of Goodbye
This time, when we left, it felt a little different.
Mass was staying behind in Canada.
He had a few house sits lined up and was stepping into a quieter phase, focusing on a project that needed space, time, and a different kind of rhythm than the one we had been living together. It made sense. And yet, even when something makes sense, it doesn’t always make it easy.
We held him a little longer before leaving. We were all a bit sad to part ways again. This time, we knew it was coming, and we knew exactly when we would reunite, but somehow, that didn’t make it any easier.
For a while, we would continue the journey in two different directions.
There’s something about this life that teaches you to trust those moments. To understand that connection isn’t always about being in the same place at the same time. That sometimes, growth asks for a bit of distance, a bit of quiet, a bit of space to step into something new.
So we left. Knowing that we would meet again soon. And that, somehow, everything would continue from there.
And maybe that’s what this winter gave us.
Not just snow, or places, or experiences, but small shifts. In how we move, how we pause, how we allow things to unfold without needing to hold them too tightly.
Some chapters are full of movement. Others are quieter, almost unnoticed as they happen. But they all stay, in their own way.
And this one, we’ll carry with us for a long time.
Where did we go from Canada? We flew to Guatamela and you can read about it here: Returning to Guatemala.
