Winter is a time for many things, most of which involve snow. You know, going outside and building snowmen, all that. But what do you do when there is no snow where you live? We decided to go north, where the cooler temperatures (and probably other stuff too, I don’t know much about meteorology) allow snow to form. 

We took ten people to Lake Placid, New York, the town where the 1932 and 1980 Winter Olympics were held. It’s not too difficult to get there – Interstate 87 goes from New York City to Montreal. Upstate roads were sparse but scenic, making the long driving (necessary to get from place to place) bearable. 

While shopping for groceries so we could cook our own meals, we met Rob, a jovial fellow in his 30s who would become a recurring part of our activities. To our surprise, the house was generous enough for ten people. There were at least eight beds, but only one bathroom. The backyard alone exceeded two acres, and contained much of the foliage that defines upstate New York, reminding me that this town was something quite different from anything in the LI suburbs. 

When we went skiing the next day, we were able to rent our equipment from Rob, who just happened to work at a ski shop as well. Confident, excited, and maybe a little nervous, we arrived at the famed Whiteface Mountain, where we once again met Rob, who gave us lessons. We skied, we snowboarded, we snowbladed, we hiked, and one of us fell down and injured his leg within minutes of skiing. The next day was spent buying crutches for our friend Zayd, the one who was the most enthusiastic about this trip in the first place. We walked and Zayd staggered around the town of Lake Placid, which is actually kind of nice. 

Since we’re college students, we also had a party, to which Rob came with his wife (who happened to be Korean). He’s a nice guy, really. But he was hanging out with a bunch of 20- and 21-year-old college students, and we might have made him and his wife a little uncomfortable. So they left, and we never heard from them again, and so we continued to do whatever college students do.

There was probably a little culture shock in this situation, because here’s this guy that seemingly works at every business in town, and he’s so nice to us that he practically becomes our tour guide. I can’t imagine inviting a clerk at your local Long Island grocery store over to your house for dinner, because that would be considered strange here. Some people call upstate New Yorkers “hicks,” but this is simply not true. At least some of them are just all-around nice men and women trying to make friends with those they encounter, because where they live, they probably don’t encounter many people in the first place.

A five-hour drive each way is no joke, but if the smallest town you’ve ever lived in is Stony Brook, I suggest that you do something like this one day too. It’s fun, it’s educational, and you will probably meet some cool people who will completely change your perception about small towns.