Reduce your risk of becoming a victim of identity theft and other fraud-related crimes. Peoperly disposed of all documents with your personal information

Shred today

Papers, envelopes, address labels, and multi-media files that contain personal information, such as names, addresses, bank account numbers, Social Insurance Number, birth dates, drivers’ license numbers, employment information (i.e. offer letters, etc.)
Credit card applications and other financial applications that may contain personal information
Expired travel related documents, such as luggage tags, travel itineraries, used airline tickets, passports, travel visas, foreign identification cards and foreign driver licenses
Expired student ID cards, military ID, employee nametags
Credit checks, police checks and background checks on yourself, and other people such as employees, contractors, nannies immediately after evaluating the information

Shred every month

Reconciled credit card statements and receipts or cancelled cheques and debit receipts that are not needed for tax purposes or other long-term needs such as refunds or warranties.

Shred every year

Retirement and investment account statements, after they have been reconciled with your year-end statement
Monthly bank statements only after they have been reconciled with your year-end statement
Pay stubs, after being reconciled with your annual statement, your T4 or equivalents

Shred after eight years

Year-end bank statements that are not needed for tax purposes
Titles, contracts and deeds for sold properties
Documents previously needed for tax purposes
To ensure your valuable documents and keepsakes are safe, consider renting a safe deposit box or other secure means of protecting these items outside your home. Depending on your circumstances, a fireproof home safe may also be a suitable option.

Documents and records you should never shred

Appraisals and receipts for valuables (i.e. jewelry and artwork)
Income tax returns and related financial documentation
Securities and trade confirmations
Marriage, death, birth and divorce certificates
Wills
Power of attorney documents
Receipts or statements that indicate a loan or mortgage has been paid-in-full
Military service records
Insurance policies and claims
Year-end retirement and investment account statements and policies
College or high school diplomas, degrees and transcripts
Most current resume
The above documents may be shredded if the original owner has passed away and all matters with the estate have been finalized and closed.

Don’t consider shredding until they expire

Rental contracts and/or leases for current properties
Loan contracts, until paid-in-full and you receive an official acknowledgement of full payment
Home and vehicle maintenance records so they can be passed on to the next owner
Warranty documents for products you currently own
Membership documents (i.e. gyms, clubs and associations)
Information on the benefits package from current employer
Contracts for services (i.e. cell phone, electricity)
Pet records

Think twice before shredding any documents listed above if a legal conflict has arisen or may arise. For example, if you were involved in a vehicle collision, you should consider keeping all documents that relate to the incident in case of a lawsuit, since legal action can be initiated up to 10 years after an event occurs.

Identity theft is one of the fastest-growing fraud-related crimes in Canada. Why? Credit card statements, bank statements and tax forms fall into the wrong hands. In partnership with police and shredding companies, AMA hosts free shredding events across the province this spring. The events allow the public to safely dispose of personal documents and information stored on items suc as CD-ROMs and diskettes, while learning other way to avoid being a victim of identity fraud.

Calgary

Saturday, March 13
AMA Calgary Sunridge Centre
3650 - 20 Ave NE
10am-3pm

AMA Shawnessy Centre
#600, 85 Shawville Blvd SE
10am-3pm

Crowfoot Crossing Shopping Centre
130 Crowfoot Terrace NW
(SE of Montana’s)
10am-3pm

Saturday, April 3
AMA Calgary Main Centre
4700 – 17th Ave. SW
10am-3pm

Southcentre Mall
100 Anderson Road SE
(Northeast Safeway parking lot, by Recycling Depot)
10am-3pm

Calgary Police Service
District 1 Ramsay Office
1010 - 26 Avenue SE
10am-3pm

Medicine Hat

Saturday, March 20Date:
Medicine Hat Mall
(Zellers parking lot)
3292 Dunmore Road SE
Medicine Hat
Time: 10am-2pm

Edmonton

Saturday, March 27
AMA South Centre
10310 - 39A Avenue

AMA Manning Centre
5040 Manning Drive
10am-3pm

Saturday, May 15
AMA South Centre
10310 - 39A Avenue
Edmonton
10am-3pm

Lethbridge

Saturday, March 27
AMA Lethbridge Centre
120 Scenic Drive South, Lethbridge
10am-3pm

Red Deer

Saturday, April 24
AMA Red Deer Southpointe Centre
#141, 2004 - 50 Avenue
10am-1pm

Camrose

Saturday May 1
AMA Camrose Centre
6702 48 Avenue
10am-2pm

St. Albert

Date:Saturday, May 1
Lion’s Park
#1 Sir Winston Churchill Avenue
St. Albert
10am-3pm

Grande Prairie

Date: Saturday, May 8
AMA Grande Prairie Centre
11401 99 Street
9am-1pm

Sherwood Park

Saturday May 15
Sherwood Park Alliance Church
1011 Clover Bar Road
Sherwood Park
10am-3pm

Congratulations you’ve planned a trip to Germany. Travelling around Europe is a wonderful thing – it opens doors to new experiences and invites us to explore centuries-old cultures. Often you’ll find that mingling with the locals may be the best part of your holiday, a truly genuine experience.  You are bound to be greeted with a few friendly welcoming words from the locals. In this episode of Westworld Online, you will learn basic German phrases and vocabulary to help you feel comfortable navigating your way through the country. You will learn salutations, the verb “to be”, how to introduce your travelling companions, ask for directions, count to 20 and much more.

Click on the audio clip icon above to listen to the German lesson

English/German
Hello Guten Tag
How are you? Wie geht’s?
Good Gut
Thank you Danke
Please Bitte
Thank you very much Vielen Dank
Yes Ja
No Nein
Goodbye Auf Wiedersehen
Bye Tschüs
Good morning Guten Morgen
Good evening Guten Abend
Excuse me (please) Entschuldigung
I don’t speak German Ich spreche kein Deutsch
Do you speak English? Sprechen Sie Englisch?
Pleased to meet you Freut mich

To be/sein
I am ich bin
he is er ist
she is sie ist
it is es ist
we are wir sind
(talking to an adult:) you are/Sie sind
(talking to a child:) you are/du bist
My name is... Mein Name ist ...
This is my wife Das ist meine Frau
This is my husband Das ist mein Mann
This is my son Das ist mein Sohn
This is my daughter Das ist meine Tochter
This is my (male) friend. Das ist mein Freund
This is my (female) friend. Das ist meine Freundin

Where is ... Wo ist…
… a bank? …eine Bank?
… a restaurant? …ein Restaurant?
… a museum? ... ein Museum?
… a cinema? …ein Kino?
… a department store?… ein Kaufhaus?
… a train station? ...ein Bahnhof?
… a grocery store? ...ein Lebensmittelgeschäft?

to have haben
I have ich habe
he has er hat
she has sie hat
we have wir haben
(talking to an adult:) you have Sie haben
(talking to a child:) you have du hast

I am hungry Ich habe Hunger
We are thirsty Wir haben Durst.
Do you have ... Haben Sie ...
… fruit? Obst?
… bread? Brot?
… milk? Milch?
… butter? Butter?
… beer? Bier?

I am Canadian (a male) Ich bin Kanadier.
I am Canadian (a female) Ich bin Kanadierin.

Numbers 1 - 20:
1 eins
2 zwei
3 drei
4 vier
5 fünf
6 sechs
7 sieben
8 acht
9 neun
10 zehn
11 elf
12 zwölf
13 dreizehn
14 vierzehn
15 fünfzehn
16 sechzehn
17 siebzehn
18 achtzehn
19 neunzehn
20 zwanzig

Dialogue in a grocery store Dialog im Lebensmittelgeschäft
Natasha: Guten Morgen.
Bettina: Guten Morgen. Kann ich Ihnen helfen?
Natasha: Ja, bitte. Haben Sie Bananen?
Bettina: Ja, sie sind ganz frisch.
Natasha: Was kosten sie?
Bettina: Ein Euro das Kilo.
Natasha: Wunderbar. Ein Kilo bitte.
Bettina:  Hier sind die Bananen. Ein Euro bitte.
Natasha: Hier ist ein Euro.
Bettina: Vielen Dank. Noch etwas?
Natasha: Nein, danke. Auf Wiedersehen.
Bettina:  Auf Wiedersehen.

Leap the Fourth Wall, Calgary
Over the course of its almost quarter- century run, the Enbridge playRites Festival of Canadian Plays has earned a reputation as one of the country’s preeminent incubators for emerging writers. It’s where Calgarian Stephen Massicotte honed his craft before taking his award-winning Mary’s Wedding off Broadway. Other alumni include The Only Animal, who will stage NIX, a magical ice-and-snow theatrical production at the Vancouver 2010 Cultural Olympiad. From February 3 to March 7, the festival mounts four plays. Among them, The Highest Step in the World, by homegrown talents David van Belle and Eric Rose, at Calgary’s Epcor Centre. The production chronicles Joseph Kittinger’s historic 30,000-metre jump from a weather balloon. Expect to be dazzled by the aerial performers and computer-animated projections. 403-294-7475; Alberta Theatre Projects

Tundra Tourney, Grande Prarie
No jerking, re-gripping or twisting is allowed. The object of the game is to pull your opponent’s finger until he straightens his arm. On paper, the Dene game of finger pull sounds fairly easy, but it’s a highly competitive sport that requires upper-body strength and endurance. Other Arctic games such as the two-foot high kick and the kneel jump (played exactly as they sound) are just as competitive, if not excruciating. This year, you need not travel so far north to watch the best circumpolar athletes compete. Grande Prairie is hosting the 21st Arctic Winter Games March 6 to 13. The event will showcase 11 sports played north of the 55th parallel. And, as part of this international Arctic cultural exchange, expect to encounter throat singers, folk muscians and drummers from as far away as Russia and Greenland performing around the city. Alberta Winter Games

Mark Down Chow Down, Edmonton and Calgary
Those who crave white-tablecloth dining but balk at steep prices will appreciate the fabulous food festivals running March 5 to 14 in Edmonton and Calgary. During Downtown Dining Week, participating restaurants offer Edmontonians a prix-fixe, multi-course menu for as little as $15 to $25. This year’s lineup is packed with new eateries such as Sabor Divino, where the unfussy Mediterranean fare never fails to impress. The grilled bacalhau (salted cod) is a must. Meanwhile, during Dine Out Calgary, more than 80 restaurants offer meals from $15 to $80. Indulge your inner gourmand at such downtown nosheries as Farm, the city’s newest charcuterie, featuring fine cheeses and cured meats paired with select wines. 
Downtown Dining Week and Dine Out Calgary

All Dolled Up, Hanna
With more than 4,000 dolls spanning two centuries and three continents, the Doll Palace in Hanna is dedicated to chronicling the history of this ubiquitous toy. Owner Violetta Link began collecting dolls 30 years ago as a hobby, but when an elderly friend bequeathed her an additional 1,400 specimens, the part-time pastime became a full-time business venture. For 17 years now, hundreds of collectors and enthusiasts have descended upon the one-room museum (open March through December annually) to delight in Link’s prized dolls. While she admits younger children find some of the antiques (made from leather, wood or wax) a bit scary, adults are often drawn to the brass-headed 1890 Minerva or 1920s Hair Bow Peggy. “Older people can spend two hours here because they are so drawn to the dolls,” she says. “They rekindle memories of the toys they had or wanted.” 403-854-2756

The Wild Bunch, Edmonton
When Rosalind Christian opened her flower shop, Eden Lilly, on Edmonton’s Whyte Avenue in 2007, she knew one thing: each bouquet would be a living work of art. To this end, she hired talented local designers from outside the flower trade and encouraged them to consider flora their new medium. The result: unique, inspired arrangements worthy of a Dutch still life. Humdrum bunches of carnations these are not. Besides being artful, Eden Lilly’s bouquets are also environmentally sound. The flowers are sourced from organic and fair-trade suppliers whenever possible; in summer, those include local greenhouses. As well, Christian devotes shelf space to the work of local artisans and that of a Rwandan crafts co-op. A portion of the shop’s profits also goes to charities close to home. There’s got to be more love in a Valentine’s bouquet like that. 780-758-6991; Eden Lilly

Wheels of Fortune, Sylvan Lake
Known nationwide for his aged Gouda, John Schalkwyk of Sylvan Star Cheese has staked his money on a new 48,000- square-foot production and retail space in order to meet growing demand for his artisan products. Since winning three awards at the Canadian Cheese Grand Prix in 2006 and another three last year (the event is held at three-year intervals), the Sylvan Lake-based company has experienced a meteoric rise to fame. Visitors can peruse Sylvan Star’s shelves for its prized Grizzly Extra Aged Gouda, but there are almost a dozen other cheeses to try, including an Edam, aged Gruyères and Westworld’s favourite: a cayenne and green-peppercorn spiced Gouda. The new facility, which opened in November, processes 14,000 litres of milk per week from Schalkwyk’s herd of alfalfa- and grass-fed Holstein cows. Sylvan Star Cheese

Timber Belles, Across Alberta
A group of Alberta industrial designers have become the unlikely heroes of local style. Loyal Loot Collective, a design atelier formed by four friends from Edmonton and Calgary, uses irreverence and imagination to put an inventive twist on everyday objects. Their log bowls (below), made from reclaimed wood, feature original bark on the outside and colourful glaze on the inside. Their delightful Monsieur Dressup coat hangers, in maple, resemble a starched collar that can be hung on the wall. And the Prairie House ceramic vase reveals a miniature landscape upon which a flower becomes a towering tree. Given such originality, it’s no wonder Loyal Loot’s work has earned appearances on Good Morning America and a Martha Stewart show. The Walrus even bestowed the collective with a cool genre: “Lumberjack Chic.” Loyal Loot

When easing onto a bucking horse, avoid being nervous or twitchy: it makes the animal anxious. Staying on is hard enough once you realize that the horse actually enjoys trying to plant you in the mud.
That kind of wisdom is what students enrolled in the Rodeo Technique program at Olds College learn from Wayne Powell, 44, a 10-time amateur champion. For the past three years, in addition to raising and training his own horses and competing during the rodeo season, Powell has coordinated the only accredited rodeo program in Canada.

WW: How long have you been a rodeo rider?
WP: My dad phones to remind me every spring: This year I will have been riding saddle broncs for 30 years. I’ve been bull riding and steer wrestling for 20.

WW: Is it possible to make a living in rodeo?
WP: The top-end guys do. Most guys have another job. I’m one of the lucky ones working a full-time rodeo job, too.

WW: Do all rodeo people come from a farming or ranching background?
WP: It used to be that way, but more and more I see people from cities and towns getting into it. They just want to try.

WW: How long is the Rodeo Technique program?
WP: Three years, and we practise five days a week. Each day, we do an hour in the classroom, then four hours of practice. Students who don’t rodeo but still have an interest, can also learn the administration and sponsorship end of it.

WW: How do you train beginners?
WP: They start out on the bucking machine and then I handpick stock for them – usually older horses that are pretty predictable.

WW: What’s your advice to novices?
WP: In the beginning, it’s mostly just “Hang on.” As you get more experienced, it’s to move in time with the horse and make the ride look smooth. That’s what the judges look for.

WW: What could go wrong?
WP: Mostly, it’s getting bucked off. The odd guy gets stepped on or kicked, but most injuries come from hitting the ground. Horses are pretty good at stepping around you. Bulls are different: they’ll come after you.

WW: Would you recommend a shot of whisky for courage?
WP: No. (Laughs.) I definitely would not. We’re professional athletes. For me, it’s my living – no different than you going to work.

In the 1850s, a wave of English adventure tourists followed the lead of their upper class and crossed the Mediterranean – drawn by reports of lost civilizations, strange peoples and even stranger customs in North Africa and the Middle East. And it is for these same compelling reasons that travellers today depart Europe for the lands of myth and mystery that lie beyond — the final destinations on the 19th-centry Grand Tour… Egypt, Tunisia and Turkey.

So much is gone. So much is underfoot. Civilizations reduced to looted tombs; conquerors to legend. Generations of passing traders reduced to this vague scrawled signature: this 3,000-year-old mountainside path. Only the goat herders remain, then as now, walking stick in hand, a pocketful of stones to encourage the dawdlers, keeping pace with the clong-clonging of bells as the flock moves down-slope beneath the oak and olive trees toward Sidyma.

An elderly woman – dressed in voluminous, paisley pantaloons and a loose cardigan – appears from a farmhouse and gestures that I follow her into the fields surrounding this Turkish village of 80. “Tombs,” she says in English, and I nod. She leads the way along a poppy-lined trail until the first one appears, then two more – then more after that. The bizarre stone structures stand amid the barley like three-metre-high loaves of bread: colossal, lichen-covered sarcophagi, a few of the dozens in Sidyma and the thousands found elsewhere in this coastal region of southwestern Turkey.  Combined, these ancient Lycian tombs, like the sections of the equally ancient, 500-km-long Lycian Way I’m hiking, are memento mori to a civilization lost to time.

Just over the forested ridge to the south – and 1,000 metres down – lie the waters of the eastern Mediterranean, where once Odysseus sailed in the Homeric epic The Odyssey and where today adventurers cruise the Turquoise Coast in kayaks and on sailboats, tracking myths and enjoying modern amenities here on the quiet edge of the Middle East.

For three millennia, this Turkish peninsula has, in fact, sat in the crosshairs of events: Mark Anthony passed on his way toward Cleopatra and Alexander the Great on his way toward conquering the known world. On hillsides along this historic path are collapsed Greek temples, overgrown Roman amphitheatres and battle-scarred Crusader castles. When young 19th-century British travellers learned how central this place was in history, they abandoned their all-too-predictable Grand Tours of Europe for the mysterious world to the east. And with the recent re-opening of this newly restored and signposted Lycian Way, thousands of 21st-century adventurers can now follow the footsteps of those from centuries past.

When I’ve done clambering around the tombs, the woman hands me a grey-green leaf picked from an overhanging tree and indicates I should smell it. “Defne,” she says in Turkish as I inhale the strangely familiar aroma. She sees my confusion and, in accented English, says, “Bay. Bay laurel.” And, as if by magic, a mythic world is reborn in my imagination at the word “defne” – in English, daphne – and the smell of bay.

For here on the Mediterranean’s eastern shores, so the story goes, the Greek god of the sun, Apollo, glimpsed the forest nymph Daphne and pursued her across the hills. But, protective of the nymph’s virginity, other gods turned the fleeing Daphne into a bay laurel tree, which the love-struck Apollo then worshipped and his followers later wove into honorific, laurel crowns. And thus: the English words baccalaureate and poet laureate. These kinds of unexpected connections regularly happen in this overlooked corner of the world, where many of the fundamental principles of western philosophy, politics, science and art were born more than 2,500 years ago. 

Fethiye is a town of 60,000 that crowds a harbour in the southwestern corner of Turkey, where it provides travellers with a starting point for an exploration of the pine-covered, 300-km-long coast that stretches eastward to the major city of Antalya. Unlike much of the European Mediterranean – where it borders Spain, France, Italy and Greece – Turkey’s Lycian coast, lying beyond the Bosphorus in Asia Minor, is less developed and little known. A half-dozen ocean-side villages, linked by a vertiginous highway, a popular ocean-cruising route and the challenging terrain of the Lycian Way, are all that exist for those wanting to glimpse a world where – in rural places, at least – time appears to have stopped a century ago.

Just after dawn on a warm April morning, I climb with two companions above Fethiye on my initial encounter with the Lycian Way. Marked by red-and-white trail flashings, the path ascends amid boulders and blooming euphorbia to a bluff 500 metres above the appropriately named Turquoise Coast. To my right and left, silhouetted mountain ridges drop abruptly into the sea; far below, alongside an uninhabited islet, a sailboat, no bigger than a grain of salt, is moored in a cove. As the trail descends toward the ocean, I notice the stone cribbing that lines these switchbacks and that has probably existed since Roman legions passed this way 2,000 years ago. Ahead, I can make out the huge parabola of beach at Ölüdeniz – packed with sun worshippers in summer when temperatures in southern Turkey reach 40°C, but on this spring day, nearly deserted.

The sky above the ocean is full of circling tandem paragliders who have launched from the 2,000-metre summit of a seaside peak. I give thought (very briefly) to joining them but am content watching their aerial peregrinations from a beer-cooled, beachside vantage point, knowing well how Icarus’s doomed effort at flying across the nearby ocean turned out.

Rudolf Leijtens, a newly retired Dutch psychologist, tells me he left Fethiye a week earlier, carrying a 16-kilogram backpack for a five-week solo trek along this meandering, 500-km coastal path. He has already passed through Sidyma and marvelled at the (blank)-and-death juxtaposition of winged figures of Eros on a Lycian burial tomb, camped with gypsies, been fed by shepherds and gotten lost in the hills above the 12-km beach at Patara, the longest on the Mediterranean’s northern coast. On his iPhone he displays a few images from these travels: welcoming Turkish farmers; forest-engulfed Roman amphitheatres; even Holland’s 12-storey Haarlem office tower, where he worked until recently and where others his age wonder about his sanity – leaving a secure job early to hike, at age 60, as many of the world’s great long-distance trails as time will allow. The Inca Trail in Peru. The West Coast Trail in British Columbia. The 750-km Camino de Santiago in northern Spain.  The Lycian Way.

“I like hiking,” he tells me as we study his high-scale map on a sunny Kalkan rooftop, high above the Mediterranean. “You have the time to absorb things. And if you get lost, you learn to look for the smallest clues. You have to figure things out. That’s what life’s about: trying to find your route amid the confusion.” He laughs, embarrassed by his own philosophizing. I drop him off from my rental car the next morning at the eastbound Lycian Way trailhead, where he heads off with his MP3 earbuds in, destined for the seaside village of Kas, humming Schubert. 

The 26-km coastline I drive in my short journey from Kalkan to Kas takes Leijtens three days by foot, I later learn – on the higher, ridgetop Lycian trail. The land along the Turkish Mediterranean is torturous: ravines, snow-capped 3,000-metre summits and a lot of limestone precipices that once served the Lycians as burial sites. The mountains are, in fact, full of tombs. Some are the bread-loaf variety, such as the sarcophagi in Sidyma. But most are cut into sheer cliff-faces – ancient, vertical, high-rise cemeteries, a honeycomb of unassailable apertures, often 100 metres above the ground. And below the road: the azure sea, with an occasional sailboat, stretches southward toward Egypt. 

No place along the Lycian coast has been more altered by the recent arrival of tourism than whitewashed, narrow-laned Kas, population 8,000. Its harbourfront is lined with moored touring yachts and dive boats, the cobbled streets with restaurants, carpet shops, adventure outfitters, bars and Internet cafés. I feel compelled to continue eastward and set out overland toward the underwater city of Kekova. The fields are a tapestry of olive trees and daisies. Goats crowd grassy roadside verges. Men turn the soil with mattocks. Women lug enormous loads of freshly cut fodder. Loudspeakers from village mosques call the faithful to prayer. And above this, the Apollonian sun shines relentlessly on Lycia, which means the Land of Light.

Launched in a kayak onto the bay across from Kekova Island, it soon becomes apparent that the ruins lining this shoreline are remnants of a larger city that lies below. Underwater walls, foundations, stairs, streets and toppled amphora are all that’s left of a seaside city that dropped seven metres during a massive earthquake in 200 A.D. Here a half-submerged Lycian necropolis, over there an underwater Roman-era mosaic floor, over there a Byzantine shipyard and shoreline Christian church, and on a hilltop above, a 13th-century Crusader fortress. Looking around and down into a lapis-lazuli blueness, I become a voyager between eras. Layers of civilizations, one atop another: the ruins of three millennia of ambition and labour reduced to an almost undecipherable script written in toppled stone.

To become acquainted with history’s duration, to sit at the exact place where one of humankind’s legends originated, is to glimpse one’s link to the fundamentals: to fire, earth, myth and time. I’ve known since arriving in Turkey two weeks earlier that the culmination of this journey would be the seaside village of Çirali, which lies directly below 2,388-metre Mount Olympos. It’s the home of the fire-breathing Chimaera, first described 2,700 years ago in Homer’s epic tale The Iliad. It is the place, historically, where fire enters myth and where, for millennia, oracles were sought and the future foretold. It is holy.

I climb above Çirali on a steep, forested trail in the evening’s evanescent light, my flashlight’s beam my only companion. I know, from long experience, it is best to confront the gods unaccompanied. Then, ahead, near the foundation of a ruined Greek temple, the flames appear.

Unique in the world, unexplained to this day, the slope beneath Mount Olympos issues two dozen jets of gas-fed, blue-orange fire – some flames three metres high – from blackened fissures in the rock. Scientists say the site’s otherworldly and inextinguishable fires have burned unceasingly since the beginning of recorded history. But myth says this is the home of the Chimaera, a fearsome, underworld demon – part lion, part goat, part snake.  The creature is, in a word, chimaerical – a fantastical, imaginative invention. I sit beside one of the Chimaera’s fires, where once oracular visions were announced by priests, trying to conjure how this natural phenomenon must have awed people thousands of years ago.

But a family of four suddenly appears from the darkness, Americans by their accent, chatting, delighted by the pyrotechnics. We exchange greetings. Then, while the father goes hunting for some long sticks beneath the trees nearby, the two boys and their mother sit beside one of the larger flames and extract from their backpack a bundle of . . . hot dogs. Yes, here I am contemplating the divine, and my new companions at the Chimaera are preparing a wiener roast. It’s all too perfect, too funny: the metaphysical and mundane collide. The gods, I tell myself, have a wicked sense of humour. The older boy, Max, age eight, soon discovers he can write with the tip of his glowing hot-dog stick on the night sky. He’s Luke Skywalker. He’s Harry Potter. It could be the 21st-century A.D. or 21st-century B.C. The more he flourishes the burning stick, the brighter the tip glows. His family watches, amused – as other families probably did on similar occasions thousands of years ago. Time past is time present. The oracle has, I realize, spoken. Max inscribes his calligraphy on the blackness, trying – as writers always do – to give substance to the ephemeral: words written in the air with fire.

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Desert Dreams
Feb 2010 / Leg one of the Grand Tour covers Egypt and Tunisia

When the corals in Western Australia erupt in a synchronous mass spawn after the March full moon, a few hundred of the world’s biggest fish will inexplicably be there waiting, and a flood of travellers from around the world won’t be far behind. The timing of the spawn is one of the marvels of the natural world, as is the experience of swimming alongside whale sharks, gentle leviathans that consume not humans but the minutiae of the sea: eggs of coral spawn, plankton and krill.

Every year, almost half of the world’s whale shark population is drawn to Ningaloo for the austral autumn, staying until June and then vanishing on a dangerous and mysterious journey through the largely unprotected waters of the Indian Ocean and beyond. On this warm but overcast afternoon, 19 tourists aboard a 12-metre ecotourism vessel 800 metres offshore have also traced their own, more direct, routes here, from Germany, Britain, France, Denmark, Japan, Australia, the U.S. and Canada. Unfortunately it is the Canuck who screws up and jumps prematurely off the stem.

Caught up in the excitement, I hit the water: legs astride, plastic fins securely on feet, one hand pressed against mask and snorkel. The splash is blinding. I struggle to peer through a riot of champagne bubbles into the dreamy blue beyond. Somewhere out there is a fish the size of a Cadillac, headed straight for me.

Whale shark ecotourism is serious business in the state of Western Australia, though, as evidenced by the rabid screams now coming from the boat’s crew: “Don’t move! Stay there!”

The Department of Environment and Conservation imposes strict rules to protect one of the world’s most awe-inspiring species from undue harassment, including issuing a mere 14 commercial licenses for whale-shark viewing in Ningaloo – with 300 kilometres of shoreline, it’s the largest fringing barrier reef in Australia and touted as a future United Nations World Heritage Site in conjunction with nearby Cape Range National Park. Home to some 500 species of fish and 600 species of molluscs, its range of megafauna is similarly extensive, ranging well beyond whale sharks to encompass Indo-Pacific and bottlenose dolphins, dugongs, reef sharks, manta rays and the occasional humpback and killer whale. Onshore, green, loggerhead and hawksbill turtles nest from November to March in Cape Range National Park, where emus and red kangaroos are visible year-round, the latter from any oceanfront campsite.

Varying between 200 metres and seven kilometres in width, Ningaloo is also Australia’s most accessible coral reef. In comparison, the much larger Great Barrier Reef sprawled off the Queensland coast requires the hiring of private tour boats to access specific sites. Not so at Ningaloo. The coral-fringed beaches of 50,581-hectare Cape Range Park are just a 40-km drive from the regional hub of Exmouth, a community of about 2,500. And at popular spots such as Turquoise Bay and Oyster Stacks, the coral begins just a swimmer’s stroke from the water’s edge, easy access to an astoundingly diverse marine life population made possible by exceptional water quality and limited human impact. Sadly, the same cannot be said for many of the world’s coral reefs.

The Global Coral Reef Monitoring Network’s GCRMN authoritative 2008 report, Status of Coral Reefs of the World, estimates that 19 per cent of the planet’s coral reefs have already vanished, five per cent will suffer significant degradation and loss of area over the next 10 to 20 years and another 20 per cent will experience the same fate over the next 20 to 40 years. Some of the worst degradation has already occurred in the reefs of the Caribbean, eastern Africa and south and southeast Asia – some of the most popular travel destinations for North Americans. Ningaloo Reef’s whale sharks alone, for example, contribute more than $6 million annual in tourism monies to the Western Australia economy, with a percentage of tour fees funding local scientific research and park management. If the reef were to die, tourists would soon pack their bags and fly elsewhere because “tourists expect certain things; if they’re not here, they won’t come,” says Carl Gustaf Lundin, head of the global marine program for the International Union for Conservation of Nature.

Closer to home, Isabelle Côté is a Quebec-born professor of tropical marine ecology at B.C.’s Simon Fraser University who has explored the coral ecosystems of the Caribbean since 1983. She intended to study the Arctic until, as an undergraduate in marine biology at McGill University, she spent four months at Bellairs Research Institute in Barbados, -Canada’s only such facility in the tropics. “I got the bug,” she says over coffee on campus one morning. “I was absolutely inspired by that habitat.”

However, every Canadian needs to care about coral reefs, she tells me. Not only because of the inherent right of all species and ecosystems to exist, but because coral reefs and the beaches so many of us escape to each winter are inextricably linked. When corals die and the calcium carbonate reefs they form weather away, beaches onshore are no longer protected and supported: “You lose the source of that white sand and the protection the reef was providing from waves during storms,” explains Côté.

Which is why reef experts globally are urgently pushing for a cut in carbon dioxide emissions, tighter restrictions on coral reef fishing (including protection for reef herbivores such as parrotfish), the creation and strict enforcement of a network of marine protected areas and international controls on coastal pollution and sedimentation. Côté and her SFU colleagues again emphasized this call to action in a 2009 study published in the online journal Proceedings of the Royal Society of London, incorporating the results of 500 surveys of 200 reefs between 1969 and 2008. The team’s findings: 75 per cent of the Caribbean’s coral reefs are now flat because of lack of coral and erosion, the latter up from 20 per cent in the 1970s. Novice divers might continue to be impressed by the reefs of Barbados, but not someone with Côté’s onsite experience. “It’s definitely not what it was 25 years ago. There is dead coral, evidence of bleaching.”

Why? Carbon dioxide released during the burning of fossil fuels – all those flights carrying tourists and, yes, scientists flying into the tropics to conduct research – raises the water temperature and leads to ocean acidification. In response to the “stress” of these changes, the coral expels the algae with which it shares a symbiotic relationship and from which it derives its nutrients. This algae also gives the coral its colour; when it’s expelled, the coral “bleaches,” becoming a lighter shade or completely white. Other problems include human destruction of reefs, hurricanes and tsunamis; shoreline development, including pollution and sedimentation from land and agricultural runoff; and overfishing, which can upset the balance between grazers and carnivore species needed for a healthy reef. Côté shakes her head when noting that some fisheries still employ explosives, a practice that destroys the corals upon which many fish rely. “Working in Indonesia, for instance, every so often you’d hear a bomb go off. You could hear it under water.”

According to the GCRMN 2008 report, these cumulative threats faced by the world’s reefs also pose serious implications for the 500 million people depending on them for food, protection from storms, tourism revenue, and even building materials, since some countries mine their reefs for limestone. As Canadian environmental author Alanna Mitchell writes in her 2009 book Sea Sick, “About a quarter of the creatures that humans catch commercially spend some part of their lifecycle on a coral reef.” Which begs the question: As the corals go, do humans follow?

The 11th International Coral Reef Symposium, held in Florida in 2008, described reefs as “the dynamic centres of the most concentrated biodiversity on Earth,” one that is “teetering on the edge of survival” while valued at more than U.S.$300 billion per year from fishing, tourism, the aquarium trade and protection of coastal settlements that would otherwise require human-made defences. And the symposium’s experts cited human-induced climate change, including bleaching, as the greatest threat to their survival.

Biology professor Robert van Woesik of Florida’s Institute of Technology, the 2008 Reef Symposium’s science chair, notes that flat, shallow reefs close to the surface can withstand temperatures as high as 37°C during summer low tides. This gives them a potential advantage as the global climate warms, but such reefs tend to support fewer than two-dozen species of coral, says van Woesik, compared with the hundreds that exist in reefs positioned farther below the surface. On the positive side of the ledger, an estimated 46 per cent of the world’s reefs are either stable or recovering rapidly: Australia, Bonaire, Bermuda and the Gulf of Mexico’s Flower Garden Banks fall into this category, as do the Red Sea, the Maldives, Seychelles and Chagos in the Indian Ocean, Papua New Guinea and many small atolls and islands in the Pacific Ocean.

Carl Gustaf Lundin, head of the global marine program for the International Union for Conservation of Nature, predicts that corals closest to the equator will fare the worst should ocean temperatures continue to rise. Those farthest away should do better, he says, because they have already evolved to accommodate a wider range of temperatures. The waters off Yemen (the Arab Gulf state bordering the Red Sea and Gulf of Aden), for example, can vary between 18°C and 30°C, depending on the season and the upswelling of cold water from deep in the ocean.

Reefs that are well managed and protected from overfishing and pollution also have a better chance of weathering the unpredictable climatic storm that may lie ahead. Isabelle Côté is under no illusions about the difficulty of the global job to be done, however. Climate change does not respect the boundaries of even a well-managed marine area; the problem is bigger than the best efforts of one country, much less one well-meaning scientist.

“Sometimes I think I should give up tropical work,” she confides. “It’s really difficult. But we can throw in the towel or say ‘No, this is a challenge and as a scientific community we can provide answers.’ We can’t give up now. This is the big fight to be fought.”

Fortunately for travellers in Western Australia, Ningaloo Reef is expected to fare better than its counterparts elsewhere in the world as climate changes continue, at least in the short term. Research suggests that summer winds blowing parallel to the coast off the reef create upswellings of cold water that act as an insulator. Temperatures here can actually drop as much as 3°C, all of which protects against the sort of coral bleaching that occurred in 1998 and 2005 around much of the globe.

But what about Western Australia’s top tourist draw, the whale shark’s annual visit to the Ningaloo Reef, and that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity “that rivals any marine wildlife encounter on earth,” according to Lonely Planet guidebooks? Well, even scientists have trouble agreeing on the most fundamental aspects of the species, currently listed as “vulnerable” by the International Union for Conservation of Nature. Most concede that whale sharks can grow to between 12 and 14 metres (though four- to 10-metre specimens are more common) and that predators include other sharks and even killer whales.

A 2008 Australian study published in the Biological Conservation journal, which estimates the Ningaloo whale-shark population at 300 to 500, has also found evidence of a population decrease and that the mean length of the shark has declined by nearly two metres over the past decade. Meanwhile, ecotourism sightings have fallen by 40 per cent. Fortunately, a 2009 endangered species research report found “modestly increasing annual abundances,” prompting calls for longer-term studies that take into account major oceanographic and climatic variables such as El Niño and La Niña events.

During their visit to Ningaloo, whale sharks rely on krill and zooplankton attracted to the coral reef, which means the future of the sharks is directly linked to the health of the reefs. A decline in shark numbers in the late 1980s at Ningaloo is thought to have been associated with the destruction of the Acropora coral species by sea snails. That particular variety of shallow-water coral makes a major contribution to the spawn.
To protect the sharks during this crucial feeding, vessels are forbidden within 30 metres of the animals and are restricted to speeds of eight knots within 250 metres of one. Only a single boat is allowed per whale shark, interaction time cannot exceed one hour and no more than 10 snorkellers can be in the water at one time, approaching no closer than three metres from the side and four metres from the tail. This moving part of the beast can pack a wallop so snorkellers, gulp, need to stay clear of its path.

Tortured seconds pass as I wait for the bubbles to dissipate. Finally, I vaguely discern the whale shark’s weirdly distinctive profile: the flared head and wide gaping mouth used to strain protein from the water; the long tapered body – grey with white spots – that can be photographed behind the gills to identify individuals; and the remarkable moving ecosystem of fishes – remora, juvenile golden trevally and cobia – along for the free ride, protection or stray morsels.

I swim hurriedly to the side of the approaching shark, following it as it forges past. It seems undeterred by my presence but watches me closely through an eye that seems disproportionately small for such a huge creature.

Now comes the hard work. The shark swims just below the surface (small aircraft are chartered by the tour boats to find the creatures) at a pace of about one metre per second. I work my fins madly to keep pace. There’s the additional challenge of navigating: a minefield of stinging jellyfish. It’s almost a relief to return to the boat and peel off my wetsuit after five minutes so the next group can hit the water, a process repeated five times in the next hour. But skipper Dave Ross of Ningaloo Reef Dreaming has seen it all before. “It’s just a fish,” he says with a mischievous grin.

Still, Ross admits he never tires of seeing these two marvels of the natural world – reef and shark – come together for this magical event. We can only hope future generations will enjoy the same privileged view. 

Zareena Raman, AMA Travel Specialist
Brisbane, Australia
One of my favourite daytrips out of Brisbane is Surfer’s Paradise. It’s a hip and vibrant suburb on the Gold Coast that’s become the tourist hotspot. As the name suggests, Surfer’s Paradise has some of the best surfing in the country. When my surfing legs tire, I head to Cavill Avenue and the amazing boutiques and oceanview restaurants that line this strip. To discover the heart of Surfer’s Paradise, I hit Beachfront Market along the Esplanade. Every Wednesday and Friday, hundreds of local vendors set up arts and crafts stalls, selling everything from Aboriginal didgeridoos to shell jewelry to bamboo purses. Even the food at the market has a local bent: hamburgers are heaped with grilled beetroot and sweet onions. For sheer family fun, nothing beats Sea World, located less than a 30-minute drive from Brisbane. If you have more time on your hands, check out the other area theme parks, such as Wet N’ Wild Water World, Warner Brothers Movie World and Alma Park Zoo. Call AMA Travel at 1-866-667-4777.

The Getaway

As Alberta towns go, Drumheller has the “Best Theme” category all wrapped up. Dinosaurs: They’re fossilized in the looming desert hills, preserved as skeletons in the nearby Royal Tyrrell Museum and represented in fibreglass on every street corner.

Most Albertans visit this hotbed of paleontology as part of a summer holiday. Few, however, choose to venture to the badlands town in winter. True, the cacti aren’t in bloom and combing the hoodoos for prehistoric relics isn’t as fruitful in snow boots. But where else can one ski a coulee by moonlight?

Every full-moon night throughout the winter, the Badlands Ski Hill turns off the lights and opens its slopes until midnight. The experience, says hill manager Zrinko Amerl, is a “mix of magic and thrills.” Guests access the three runs – beginner, intermediate and expert – by a quad chairlift that Zrinko promises never has a lineup. And since the snow is mostly artificial (this is a desert, after all) one can always count on favourable conditions. Even so, it’s hard not to appreciate the eerie contrast between the fleeting pleasure of a moonlight ski and a landscape billions of years in the making. (403-823-5006 or Ski Drumheller)

The Hideaway

The most charming place to stay in Drumheller is the Inn and Spa at Heartwood (below). Ten rooms and a guest cottage offer antique furnishings, whirlpool tubs and local artwork. The common lounge, with its wood-burning fireplace, is the perfect place to snuggle up with a post-ski glass of wine. Owners Patrice and Zeke Wolf are passionate about all things Drumheller: The couple regularly hosts art shows and Zeke can wax poetic about the local golf course (where he gives lessons as part of the inn’s stay-and-play packages). Even in wintertime the scenic back nine, which takes advantage of the badlands’ irregular elevation, is worth a stroll.

Meanwhile, the inn’s second-floor spa facilities offer massages (therapeutic or hydrosonic), facials, manicures and pedicures. Spa director Margo Masse is professional, congenial and dedicated to using first-rate European products.  (1-888-823-6495 or Inn and Spa at Heartwood )

The Inside Track

Big bad bones: 2010 marks the 25th anniversary of the Royal Tyrrell Musuem). To commemorate, 25 of its most significant specimens will be on display, including “Black Beauty,” a shining T-Rex skull. Badlands baklava: Athens Greek Restaurant, for its 11 kinds of pita bread. (403-823-3225). Après-ski triage: Badlands Leg Circulation Restorer massage at the Heartwood spa or a soak in your room’s whirlpool tub with locally made bath salts. Hoodoos to go: local art from Badlands Gallery)

I am crawling on hands and knees, across a lumpy dirt floor. The uneven surface is littered with rocks and the cool air permeated by a fine dust.

I am grateful for the kneepads. And for the helmet. With my vision reduced to the myopic circle illuminated by my headlamp, I’m more absorbed with what I can see clearly below me than the obscured and disorienting path ahead. As a result, I don’t look up often enough to avoid collisions with the irregular ceiling. Rounding a bend, my companions disappear entirely. For a very long minute I can’t even hear them.

In 1925, Floyd Collins, heralded as the greatest cave explorer of his time, became trapped for two weeks in a narrow crawl-way of Kentucky’s Sand Cave. His confinement sparked a media circus – the most sensational since the sinking of the Titanic. And though Collins didn’t survive the ordeal, dying of exposure and dehydration four days before rescuers could reach him, his story – chronicled in song (Black Stone Cherry’s “Ghost of Floyd Collins”), an off-Broadway musical (Floyd Collins) and a Hollywood film (Billy Wilder’s Ace In the Hole), lives on.

Collins’s tale also had the effect of increasing, rather than dampening, the nation’s enthusiasm for caving (also known as spelunking). People of the day were curious to know what mysteries drew Collins to the subterranean world – and what wonders he saw there.

But unlike the maverick adventurers of the early 20th century who spelunked with reckless abandon, today’s cavers employ safe rope and travel techniques to explore the underground. And while dangers still exist, fatalities such as the November death of a 26-year-old medical student in Utah are few and far between.

Still, I can’t help but wonder: what is it about the mere idea of being trapped underground that so easily causes a person to cringe? And what entices a person underground in the first place? The answers, I discovered, are partly in the lyrics to Black Stone Cherry’s 2008 tribute to the subterranean explorer, “No man-made machine could see the things he’d seen / Mr. Collins, he did not die in vain.”

That very curiosity lured me out of my comfort zone among the sunny peaks of my hometown of Canmore and into the dark world below. Toward the end of an adventure-filled summer, including climbing B.C.’s Mount Tupper, where I tackled some of the scariest cliff sections I’ve ever experienced, I assumed a half-day jaunt through the local Rat’s Nest Cave would be a piece of cake. However, I would soon learn that the underworld serves up a different kind of trepidation.

On a sunny, late-summer morning, we set out to hike the 30-minute approach trail to the mouth of the cave. We are seven adventurers and our Canmore Caverns guide, Eli.

I listen as Ryan and Angelina, a lively pair of 20-somethings, describe their recent skydiving experience. Although daring by some standards, I’m not the thrill-seeking type. Like Floyd Collins, I am motivated by a desire to explore fascinating landscapes. Caving, I would also discover, is the landscape equivalent of an endoscopy.

The Pleistocene glaciations of the past 1.6 million years caused meltwaters to carve out the four-kilometre-long Rat’s Nest Cave system in the Bow Valley’s limestone bedrock. With a constant air temperature of 4.5°C, Canada’s eleventh longest cave (of the country’s 100 known 440-metre-plus systems) is also the Canadian Rockies’ warmest.

Halfway through the hike, Eli stops.

“We’re standing 30 metres above the cave’s largest room, the Grand Gallery,” he says.

“How do you map a cave?” I ask.

“Compass and a measuring tape.”

We don supplied coveralls, climbing harnesses, kneepads and miners’ lamp-equipped helmets. At the cave’s entrance, Eli points out ancient red pictographs on the wall and gestures towards a dark, seemingly bottomless hole. The Bone Bed Pit, as it’s known, contains artefacts that include 3,000-year-old arrowheads, likely left behind by aboriginal peoples living in the cave’s protective entranceway. In 1987, to preserve this ancient homestead from rope-equipped souvenir seekers, the cave area was designated a Provincial Historic Site, complete with a locked gate.

The ceiling slants lower and lower as we move deeper into the cave. Soon we’re forced to stop and wedge ourselves into a metre-high passage on our sides. There we wait, while Eli supervises as, one by one, we clip onto the rope of a double-safety anchor system to rappel down a 20-metre vertical abyss. When it’s my turn, I lower into a pit walled with moist, slick rock.

With everyone down the well hole, we reach our first optional “squeeze” – caving lingo for a very tight space.

“It’s more fun if you go head first,” Eli suggests.

“Head first, you say?” chirps Angelina, already poised to slither on her belly through a passage just high enough to swallow her horizontally. I follow, wriggling through the crawlspace sideways, employing a less graceful crab-like maneuver.

Entering what he calls the Five-Way Chamber, Eli suggests we all remember this room. It grants the cave’s only exit access. The labyrinthine Rat’s Nest Cave, we learn, is full of countless dead ends and provides few landmarks for the untrained eye. Down here, perception is distorted; distance is difficult to judge, the floor appears steeper and slipperier than it actually is. It could be any time of the day or night and, with its constant air temperature, any season.

Soon we reach the Laundry Chute, the next optional squeeze. Eli describes a human-sized vertical tube that drops for three metres, then doglegs into a 45-degree, equally snug six-metre tunnel before opening into the next stand-able room.

Anyone uncomfortable with the idea, he says, can wait 15 minutes for the group to loop back around. While the others jostle to go first, I hang back, struck suddenly by a daunting sensation of claustrophobia. But determined not to be left behind, I settle into the queue.

Giant butterflies lurch in my stomach as I watch my fellow spelunker, Erem, drop one leg down then the other, inching into a space so constricted I can scarcely see the gap between his body and the edge of the hole.

My turn.

The mind is a funny piece of equipment. While I rationally understand that this squeeze will take less than a minute to complete, and that hundreds of cavers larger than me have previously wiggled through its slick passages, my imagination, nevertheless, embarks on its own expedition to squeamish places – places like the until-then forgotten story of Floyd Collins and his two-week confinement in Sand Cave. Unlike negotiating climbing terrain, where fear is for physical self-preservation (one false move could lead to a death fall), down here, it’s a mostly a mental construct. Panic is the obstacle.

Fortunately, 20 years of outdoor challenges have prepared me for such a moment. I lower myself down into a shaft so narrow I must turn my head sideways to make room for my helmet’s protruding lamp. For several metres, I move by feel; it’s impossible to see the next step. Finally, before the constriction becomes stifling, the passage opens briefly to a space large enough for me to sit. I catch my breath then shimmy into the chute, quickly experiencing the wedgie Eli had promised. 

Following voices, I spy the fork in the narrow pipe where we were instructed to continue left and not be suckered into the dead-end funnel tube to the right where my worst fears would be realized. Bumping and sliding one foot, then my backside, then one shoulder and the other arm, I try to speed up to escape the unnerving tube. But, in here, fast is not an option, so I focus instead on staying ahead of my thoughts.
The minute drags like a molasses spill, but, at last, I’m free. And while I tell myself that I’ll never do that again, the mountaineer in me expresses excited congratulations.

Walking gloriously erect through the next passage, Eli describes a section deeper into the cave that remains as tight as the Laundry Chute for an hour and a half. I have to ask: “Head or feet first?”

Just then, we come upon a series of connected chambers, the sight of which banishes all thought of the squeeze from my mind. This is what we’ve been waiting for: Calcite deposits exquisitely sculpted by nature and featuring such evocative titles as the Wedding Cake, a multi-tiered stalagmite frosted in what looks like layers of melted wax, and the Bacon Strip, a calcite slab hung like a hunk of cured meat. Further on, hundreds of hollow “soda straw” stalactites cling delicately from the ceiling. 

“They grow one centimetre a year – that’s about as fast as things happen around here,” Eli grins.

Next, we enter the Grand Gallery, where two distinct sheets of rock intersect to form a peaked ceiling 30 metres high.

“It’s a perfect fault line, where the mountains shifted and grinded together,” our guide explains.

I sincerely hope they wait another day to do that again.

Finally we enter The Grotto, which looks like a miniature cathedral. Flowstone walls frame two small, crystal-clear ponds fed by underground streams. The exotic room resembles a friendlier version of the hatching chamber from Alien.

“Everyone, turn off your headlamps,” Eli directs.

Breathing as quietly as possible, we tune into the musical plinking of water trickling in the darkness. Realizing my eyes are closed, I open them. No difference. Nothing exists but my body, the sound of water and the profound darkness.

I don’t recognize the Five-Way Chamber when we re-enter it an hour later, but fortunately Eli does, leading uPs smoothly back to daylight.

Stepping through the creaky iron gate, I sneak a glance back at the cave. Though I definitely feel more at ease this side of the mountain, it was extraordinary to have glimpsed the otherworldly spectacle within. I’ve understood caving’s call.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with the 18th century. So much so, in fact, that I held a Louis XIV costume ball for my 40th birthday, with guests obliged to attend in tights and powdered wigs. Similarly I’ve always dreamed of travelling to Venice for Carnival – a city and celebration frozen in time. • First mentioned in Italian chronicles in 1162, Carnival is described as the celebration of feasting and entertainment just prior to the 40 days of fasting and penance marking Lent (with its temporary ban on meat, or carne). 

By the 18th century, Carnival also included public spectacles in theatres, cafés and casinos along with private celebrations, where the wearing of masks provided a unique opportunity for a hierarchical society to briefly mingle as anonymous equals.

My partner Darcy and I have toured Venice several times. But when confirming our return during February’s 10-day Carnival we committed to journeying not as mere travellers but as revellers, accompanied by five friends. I would act as travel concierge: organizing events and reservations, typing up itineraries and historical synopses of what we’d see. But which parties to attend? Which balls?

At last, I settled on two events: a morning baroque concert and cocktail gathering, and an afternoon soiree at Caffé Lavena – open since 1750 – for luxe cioccolata calda (a rich, creamy hot chocolate) and fritelle (a Carnival pastry found only in Venice).

The decision about which balls to attend, however, proved more challenging: they all looked so extravagant and tempting. But eventually it was decided: Thursday’s Tiepolo (one of the only balls in Venice illuminated completely by candlelight), held in the 14th-century Tiepolo-fresco-adorned Palazzo Pisani-Moretta and Saturday’s Cavalchina in the Fenice opera house (with ballroom dancing and acrobats performing throughout). 

The piatto forte? For each evening’s ball, our entourage would dress in 18th-century costumes and masks. But as Carnival participants rather than spectators, we also decided to dress by day – which meant two costumes each. With one of our party a costume designer for Edmonton theatre, we opted to make our own clothes and purchase only our elaborate Carnival masks upon arrival. Immersing ourselves in the design and creation of our attire would provide a scintillating pre-flight sense of the celebrations to come – promenading Venice’s streets in velvet, brocade, satin and lace.

By the time the departure date finally arrived, we were fully armed with costumes, wigs, hats, feathers, fans, high-heeled shoes and tights. However, I’d begun to worry that my expectations – and now everyone else’s – were so high that no Carnival could ever measure up.

Two frenzied days later, an entire morning is spent getting into costume for an inaugural foray into the Venice streets. I labour a good while with my miniscule tights: minutes pass before I get my left foot in and pull the rest up to my knee – then wiggle my right foot in, only to have the Lycra top snap my legs together. Laughter erupts from the women in the room as I flop about, mermaid-like, before balancing with one hand against a wall, the other heaving up the recalcitrant tights. At last we don our lace- and jewel-encrusted masks and swirl into the streets below. 

We cause quite a stir since we are, after all, a group of seven in 18th-century costume (barely a quarter of the locals dress for Carnival and those who do generally circulate in couples). Tourists snap photos. Continuing over the Accademia Bridge, we’re stopped yet again, this time by a crowd of professional photographers. Finally we slip between admirers down an alley, making our way to the renowned church Santa Maria della Salute, one lone pro in tow, snapping away at my two-inch, red-heeled, gold and bejewelled pumps – the ones I’ve spent hours dying, gluing, painting and sewing. I’m flattered by the attention being lavished on them.

At a sidewalk cafe along the Riva degli Schiavoni, the sun beats down gloriously. But as stationary targets for the paparazzi, it’s immediately clear there will be no peaceful lunch. I can barely eat for fear that a close-up of an oversized fork of pasta jammed in my mouth will be on YouTube by nightfall. Yet even before our first soiree, the fears I’ve harboured about Carnival not living up to expectations have been quelled for good. I pick up my camera to capture a few photos of our admiring throng.

The decision of whether or not to drive on a foreign holiday can be a difficult one. It means taking on more responsibility – and potentially more stress – but the payoff is greater freedom. Motoring abroad puts you in the driver’s seat in more ways than one, allowing for a leisurely exploration of the foreign country and an itinerary perfectly suited to your taste.

Avoid snags by doing your homework. Check which side of the road you’ll be driving on. Some left-hand-drive countries like Malta, the Cayman Islands and Thailand throw first-time visitors for a loop. You should also brush up on the rules for navigating any road features unique to your destination, such as roundabouts in Edinburgh and freeways in L.A.

In fact, if your holiday takes you to a major city, why go though the hassle of driving? Most large international cities either have excellent public transportation (e.g., The Tube in London) or a reliable, inexpensive form of local transport (e.g., rickshaws in Beijing).

Whether navigating city streets or country roads, do a pre-driving study of foreign traffic symbols. European road signage, for example, uses universally accessible pictographs. But did you know a blue circle containing the number 30 means drivers must go at least that speed in km/h? Even pictures aren’t always clear, so ask your foreign car-rental company to provide a guide.

Canadians holidaying abroad must also be aware of the local blood-alcohol limit. In countries such as Brazil, Japan and the Czech Republic, even a small glass of wine with dinner is one too many for their “zero tolerance” drinking-and-driving laws. Canada’s 0.08 per cent limit is actually high compared to the 0.05 per cent (and lower) commonly enforced elsewhere in the world. Check the country’s embassy website for details before you travel.

In nations where cultures differ significantly, drivers have a responsibility to understand not just the rules of the road but also the socio-political situations that may impact driving. In Mexico, for example, drivers may be subject to a vehicle search at a military checkpoint. In Saudi Arabia, women aren’t allowed behind the wheel, period. For ongoing and up-to-the-minute travel advisories, visit travel.state.gov and click on International Travel.

Before you travel, prepare a driver’s survival pack including a list of all emergency helpline numbers, the insurance company’s international number, personal identification documents, a bilingual dictionary and a good map or GPS.

It’s also wise to apply for an International Driving Permit (IDP) to use in conjunction with your Alberta driver’s license. Authorized by a UN treaty, the IDP allows licensed motorists to drive in most countries without further tests or applications. It also features a multilingual translation, should language issues arise. The permit can be purchased at an AMA Travel Centre for $15 plus the cost of two passport-sized photos. For information, visit AMATravel.ca/IDP

Finally, one of the most important pre-departure tasks is to ensure that both car and driver are completely covered by insurance in case of an accident or serious breakdown. AMA offers international car insurance and long-stay lease rentals with coverage. Still, not all policies purchased in Canada apply abroad. An AMA Travel specialist can advise you on what to expect. Then, all that’s left is to relax and enjoy the ride. 

Hot Wheels

Know the rules before driving in any of these popular winter destinations
Mexico Canadian auto insurance is not recognized by Mexican authorities and the consequences of driving uninsured are severe — you can be detained and even have your car permanently confiscated. If driving your own car, it’s vital to buy at least inexpensive Mexican third-party liability and insurance at the border.
Barbados The left-hand commute is further complicated by narrow, shoulderless roads and erratic local drivers. A temporary permit ($10BDS), good for three to six months, is required to drive on the island. It can be purchased at the airport, car rental companies and police stations.
Cuba Driving in Cuba is not advisable, both because of poor road conditions and the repercussions of getting into an accident. If you are implicated in a collision and found to be at fault, the rental agency will nullify your coverage and seek damages. And because the agencies are government-controlled, you may be detained until payment is obtained.

http://www.ama.ab.ca/westworld/images/uploads/2010_february/Germany body.jpg

If a place is defined by the specific ways in which it assails the senses, then Germany’s Black Forest gives us these: the smell of wood smoke, the mouth-watering saltiness of cured pork, the burn following a shot of schnapps, the satisfying crack of a crusty bread when broken in two, and the low bellow of an alphorn echoing across a valley black with pine. For while much of Europe’s agrarian way of life has been frittered away, a few strongholds still survive in the Schwarzwald, the German name for the forested area in the country’s textured southwest. The region is stippled with more than 7,000 small, diversified farms. And most of these have a vegetable patch, a cow, pig and chicken or two on a hectare or so of pasture, and a fruit orchard that, come the glut, yields the raw ingredients from which the legendary Obstler schnapps is nurtured over the course of autumn and winter.

Today most Schwarzwalders have off-farm jobs, but they also keep the homestead up, plowing, harvesting and feeding the animals once they get home, and each family’s food is mostly homemade or homegrown. All of which translates to a population still rich in traditional wisdom and appreciative of what the Italians call nostrano, or “things from here.” It also means southwestern Germany is a real draw in a Europe nostalgic for its authentic, approachable, living past, yet one swathed in the accoutrements of modernity: clean hotels, good roads and easy connections to the cities. In a world increasingly concerned with problems wrought by overconsumption and the waste it engenders, the Schwarzwald is a place where its inhabitants live “green” by default.

The more progressive of the Schwarzwalders have cottoned onto this – and the fact that tourism is one way of remaining relevant. But they’re equally aware that change comes with its own perils. With this in mind, a few years ago Schwarzwalders from the region around Nordrach received E.U. and regional money to figure out how to promote themselves while preserving their way of life. The result: a 20-kilometre network of wooded hiking trails sprinkled with informative placards and toothsome stops, all illustrating the Black Forest’s agrarian heritage through the lens of schnapps. And if what comes to mind when you think of schnapps is Jägermeister, or the saccharine-sweet peach schnapps, think again. Distilling rights in the Black Forest are passed down from generation to generation, with each of the 11 farmsteads linked by the lazy meanderings of the Schnappsweg trails, each boasting a patch of trees and a small pot still. This stuff is pure, clear, strong and tastes like what it’s made from: aromatic plums, apricots, cherries or Williams pears. 

The schnapps process starts on the tree, when energy from the sun fills the fruits with sugars as they ripen. The Schwarzwald’s topography is such that the trees are rarely organized in orchards; they grow haphazardly, sometimes even wildly, on perilously slanted slopes too steep to plow and unsprayed fields called Streuobstwiese, or, loosely translated, mixed-fruit fields. In a landscape like this, it’s impossible to farm intensively.

Come autumn, the windfalls are scooped up and laid in barrels to ferment. A few weeks later, the mash is distilled into Obstler, or fruit schnapps. The mash then goes into an old-fashioned copper still and is heated by means of a wood fire from below until it boils furiously. The vapours steaming off the boiling mash funnel into a thin tube and course along its cold length, whereby they condense into liquid and stream out the other end as pure alcohol. 

The liquids that first exit the tube contain the potentially lethal substance methanol, which turns to ethanol, then reverts back to methanol toward the end of the process. So seasoned judgment is required to know when the schnapps turns into a potable alembic available for capture, given that its outward appearance offers no clues. Once this precious stuff is carefully bottled and laid away, the wood fire dies down, the spent mash is fed to animals or spread on fields and the still cleaned until it shines.

Apples, pears, quince, plums and cherries are the fruits most commonly used, sometimes in combination. Liköre, or liqueurs, are also popular: neutral-tasting apple or corn schnapps infused with fresh fruit, flowers, nuts or herbs. There’s also a whole coterie of herb-based liqueurs (bloodwort, peppermint, sage), with herbal, medicinal flavours that approximate bitters such as Campari or Fernet-Branca. Some, obviously, are more approachable than others. Schnapps made from Jerusalem artichokes tastes exactly as imagined; whether or not that’s a good thing depends on one’s opinion of the knobby tubers. Wild garlic schnapps, re-puted to prolong youth and virility, haunts for days anyone who merely tastes it, as well as anyone else in their immediate vicinity. But most of the fruit schnapps are truly fine according to most palates, with a deep fruit flavour that smoothes and rounds their spicy, alcoholic burn. Given that the owners distill on specified days, this means in season there’s a good chance of coming across a smoking chimney and the hallmarks of schnapps production, namely older men in overalls exposing toddlers to cigarillo smoke and the intoxicating scent of fermenting mash.

The ribbon-cutting ceremony to open the new schnapps trail was planned for a Saturday in mid-April when I happened to be in town. My contact, Albert Schwarz, the primary instigator of the Schnappsweg, had been planning the event for months. However, after two weeks of springtime sunshine, the sky burst open, coating the mountains with a thick slick of rain. It was good for the fruit trees, which bloomed obligingly, but not for the schnappsfest. I came upon a drenched and grumpy Albert making phone calls to move the party inside. The schnapps-theke, a 10-metre bar on wheels, built from a fallen tree and carved with divots for schnapps glasses, couldn’t be moved, but a local farmhouse was secured, and dignitaries and guests scooted inside.

I asked Albert’s wife, Beate, about other plans for the festivities, and she enthused about the music, food and speeches organized for the afternoon. “We’ve even got a guy with an alphorn! He’s a world champion.”

I was impressed. “A world-champion alphorn player?” This was going to be better than I thought.

“Not a world-champion alphorn player,” Beate clarified. “It’s his beard that’s the winner. He won the Weltbartmeister title at the World Beard and Mustache Championships last year.”

Now I was really impressed – and Herr Weltbartmeister did not disappoint. His alphorn boomed and lowed across the valleys, his beard trembling soulfully. The rain speckling his umbrella provided a syncopated backbeat to the primal sound.

Post horn, I dodged the bespectacled bürgermeisters and cardiganed undersecretaries and made a beeline for the catered charcuterie, lying resplendent on rough wooden planks hewn from cross-sections of Black Forest pine. There was creamy leberwurst, with its slight whiff of decay; yawning black rounds of blood sausage, pork cheeks in aspic and canned, shredded pork foreleg; smoky thin tiles of air-dried tenderloin and crinkled, salty Landjaeger, the German equivalent of Slim Jims. A lone lettuce leaf teetered perilously off the table’s edge, as if contemplating suicide.

Alongside, a gingham-covered trestle table groaned under the weight of kugelhopfs, yeast buns, streusel coffee cakes, cheesecake, apple dumplings, jam and fruit tarts. Their ruddy-cheeked local baker and his babe-toting wife, overwhelmed by the hungry crowd, slung baked goods by the dozen to the sodden-but-cheery mass of enthusiasts a few schnappses into the afternoon. The baker works at a gluten-free bread factory for a living but has a passion for traditional Black Forest breads and buns. The factory pays the bills but, at every valid occasion to feed the community more classic German fare, he lights up the wood-fired oven at home.

Three days of eating and hiking later, I can confirm that the schnapps trails are stunning, curving up and down through kilometres of pasture, forest and orchard. On a gloomy day, the fog settling on the hilltops in small clouds garnishes the trees like frosting, a more ethereal iteration of snow, as an earthy smell of decomposing forest floor fills the nostrils. On a sunny day, the view is a patchwork of flowers and puffy white sheep, the distant sound of cowbells echoing across the valleys. 

Some farms, including the Schwarz farmstead, also bake, on specified days, the crusty, chewy country bread famed throughout the region and share the spoils with lucky walkers. Most farm kitchens double as distilleries and small tasting rooms in which the house schnapps can be sampled and, if appreciated, purchased. Others serve also as ad hoc restaurants, their massive pine slab tables covered in homemade cheeses, charcuterie made from their stock and local game, preserves such as pickled peaches, gherkins or quince jelly and, to wash it all down, house-pressed cider and, of course, the ubiquitous schnapps.

Another happy discovery: two complementary culinary walks south of the Schnappsweg: a cured-ham trail and sourdough trail. Still, picturesque as the scenes on all three trails may be, placards along the way underscore how many centuries of hard graft it has taken to gently sculpt the mountains into these edible landscapes. One farm sports a coterie of jaunty wooden beehives, another an exquisitely sculpted crucifix above the lintel. Austerely majestic, dark-wood farmhouses squat atop pigsties and cow houses, with the heat from the animals keeping the humans warm, and vice versa. Their dramatically sloping roofs – typical of the region’s architecture – suggest harsh, snowy winters, though the broad chimneys are somewhat reassuring.

On a map, the Schwarzwald is shaped like an arrow pointing at the division between France and Switzerland, which pretty much describes the local Weltanschauung, or worldview. The precision and superlative land stewardship of the Swiss have remained coupled here with an interminable joie de vivre and sense of hospitality. In a remote region of old-fashioned values, where few speak fluent English, expressive hand motions and goodwill go a long way. Schwarzwalders may not be interested in turning their backyard into a German theme park. But if its warm, inviting cocoon of good food and mesmerizing landscapes can’t cure what ails, a good dose of the local wild garlic schnapps surely will.

Prost!-game Wrap-up

Travel Time It takes about four hours to tear through the Schwarzwald on the fast track; three days or more when taking your time. 
Sack Time, Snack Time Local hotels are simple but clean, the restaurants hearty and convivial — with a particular pride in local dishes such as maultaschen, a meat-filled dumpling in broth; preparation varies slightly depending on the cook, even though everyone believes their version to be the quintessence.
Oompah Party Villages frequently organize festivals and markets, with the holiday season an especially endearing time to visit the region.

January 8 to March 13, Edmonton, Winter Light Festival

If you go out in the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise. You might be snatched by an old witch who lives in a cabin deep in the woods, takes to the sky on a giant mortar and is the central character of The Baba Yaga Trail Adventure, a nighttime story walk through Edmonton’s Whitemud Park. The eastern European folktale character comes to life January 22 and 23 during the Winter Light Festival. Those who dare traipse through Baba Yaga’s haunting grounds will experience magical light installations and an unusual assortment of characters along the way. Winter Light brings together three existing festivals - Silver Skate (February 19 to 21), Ice on Whyte (January 14 to 21), Deep Freeze (January 9 to 10) — and original programming, such as 24 Hours to Ignition, in which six artists have a single day to create — and subsequently send up in smoke — a wooden work of art. Most of the events use light to animate their evening backdrop. There’s even a program for canines: Bark in the Dark, a procession of LED -collared dogs through Mill Woods Park. The three month-long Winter Light festival starts January 8. It’s the perfect antidote for the winter blahs.

Besides spectacular scenery and great shopping, Vancouver also has the best restaurant scene in Canada. What makes it perfect is its diversity. Food lovers need not look far to sample international fare from all corners of the globe. Here’s the lowdown on what’s new and noteworthy in Vancouver. 

Cibo
Executive chef Neil Taylor astutely prepares simple Italian fare that’s without pretentions. Have a seat, take in the refreshingly modern design of Cibo and enjoy a menu that takes advantage of BC’s seasonal produce.  Rainbow chard ravioli, goat cheese and ricotta, green onion and butter is cooked to perfection.  No fault can be found in the fresh spaghetti nero, Dungeness crab, chilies, garlic, fennel, wild oregano and lemon entrée. The hot apple and pear fritters dessert is one of the best ways to finish a meal.  900 Seymour Street, Vancouver, 604-602-9570

Vij’s
Reservations are recommended at this always-popular Indian-fusion restaurant. Followers flock to Vij’s to eat East-meets-West culinary mashups, such as prawns and halibut with black chickpeas in coconut-lemon curry. Even the cocktails are mixed with surprise twists – the Indian mojito is spiked with a touch of anise. Foodies who love what they taste can find many of the recipes in the restaurant’s award-winning cookbook, Vij’s: Elegant & Inspired Indian Cuisine. 1411 W 11th Avenue, Edmonton, 604-736-6664, http://www.vijs.ca

Chambar
How could such a tiny country overlooked by France create some of the most comforting food and drink in the world – beer and fries? It’s beyond comprehension, but we’re glad that Belgian food is all the rave in Vancouver and thankful too for Chambar.  Every night a loyal following pack this funky Belgian eatery to nosh on moule frites (translation: mussles and fries). There are three different flavours to try: Coquette (white wine, bacon, spring onions), Vin Blanc (white wine, celery, leaks and black pepper) and Congolaise (tomato coconut cream, smoked chili, lime and cilantro). The beer menu deserves mention too for its wide selection of blondes, triples and wheats. And because Belgium isn’t all about the beer, we suggest Chambar’s signature cocktails. The Famous Blue fig, an oven roasted fig steeped in a gin martini served with a side of Danish blue cheese, is a must-try. 562 Beatty Street, Vancouver, 604-879-7119, http://www.chambar.com

SALT
In case you’ve been living under a rock, the food trend of 2009 is the charcuterie. Vancouver’s temple of cured meats is Salt, where diners basically assemble their own tasting plate based on an ever-changing daily menu. If you don’t know what you’re doing, Salt’s knowledgeable staff can help select meat from producers such as Oyama Sausage Co. and Moccia’s, or imported cheeses from Neal’s Yard in London, and Farmhouse Cheeses in Agassiz, to name a few producers.  You can even add condiments, such as Guinness grainy mustard and Spanish Marcona almonds, to create great pairings with your cheese and meat selections. The wine menu, featuring mostly European wines, changes every Friday evening. 45 Blood Alley, Gastown, Vancouver, 604-633-1912, http://www.salttastingroom.com

BIN 941
Sure the space is small and the steel chairs may not be too comfortable, but the food at Bin 941 certainly compensates.  Chef-owner Gord Martin works with local producers whenever possible to create a seasonal tapas menu. We ordered the crispy duck with potato pancetta hash and tuna tartare with shitake chow mein and soy lime sauce and barely had enough room sample the popular crab cakes. The wine list features an international selection of fermented grapes with and without skins. 941 Davie Street, Vancouver, 604-683-1206, http://www.bin941.com

La Brasserie
Heralded as one of the 101 things to try in Vancouver before you die, the suckling pig at La Brasserie gets top marks.  The pork is tender and juicy and served with perfect crackling. Being a French-German restaurant, expect all the traditional dishes like pork schnitzel, bratwurst, moule frites and an impressive beer list, along with some twists on classics, such as dijon glazed baby back ribs.
1091 Davie Street, Vancouver, 604.568.6499, http://www.labrasserievancouver.com

Japadog
Admittedly, Japadog isn’t a restaurant, but we’re sure that it’s only a matter of time before this well known hot dog stand located in front of Sutton Place finds a more permanent home.  Fans queue up down the block to scarf down a Japadog made from prized Kurobuta pork, the Japanese version of Berkshire pork, and topped with all kinds of Asian condiments – nori, teriyaki sauce, miso sauce and fried onions. Don’t be put off by the long lineups, they move quite fast and celebrity watching is a frequent pastime. Corner of Burrard and Smithe Street in front of Sutton Place Hotel, http://www.japadog.com

Nuba
If you’re a vegetarian, you’re options are plenty at Nuba. The crispy cauliflower tossed with lemon and sea salt and served with tahini is a good Lebanese starter mezze to try before moving on to a grilled dish. Thankfully, most of the plates are imaginative, such as grilled chicken breast marinated in paprika, thyme, lemon and garlic confit. Our newest favourite, mjadra, combines organic green lentils and rice with onions and jalapeno peppers. 207 West Hastings Street, 604-688-1655

UVA
Hotel bars tend to conjure up boring images of overstuffed leather chairs, wood paneling and stale menus, but that’s not the case at Uva Wine Bar. Located downtown adjacent to Moda Hotel, UVA is modern in every sense of the word. For starters, the menu is all about charcuterie and small plates meant for sharing.  Pair a glass of Italian red with a platter of cured meats, house made pickles and mostarda or buffalo mozeralla, roast baby beets, cipollini beets onions and grilled radicchio. 900 Seymour Street, Vancouver, 604-632-9560, http://www.uvawinebar.ca

Reader’s Choice
We couldn’t decide our last pick so we’re asking Westworld readers to share their suggestions. What’s your favourite place to eat in Vancouver? Post your suggestion below or email us at . 

Ever since I heard my Grade 3 teacher recite Robert Service’s “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” I have always wanted to visit the Yukon. So when I got married a few years ago and considered places to honeymoon, I was delighted to discover that my husband had always wanted to explore Canada’s north too. Hence our two-week road trip to Whitehorse. 

Inn on the Lake
My husband and I began our trip at the Inn on the Lake. This lakeside resort offers a combination of rustic charm and luxury at an affordable price. National Geographic Traveller recently listed it on their 2009 Stay List and Martha Stewart featured the inn on her TV show. Inn on the Lake is located close enough to Whitehorse that guests can head to the city every day or take advantage of the Inn’s pristine setting. Moreover, there’s no need for outdoor enthusiasts to haul their equipment with them—mountain bikes, kayaks and canoes are available free of charge for guests. When we arrived we received a warm greeting from the resident cat who decided our room was the perfect place for his daily naps. Owner Carson Schiffkorn and his staff made us feel right at home. On one occasion, we returned from a day of exploring to find a batch of homemade cookies waiting for us and the other guests. Schiffkorn’s mother had made them. One of my favourite moments at Inn on the Lake was sipping champagne on the terrace overlooking the lake. We sat in lounge chairs and listened peacefully to the loons. The restaurant cooks up delicious meals made with local ingredients and meals are served at a communal table, encouraging guests to mingle.
Inn on the Lake, http://www.exceptionalplaces.com, 867-660-5253; open year-round

Yukon Brewery Company
If you are a beer drinker, a visit to Whitehorse’s Yukon Brewery Company is a must. In addition to traditional brews like Yukon Gold, Chilkoot Lager and Lead Dog Ale, the brewery produces unique creations such as Cranberry Wheat Ale and Espresso Stout, dark beer made with espresso from a local roasting company. Daily at 2 p.m., you can take a free, guided tour of the brewery. And yes, the tour does include plenty of sampling. During our tour, the guide, who was the most enthusiastic beer fanatic we’d ever met, was interrupted several times by locals seeking to top up their “grizzlers” – large glass bottles that can be refilled at a discount.
Yukon Brewing Company, 102-A Copper Road, Whitehorse, 867-668-4183

Frantic Follies
Transporting audiences back to the 1890’s gold rush, the Frantic Follies bills itself as a vaudeville style show, featuring local dancers, singers and musicians. There are can-can girls, singers, skits and my favourite, a comical recitation of “The Cremation of Sam McGee”. Though the crowd was filled mostly with seniors from various tour groups and admittedly the show was a bit cheesy, I still enjoyed the evening performance. The $20 show lasts about two hours and is held in the Westmark Hotel from May to September. Note: do not sit in the front row if you don’t want to become part of the show.
201 Wood Street, Whitehorse, 867-393-9700, http://www.westmarkhotels.com

Klondike Rib & Salmon BBQ
Ask locals where to enjoy the best barbecue in Whitehorse and the answer will likely be Klondike Rib & Salmon BBQ. Built in 1900 as a bakery, the restaurant is one of the town’s oldest buildings. The place is not fancy – the restaurant has a main dining room and two adjoining covered (and heated) patios – but it is busy. We had to wait over half an hour to be seated, but the food and overall experience more than made up for it. I ate the wild salmon with local vegetables and it was delicious. My husband was more adventuresome and went for a more true-north experience – the musk ox burger. Part of the charm of Klondike Rib & Salmon BBQ is that the tables are so close to each other. You can’t help but strike up a conversation with your neighbours.
Klondike Rib & Salmon BBQ, 2116 2nd Ave, Whitehorse, 867-667-7554, Open May through to September

Alpine Bakery
Located slightly off the beaten path on a side street, the Alpine Bakery is a great spot for a healthy breakfast or lunch. Everything is organic, including the chocolate that’s packaged in pine boxes crafted from locally sourced trees. The selection of homemade bread changes daily. For one of our hikes, we bought an “Expedition” loaf, a hearty, dense blend of organic millet, flax seeds and cane sugar. Though it felt like we were lugging around a rock, it was the perfect snack.[Why?] We felt good about our near-daily visits to this bakery as it prides itself on promoting health and sustainability and gives back to the community. 
Alpine Bakery, 411 Alexander Street, Whitehorse, 867-668-6871, http://www.alpinebakery.ca

Miles Canyon
Whitehorse got its name from the Yukon River rapids, which resemble the flowing manes of white horses. A dam now tames the rapids but Miles Canyon is still an interesting place to visit. Located about a 10-minute drive south of Whitehorse, the canyon offers well-marked trails ideal for mountain biking and hiking in the summer or cross-country skiing in the winter. We took the bridge across the canyon then cycled an easy trail to Canyon City, a former gold rush town that sprouted up during the Klondike Gold Rush. Remnants of this ghost town, such as old building and discarded glass bottles, can still be seen. You can discover the area at your own pace by following the signage which helps tell the story of the area during the Klondike.

SS Klondike II
Before the advent of roads, sternwheelers were an important means of transportation from Whitehorse to Dawson City. The largest paddlewheel steamboat ever to make the journey was the SS Klondike. Though the original boat sank in 1936, it was rebuilt and is now permanently docked on the banks of the Yukon River. Designated a national historic site, visitors can tour the SS Klondike to learn more about this important chapter in Canada’s transportation history. The tour starts with a video and leads visitors through an elegant period dining room complete with original menus and cutlery, various statesrooms, a loaded freight deck and engine room. Our guide was informative and shared interesting stories of the ship and its colourful passengers.
SS Klondike II, 300 Main Street, Whitehorse http://www.pc.gc.ca/lhn-nhs/yt/ssklondike/index.aspx

Midnight Sun Coffee Roaster
As coffee lovers, my husband and I are always on the lookout for a great cup of java and a relaxing places to unwind. Our search ended when we discovered Midnight Sun Coffee Roaster tucked in the back of Icycle Sports, one of the best bike shops in the area. Owner/chief roaster Zola Dore gave us a brief tour that included a demonstration of her unique antique roaster. She then offered us samples of her brews. Midnight Sun has many house blends, several pounds of which made the trek back to Edmonton with us. You can also buy lattes and snacks imported from local bakeries. The micro-roastery is decorated with work from local artists.
9002 Quartz Road, Whitehorse, 888-633-4563, http://www.midnight-sun-coffee.com

There is a common theory about the great environmental crisis of our time. We are warned that any serious attempt to cut greenhouse gas emissions will doom us to lives of misery, tedium, limited food choices and dull vacations. We are told that we have to choose between living well and saving the planet. It occurred to me at exactly 10:45 a.m. on a recent midsummer’s day that such considerations might be entirely wrong. And by 10:46 I was cruising toward a much more compelling notion: that the climate crisis might be an opportunity, a chance to regain the art of travel and return to a more civilized time, where the journey was not merely a hassle, not an obstacle to overcome, but a pleasure to be savoured as fully as the destination itself.

I know exactly what time these thoughts occurred, because my Paris-bound train had just left London’s Waterloo station right on schedule. I was contemplating the bad carbon karma I had already racked up by flying from Vancouver to London, when a steward with twinkling eyes approached. Observing the consternation on my face, he leaned toward me and gently cooed, “Champagne, monsieur?” Champagne for breakfast. Pannier Brut Sélection NV, to be exact: an elegant blend with creamy brioche aromas, according to those who know about such things, yet totally wrong for a man attempting a few hours of carbon penance.

“Yes, of course!” I barked eagerly, and the bubbly flowed as the sun burst through the clouds, rendering the red bricks and railyards of London a holy shade of amber.

This journey was supposed to be about sacrifice. In my transatlantic flight from Vancouver to London I had contributed to pumping nearly a tonne of CO2 into the atmosphere. If you are ever masochistic enough to calculate your carbon footprint, you’ll realize that flying is just about the nastiest thing you can do to the planet. Each passenger on a transatlantic flight blows out about as much greenhouse gas as they would driving a Hummer to work for a year. Which means, as an occasional travel writer, I’ve flown enough in my life to merit a thousand lashes with a carbon-tipped whip.

It’s not that there isn’t hope for air travel. While fuel prices soar into the stratosphere, both government and corporate researchers are searching for cheap, alternative fuel sources for airplanes; so far the prize has been elusive. Jet engines require a potent kerosene-like fuel that can withstand high altitudes and low temperatures, and engineers are now examining ways to power aircraft with hydrogen.

Meanwhile, to my way of thinking, rail has the upper hand. In fact, as early as 1901, the electric predecessors of the Paris-bound train I was riding were being adopted in Berlin, while today’s generation of electric trains can travel more than twice as fast as the speediest diesel-powered locomotives and – theoretically, at least – can be powered by distant solar, nuclear or wind turbines. And so I reasoned that, because my cross-channel train journey pumps out only a tenth of the carbon dioxide generated by flying from London to Paris, I’d arrive at my destination a little closer to carbon neutral and a lot closer to climate righteousness. Oh yes, I was ready to suffer for my sins.

But things were not working out as anticipated. I had walked into the Eurostar terminal in Waterloo (Eurostar has since moved across the Thames to St. Pancras International Station) barely half an hour before my departure. Ticket confirmed, luggage scanned and passport stamped by French customs, all in a matter of minutes, I was then escorted onboard to a reserved window seat: an outrageously comfortable, moulded number that would be quite at home in an Austin Powers shag pad. I opened my newspaper to read about the chaos that summer rains were causing at Heathrow Airport.  Thousands stranded. I toasted their patience.

As I sipped my Brut – it is really quite delightful how those bubbles swirl and pop beneath your nose – it struck me that if I had chosen to fly, I would still be en route to Heathrow. Once I reached the airport, I would then have to spend two hours being poked, prodded and herded through its infernal collection of duty-free shops, deep-fry vats and flocks of rumpled departure lounge castaways. And if my flight left on time – by no means a certainty at Heathrow – I would lift off at just about the moment my 10:40 a.m. Eurostar train will pull into Gare du Nord in central Paris. Forget, for a moment, that this train is très vite. And forget, as well, this traveller’s carbon guilt. These are footnotes, really, to the philosophical question that a rail journey naturally raises. Can the quality of an experience be judged by the distances we cross to claim it? Do we travel to collect miles, or do we travel for joy? Do we still believe that it’s not only where you go that’s important but also how you get there?

In the 1987 film Swimming to Cambodia, the late monologue artist Spalding Gray describes his theory of The Perfect Moment. No matter how unpleasant Gray’s journeys, he considered them incomplete – and he would soldier onward – until he had experienced that rarified moment. It might be nothing more than a brief feeling of transcendence felt while floating in, say, the Indian Ocean. But once he had collected his Perfect Moment, even if it occurred mere hours after first stuffing socks into suitcases, Gray would be ready to turn around and head for home.

In this age of discount, fast-tracked globetrotting, it seems we have all been seduced by The Perfect Moment School of Travel. It dictates that no matter how many continents we have to cross, no matter how much pollution we spew, no matter how many affronts, security friskings and leg cramps we suffer en route, all that matters are those few seconds of postcard bliss on the other end. In other words, Perfect Moment-ism is corrupting that most ancient and noble axiom of travel: getting there should be something of an art. It’s time to stop kidding ourselves. We’ve traded car camping, lazy weeks on nearby beaches and the clickety-clack of rail for the seductive possibility of getting as far away as we can, as quickly as possible. But I believe there is a better way, one that requires tossing out the math so many of us use to plan our vacations. It means trading maximum mileage for meandering. And if one thinks about it, the most climate-friendly means of travel are also the most pleasurable: the canoe drift; the bicycle tour, even the station-wagon safari to the summer cabin. But the grand dame of leisurely journeys is still the train.

Ten dreamy rail vacations that will stoke your boiler
by Sonu Purhar
European Dreams
Company: Eurail
Region: Across Europe
From Bulgaria to Ireland and everything in between, Eurail is the wandering soul’s key to the continent. The number of countries and length of travel determine which rail ticket is best suited to the individual – though with every stop an invitation to explore a new culture, the comprehensive Global Pass is the most tempting option.

Australian Adventure
Company: Great Southern Rail
Region: Sydney to Perth, Australia (The Indian Pacific)
Winding through the eucalyptus-filled Blue Mountains to the arid Nullarbor desert, this three-night journey down the world’s longest straight stretch of railway track (478 km) showcases Australia’s startling contrasts from vantage points up to 1,000 metres above sea level. Keep an eye out for the wedge-tailed eagle. The massive avian is Indian Pacific Railway’s official mascot.

O Canada
Company: The Rocky Mountaineer
Region: Vancouver to Toronto, Canada (Trans-Canada Rail Adventure)
Snow-capped Rockies, golden Prairies and thundering Niagara Falls — Canada’s natural landmarks are best explored by rail. This 13-day, cross-country journey includes motorcoach and helicopter tours, national park passes and ninenights’ hotel accommodation.

Travel Like a Tsar
Company: Trans-Siberian Railway
Region: Moscow, Russia, to Beijing, China (Trans-Siberian line)
The longest rail line ever constructed, the Trans-Siberian crosses one-third of the globe and spans more than seven time zones. Four routes connect Russia to the Far East, and though the landscape is spectacular, it’s the eclectic mix of passengers that makes the journey unforgettable.

Mexican Marvels
Company: Chihuahua-Pacific Railroad
Region: Chihuahua to Los Mochis, Mexico
Known to the locals as Ferrocarril Chihuahua al Pacifico, or El Chepe, this refurbished train follows what is reputed to be one of the world’s most scenic rail routes. Highlights include the vast Copper Canyon, seven times larger than the Grand Canyon; a series of rustic, off-the-path villages; and a visit with the ancient Tarahumara tribe.

Passage to India
Company: The Darjeeling Himalayan Railway
Region: New Jalpaiguri to Darjeeling, West Bengal, India
One of the few railways that is also a World Heritage Site, the Darjeeling’s century-old engineering allows for sharp, spiralling ascents over Himalayan terrain. Passing through the soaring Mahaldirum Range and over the rushing Mahanadi River, this half-day tour is so breathtaking, Mark Twain is said to have called his journey on the DHR the most enjoyable day of his life.

Twelve Hours in Tibet
Company: Shangri-La Express
Region: Beijing, China, to Ulaan Bataar, Mongolia
According to locals, “Shangri-La” is a mythic paradise nestled within the Himalayan mountains – and that’s exactly what this 12-hour rail trip seeks. Six possible routes venture to the roof of the world, Tibet, with the highest altitude reaching 5,072 metres (oxygen is pumped aboard). Stops include Beijing’s Forbidden City and the Dalai Lama’s Summer Palace in Lhasa.

American Beauty
Company: Amtrak
Region: Chicago, Seattle or Portland to Montana, U.S.; (Empire Builder Train)
The U.S. is known for its national parks, and this 14-day pioneer-themed journey explores five of the most scenic: Glacier, Yellowstone, Grand Teton, Arches and Canyonlands. The route follows portions of Lewis and Clark’s famous trail; notable sights include the lazy Mississippi, temperamental Old Faithful and other geological, natural and wildlife marvels of the American West.

Steaming Safari
Company: Rovos Rail
Region: Cape Town to Pretoria, South Africa
The five-star luxury of this refurbished 19th-century cruise train, which may be hauled by steam, diesel or electric locomotives throughout the journey, is ideal for travelling through exotic South Africa. History reigns supreme: as the train trundles past centuries-old veldt and ancient towns, its period décor, after-dinner champagne and traditional white-glove service recall the glamour of a bygone era.

Heart of the Highlands
Company: The Royal Scotsman
Region: Scotland
Sparkling lochs, sprawling moors and overnights in ancient castles are just a taste of the itinerary offered by this travelling luxury hotel. On-board meals reflect seasonal Scottish specialties (guests have the option of donning kilts at dinner); evening entertainment includes Highlanders regaling passengers with tales of life in old Scotland.

In the 1850s, a wave of English adventure tourists followed the lead of their upper class and crossed the Mediterranean — drawn by reports of lost civilizations, strange peoples and even stranger customs in North Africa and the Middle East. And it is for these same compelling reasons that travellers today depart Europe for the lands of myth and mystery that lie beyond — the final destinations on the 19th-century Grand Tour

Leg One: Eygpt
From this vantage point atop the Giza Plateau, the past intrudes on the present in countless ways. Below, the Nile Valley stretches to the horizon, encompassing the modern towers of Cairo in the hazy distance and the sprawl of flat-roofed suburbs that crowd nearby bluffs. To my left, the river runs north to the Mediterranean. Exactly 140 years ago, two southbound steamships, hired by British travel entrepreneur Thomas Cook, appeared at Cairo, carrying a contingent of Grand Tour adventurers looking for exoticism here on the edge of the Sahara. Their arrival marked an important watershed. For Cook was the inventor of tourism – the world’s largest industry today; and the 1869 Egyptian journey was the first exotic, packaged tour in history. To my right – 500 kilometres down the Nile – lie the pharaonic ruins of Luxor and the Valley of the Kings, once home to Tut and his funeral entourage. Further south along the Nile: Aswan’s evocative Temple of Isis. Beyond that: Nubian Africa. And if I turn around the Sphinx rises directly above me – with the three pyramids of Giza just beyond.

Armed with a note, scribbled in Arabic by Egypt’s secretary-general of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, Hawi Zawass, I approach two guards standing beside a metal gate at the base of the 137-metre-high Great Pyramid of Cheops. They scan the message, unlock the gate and gesture myself and photographer Ron Watts inside. A low-ceilinged, upward-sloping tunnel – lit by the dimmest of light bulbs – marks the claustrophobia inducing route to the pyramid’s deep interior, and the chamber where Cheops himself was entombed 4,569 years ago. Giddy with a sort of Indiana Jones apprehension, we creep along the steep passageway, up and up, left, right, across – as the labyrinth meant to deter grave robbers narrows into an airless crawlway. I half-await the rumble of some intruder-repelling mega-bowling ball descending from the darkness ahead. But instead: a cavernous, dim chamber with Cheops’s empty granite sarcophagus in the middle. I can hardly resist the temptation to climb inside, cross my arms over my chest, and try to imagine myself as Cheops, wrapped in linen and launched on a precarious transit to the Afterworld.

Some modern travellers choose to head south from Cairo along the Nile on Mississippi-style riverboats or – more authentically – by lateen-sailed feluccas. We drive. The temperature climbs toward 40°C, and the wind off the Sahara turns the air opaque with dust. The Nile runs like a great greyblue vein through the early spring Egyptian farmland where tractors turn the soil, donkeys pass bearing tottering loads of fodder and kerchiefed women sell oranges and figs from roadside stalls.

The city of Luxor (population 150,000) and its nearby pharaonic ruins is one of those places that is (or should be) on all lists of “100 Things To See Before You Die.” Every superlative is an understatement. To walk through the 4,000-year-old Temple of Karnak with its massive columns covered in hieroglyphics is to glimpse the enormity of what Egyptian civilization had already achieved at the time early occupants of Britain were painting their bottoms blue. To sit, as I did, on the gargantuan feet of the broken statue of Ramesses (a.k.a. Ozymandias), knowing 19th-century poet Percy Bysshe Shelley had utilized it in his famous, ironic poem “Ozymandias” – “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my work, ye Mighty, and Despair!” – is to confront the vicissitudes of time. To descend into

In Peter Freuchen’s account of his 1924 journey across Canada’s far north, the Danish explorer recounts how, in a driving storm, his sled dogs refused to travel any farther. So Freuchen takes ref­uge under his dogsled, overturned against the wind-side of a large boulder, but then awakes to find himself entombed, his feet painfully frozen. Barely able to move, he claws at the hardened snow. Finally, he resorts to using the edge of a polar bear hide – stiffened with frozen saliva – as a chisel. He knows one foot has already succumbed to frostbite. Unless he frees himself soon, his icy bed will be his final resting place.

Almost a century later, I punch out of my down sleeping bag, gasping in the Yukon’s frigid February night air. On the tarp next to me, two Muktuk Adventure guides remain peacefully encased in their sleeping bags, a light dusting of frost coating their cocoons and only a fist-size breathing hole open above their noses. The moonlight is so bright I can make out the 35 sled dogs curled up in nearby flakes of hay. Several metres beyond: two can­vas wall tents with wood-burning stoves shel­ter the rest of our party of nine. Everything is frozen in silence. Though I don’t know it at the time, 1,300 kilometres up the trail, the frontrunner of the 24th Annual Yukon Quest 1,000 Mile International Sled Dog Race is within a half-day’s hard travel from a new course record. We dogsledding tenderfoots, on the other hand, are days away from mark­ing a record of a different kind.

It is the early hours of Day 3 on this sixday sledding expedition, starting with a 135-km stretch of the Yukon Quest Trail. Our group is a loose collection of cryophiles from three continents signed up for Muktuk Adventure’s Quest Trip that combines an inside look at the first leg of the race in progress and a chance to spend time mushing in the racers (cold) footsteps. Our mission: to dogsled a 267-km loop that begins on the historic Dawson Overland Trail – north to the first Quest checkpoint at Braeburn – and then circle south along Lake Laberge and back to Muktuk owner and Quest racer Frank Turner’s guest ranch on the Takhini River outside Whitehorse. But at the speed we’re going, a pace comparable to that of a tricycle trailing the Tour de France, the guides have already advised us that we’re possibly the slowest mushers in the kennel’s 15-year history. At the rate that we’re going, by the end of Day 6, we’ll be lucky to have made Braeburn Lodge, the biker-run roadhouse famous for its oversized cinnamon buns.

The rough-and-tumble cousin of the better-known Iditarod, the 1,635-km Quest is billed as the toughest dogsled race on the planet. Back in 1983, its creators schemed over drinks in Fairbanks’s Bull’s Eye Saloon to forge a route that would reflect the original vision of the Iditarod – before all the media and commercial interests now entailed. Alternating direction each year between Fairbanks, Alaska, and Whitehorse, Yukon, this means the Quest is about as long as the 1,868-km Iditarod but with less than half as many checkpoints. (Translation: long stretches of isolated mushing.) Racers must also traverse four mountain ranges with heavier sleds, fewer dogs, no substitutions, and without the assistance of non-racers, except at the halfway mark in Dawson City. As well, the race is held in colder weather (temperatures this February have dropped below -50°C), with endurance and self-sufficiency prized over pure speed. Still, at their essence, both races remain a celebration of the primal partnership between humans and dogs that made early survival in the North possible.

Ten days ago, our group joined the crowd of hardy spectators at the Whitehorse starting chute to cheer on this year’s 28 competitors, including Frank Turner, as they set off on their epic run. If anyone is the godfather of the Quest, it is this bearded, bespectacled and deceptively diminutive 59-year-old, who races this year with 14 of his top dogs. The 1995 Quest champion has the energy of someone half his age. Turner has competed every year since the race started in 1984, except in 2006, when his then-26-year-old son entered. The former Toronto social worker is now back from a very short retirement to do battle once more and perhaps better his course record, which has stood since he set it a decade ago. Other favourites: Lance Mackey, a 36-year-old Alaskan often compared to that champion with the same first name from the cycling world. Since coming back from his own bout with cancer five years ago, Mackey has won the Quest for the past two years. If he wins again this year, he’ll be only the second musher ever to win three consecutive Quests. (The first, Hans Gatt, an amicable Austrian, who now lives in Atlin, B.C., has come second to Mackey these past two years.) William Kleedehn, 47, an AC/DC-loving hard man, originally from Germany, is another strong competitor. Despite having a prosthetic leg, “Iron Bill” has placed amongst the top five finishers every year since 2001 with the exception of 2004, when he withdrew with a broken leg. But it’s not just men who are favoured to win. Michelle Phillips is perhaps the strongest female competitor in the field, a Tagish, Yukon, native who is supported this year by her husband, Ed Hopkins, another long-time Quest racer.

As the black-and-white bib of the last musher disappeared down the ceremonial starting chute, our group then took to the highway. We would journey by truck to successive checkpoints, following the racers’ progress and counting down the days ’til our own backcountry adventure. Carmacks, population 426, several hundred kilometres along the course and the second checkpoint, marked the next time we saw Turner, a day and a half into the race. The town’s community centre looked like the rallying point for earthquake survivors, with computers and communication centres set up on folding tables and spectators and support staff sleeping on the gymnasium floor. A white board tracked which mushers were in, as handlers and media rushed to meet incoming teams. Out in the darkness, 14 sets of eyes reflected the blinding camera lights as each caravan pulled up – panting and steaming like the Trans-Siberian coming into station. Rimed with ice – like the sled and bleary-eyed driver – the dogs still had the energy to announce their arrival with a cacophony of barks and yelps before a hard earned hot meal and pirouetting onto straw beds.

But the most enduring glimpse of the race came on its fourth day when, in the dark hours linking night to morning, we pulled the truck over at a rare section of the route that shadows the highway. The wilderness diorama was frozen in absolute stillness, the only sound the huh, huh panting of dogs and the swishing of a single set of sled runners over crisp snow. Overhead, the northern lights cut a green swath across the night sky as the lone musher raised a fur-mittened hand in silent greeting and veered back into the woods. Piling back into the truck, we continued on in subdued silence.

By the time we rolled into Dawson City, the mushers’ last stop before the Alaska border, it was Day 5 of the race and several teams had scratched or withdrawn, including Turner’s. The hard-packed snow made for fast running but also more wrists and shoulder strains among the dogs. Turner had already dropped two, and his lead, Carter, was showing signs of serious tendon injury. An unfortunate turn of events, but it meant the Quest legend would now be on-hand to impart a few last pointers before seeing us off on our own sledding epic, just as we’d seen him off a week earlier.

The Quest’s leading mushers were some 1,200 km into the race the next morning when we pulled into Muktuk Adventures’ command central. An off-the-grid outpost built with massive Sitka timbers shipped from Haines, Alaska, the main lodge sits a kilometre in from the highway on 41 hectares, along with five cabins and 108 dogs. Doddering old-timer huskies who have paid their

Travelling by cruise ship is one of the most exciting and relaxing ways to see the world. Once you try it, you’ll fall in love with the unparalleled onboard hospitality, rousing evening entertainment and staggering array of shore excursions. That’s what happened to Leona Manna, whose personal cruise count stands at 16. As an AMA Cruise Specialist, she helps others select the vacation that’s right for them. Westworld asked Manna to describe the cruising experience.

Westworld: What are the top three cruise destinations?
Leona Manna: Alaska, the Caribbean and Europe are the most popular places to visit. Who wouldn’t want to escape our cold Alberta winters and soak up the warm Caribbean sun? Europe is all about the history and culture – museums, galleries, architecture and iconic landmarks. Alaskan cruises let you take in the spectacular natural scenery.
WW: What’s there to do on-board if you’re not an active person?
LM: The ships have activities for people of every physical level and interest. At night, there are Las Vegasstyle shows, stand-up comedians, casinos, dancing and cocktail parties. You’ll never run out of entertainment options. On the flipside, if you want to relax, go to the spa or read a book, you can do that too.
WW: When the ship arrives at port, how do guests discover the area?
LM: Most ships offer a wide range of organized excursions for the day – tours of historic sites, shopping trips, adventure activities. When you book a tour, the cruise line takes care of everything, including returning you to the ship on time.
WW: Is it advisable to book at the last minute if it means getting a deal?
LM: Last-minute deals have lots of restrictions and it can be difficult to coordinate convenient flights. We recommend that you book in advance, especially if you require a larger cabin to accommodate additional passengers or want the best selection of cabin locations.
WW: Why should people book through a cruise specialist?
LM: Booking a cruise can be complicated because there are so many variables – airfare, type of cruise, destination, pricing, value-added incentives, on-board activities, pre-boarding documentation and excursions. Cruise specialists are familiar with which cruise lines and destinations are best suited to your needs.

Crafting the perfect cocktail entails more than just a basic knowledge of how to mix a drink. It’s a blend of art and science that, done properly, satisfies all four taste senses (salty, sweet, bitter and sour). At the award-winning Raw Bar in Calgary, mixologists draw from an array of fresh, seasonal ingredients as well as their own experiences to create their highly innovative cocktails. Bar manager Christina Mah’s artful libations employ such delectable elements as lemon honey, fresh herbs and lavender. Her holiday suggestions (one with spirits; one without) “were inspired by reminiscences of childhood Christmases.”

Apple Lavender Cider

Ingredients:
1 ounce Calvados apple brandy
4 to 5 ounces of fresh apple juice
dash of lemon juice
1 ounce apple-lavender honey syrup (made by bringing ½ a cup of sugar, ½ cup of water, 1 sliced apple and a pinch of lavender to a boil, then simmering for 10 minutes on low heat before running the mixture through a fine strainer.)

Method: Combine all ingredients in a small teapot and heat on the stovetop. (For a frothier option, use a steam wand.) Pour into small espresso cups and serve with a side of apple chips.

Spice Berry Crush
Ingredients:
6 cranberries (2 for garnish)
4 blackberries (1 for garnish)
Method: Muddle 4 cranberries, 4 blackberries and cinnamon sugar in the bottom of a mixing glass. Shake vigorously with ice and fine strain into a Collins glass over ice. Top with ginger ale and remaining berries.

When the Vancouver 2010 Olympics kick off February 12, Albertans won’t only be cheering as our homegrown athletes march into the stadium, we’ll be raising the roof for Jean Grand-Maître. The Calgary-based artistic director of the Alberta Ballet is choreographing the Games’ opening, closing and victory ceremonies. Moreover, Grand-Maître’s exquisite ballet collaboration with singer/songwriter Joni Mitchell, The Fiddle and the Drum (above), will play to an international audience during the Games’ Cultural Olympiad. Then in May, the marriage of ballet and pop music continues when the Alberta Ballet performs ELTON, a show created by Grand-Maître and set to the music of the legendary Sir Elton John. Westworld spoke to Grand-Maître about this remarkable array of artistic projects.

WW: What makes Joni Mitchell’s The Fiddle and the Drum such a good fit for the Olympics?
JG-M: The piece deals with relevant themes of our modern times, such as the ongoing aggression between nations and the destruction of our planet. It was created by a Canadian singer/songwriter, a
Canadian choreographer and a Canadian ballet company, and the collaboration took place in the Prairies where Joni grew up. It’s the ultimate artistic product to represent us.
WW: What can we expect from the Olympic opening ceremonies?
JG-M: As the director of choreography, I have to manage the dance aspects of the ceremony. I work with a team of 18 creative professionals – set, costume and lighting designers – plus thousands of people who have auditioned to be part of the production. It’s the biggest team I’ve ever worked with and some of the best in the business. The lighting designer, for example, does the Academy and Grammy Awards. The sound designer started with Elvis Presley and now works with Barbra Streisand.
WW: How did the Elton John creation, ELTON, happen?
JG-M: One night Joni Mitchell had dinner with Elton John’s agent, where she talked about how much fun the ballet was. Afterwards, Elton John asked if we could come to Vegas to talk about a possible contemporary ballet using his music. We met, talks started and the ELTON show was born.
WW: Will there be any future fusions of ballet and pop music?
JG-M: I’m certainly hoping to continue this because we have a niche that’s really our own – but not all ballet should be performed to pop music. We have a responsibility to perform all kinds of repertoire. But certainly these pop projects bring in new, young audiences.
WW: If you’ve never watched a ballet before, what should you pay attention to?
JG-M: Film director Ingmar Bergman always said, “Why must the imaginary world be held accountable to reason?” Always wanting to explain everything is a human trait, but I think it’s a bad one in
the context of ballet. When we listen to music, we don’t try to understand it, we just feel it. When watching ballet, do the same.
WW: How does art affect individual and community well-being?
JG-M: I’ve been fortunate to have lived in so many cities that have centuries of culture – Paris, Oslo, Montreal, Stuttgart. In these cities, people are multi-dimensional thinkers. Their minds are expanded; their imaginations enriched. Culture teaches us how to live with ourselves, with other humans, with other nations and with the environment. Communities without culture are erased from history. There’s no memory of them.

Visit Alberta Ballet for more information about its 2009/2010 season. Phone 403-245-4549 in Calgary or 780-428-6839 in Edmonton.

Looking for a gift for the backcountry adventurer in your life? Pick up a copy of Lynn Martel’s Expedition to the Edge: Stories of Worldwide Adventure (Rocky Mountain Books, 2008, $22.95). Hailing from Canmore, Martel (right) documents the outdoor exploits of her skier, climber, kayaker, hiker and paraglider friends – a good many of whom are renowned explorers and nature enthusiasts like Will Gad and Ben Firth. This collection of short stories – 60 altogether – encompasses tales of rafting down the Amazon (and being shot at by guerillas), climbing in Libya (and finding a petrified ancient forest), paragliding in the Andes (and keeping pace with a condor), as well as dozens of other equally thrilling anecdotes. Our only complaint is their brevity. At three pages, the tale of a Himalayan whitewater kayaking trip left us wanting more. Hopefully, these stories offer a taste of 60 books to come. 

Ongoing, Cold Lake, Javier Gallery

Alberta painter Alex Janvier has earned a solid reputation as one of Canada’s preeminent artists: he became a member of the Order of Canada in 2007 and received the Governor General’s Award in visual and media arts in 2008. This summer, the Dene Suline artist from Cold Lake First Nations continued to garner international recognition with exhibitions in Provence and Burgundy, France. Janvier’s paintings – richly symbolic, colourful abstracts of Canada’s natural world – are influenced by both aboriginal culture and the work of expressionist painters like Wassily Kandinsky and Paul Klee. Albertans can enjoy a selection of his work at the Janvier Gallery (780-639-4545) in Cold Lake, where – with the French countryside fresh in the artist’s memory – perhaps the flowers of the Var will soon find a place in his paintings. - Kristine Kowalchuk

December 6 to 13, Edmonton, Tim Hortons Roar of the Rings
VANCOUVER 2010 may be the season’s hot ticket, but Olympic-level action can be had much closer to home — line-up free and often for free. Get in on the pre-Games excitement with
this qualifier event. Edmonton’s Rexall Place, between December 6 and 13, hosts the 2009 Tim Hortons Roar of the Rings. These Canadian men and women’s curling trials determine the Olympic teams.

December 7, Kelsey, Dinner Theatre

Forget “off-Broadway,” the Kelsey Drama Club dinner theatre is what you might refer to as “off-highway.” Every February, this Camrose-area collective, comprised mostly of moonlighting farmers, takes to the stage. After 18 years of entertaining, KDC performances far exceed their audiences’ expectations for community theatre. This year the group mounts the offbeat romantic comedy, Looking. Tickets go on sale December 7 from the driveway of the club president’s seed farm. If you can’t be there, try ordering by phone. Performances run February 5 to 20. Phone 780-375-2408 - Tracy Hyatt

December 27 to January 2, Calgary
Get in on the pre-Games excitement with this qualifier event. In Calgary, check out the Olympic-qualifying speedskating championships at Calgary’s Olympic Oval December 27 to January 2, where spectator entry is free. Vist http://www.oval.ucalgary.ca or phone 403-220-7954.

January 8 to March 13, Edmonton, Winter Light Festival

If you go out in the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise. You might be snatched by an old witch who lives in a cabin deep in the woods, takes to the sky on a giant mortar and is the central character of The Baba Yaga Trail Adventure, a nighttime story walk through Edmonton’s Whitemud Park. The eastern European folktale character comes to life January 22 and 23 during the Winter Light Festival. Those who dare traipse through Baba Yaga’s haunting grounds will experience magical light installations and an unusual assortment of characters along the way. Winter Light brings together three existing festivals - Silver Skate (February 19 to 21), Ice on Whyte (January 14 to 21), Deep Freeze (January 9 to 10) — and original programming, such as 24 Hours to Ignition, in which six artists have a single day to create — and subsequently send up in smoke — a wooden work of art. Most of the events use light to animate their evening backdrop. There’s even a program for canines: Bark in the Dark, a procession of LED -collared dogs through Mill Woods Park. The three month-long Winter Light festival starts January 8. It’s the perfect antidote for the winter blahs.-Tracy Hyatt

January 31, Edmonton, Art Gallery of Alberta

For over a year, cranes, hard hats, stainless steel waves and patinated zinc panels have intrigued visitors to Edmonton’s Sir Winston Churchill Square. And early next year, passersby will finally be able to visit the object of this attention: the $88-million, glass-and-steel Art Gallery of Alberta. Designed by L.A.-based museum architect Randall Stout, the dramatic building draws inspiration from the curves of the North Saskatchewan River and the northern lights. (Being so influenced by nature, it’s also fitting that the building’s steel is 90 per cent recycled.) The gallery will offer nearly twice the exhibit space of the old Edmonton Art Gallery (whose site the new AGA occupies), easily accommodating its 6,000-piece permanent collection as well as a restaurant and outdoor sculpture court. The grand opening exhibit announcement is scheduled for late 2009.  - Kristine Kowalchuk Opening January 31, 2010, 780-422-6223

February 5 and 6, Canmore, Alberta World Cup

Folks in Canmore can watch the Alberta World Cup for cross country skiing — also for free and mere days before the Olympics begin, February 5 and 6.

My mission to understand why Alberta has become so prominent in one our country’s favourite sports begins in high July, on a glorious 32-degree Celsius day with neither cloud nor breeze. Summertime just doesn’t get any sweeter.

Yep, it’s a great day for curling.

At Edmonton’s Saville Sports Centre (SSC) on the University of Alberta’s South Campus, it’s almost always a great day for curling. Home to rock stars like current Canadian champion Kevin Martin and fourtime world titleist Randy Ferbey, the SSC has 10 state-of-the-art ice sheets in place for the longest season of any curling club in the world – July to April.

It’s Canada’s busiest club, too. By autumn, nearly 2,000 members will participate in weekly play here, from introductory “funspiels,” to the elite men’s Big Rock Edmonton Super League, the hyper-competitive Wednesday night crucible containing the greatest concentration of curling talent on the planet. Super League is also a major reason why teams that call the SSC home have dominated six of the decade’s nine Brier championships (wherein Canadian curling supremacy has been determined since 1927). Thus I have braved the QE2 Highway from Calgary to Edmonton – not to mention donning Polarfleece on one of the hottest days of the year – specifically to see what makes Alberta curlers so hot. And I’m rapidly discovering that it’s like everything else in human life: a robust combination of genes and environment.

Today marks the opening of the first of many week-long summer curling camps for kids. Twenty of them are sprinkled across three sheets, coached by current members of the University of Alberta men’s and women’s teams. Now, ordinarily, you’d expect children confined to the ice while their friends are splashing at the lake to be a tad distracted. Not these guys. They are shockingly attentive. I am especially fascinated by the Little Rocks, as they’re called – the beginner’s division in which kids as young as seven, wearing hockey helmets for safety, throw miniature rocks roughly half the regulation 20-kilogram granite. After a few preliminary drills, like balancing on one foot and pushing rocks back and forth to one another across the width of the sheet, coach Karrick Martin – the son of famous skip, Kevin – lines the kids up for some fulllength throws.

“Step into the hack,” commands Martin, “and show me an in-turn.” With no hesitation, one tot after another hops onto the rubber foothold and delivers the requested counter-clockwise spin, demonstrating a rapid absorption of both curling technique and jargon. It’s not long before their shots are sailing all the way to the rings, though no further. A mere two hours into their first day and they’re already curling – well.

One of these young hotshots, with an especially stylish slide to her delivery and a name badge that says “Gabby,” turns to the man watching from the sidelines. “Are you a professional curler?” she asks.

“No,” I reply, noticing that her broom and pants bear a top curling brand logo. “But I guess you must be.”

“My parents are,” Gabby states matter-of-factly. “My dad curls with the Ferbey from generations of ice time and my mom plays second with Cathy King.”

Gabby, therefore, is Gabby Rocque. Not only does she have the greatest curling name ever, she’s genuine curling royalty – the daughter of Marcel “Shot” Rocque (a play on the term for the stone nearest the centre ring) and his wife, Raylene. Both parents will soon compete on their respective teams to represent Canada at the Vancouver Olympics in February. As for Gabby herself – and this may be slightly premature – I like her chances in 2026.

Next month, from December 6 to 13, Canada’s best curlers will convene in Edmonton’s Rexall Place for the Roar of the Rings, a pressure-packed week in which eight top teams of each gender will battle it out for the right to wear the maple leaf in Vancouver 2010. (Curling teams, known as “rinks,” consist of four players – lead, second, third and skip, though they are usually referred to by the skip’s name alone.) Based on previous three-season-long play, the first four qualifying spots have already been determined, while the final four will earn their berths this month. Alberta, it should surprise nobody to learn, is already heavily represented among the pre-qualified. That includes the Calgary-based rinks of Shannon Kleibrink and reigning provincial champion Cheryl Bernard, while among the men it’s Kevin Martin, Randy Ferbey and their Saville clubmate, Kevin Koe.

It’s difficult to explain why, in recent years, the province’s best female curlers have hailed from Calgary, whereas northern Alberta, and Edmonton in particular, have dominated the men’s game. What’s easier to understand is how, on the national scene and especially on the men’s side, Alberta appears to be overtaking the powerhouse role long claimed by Manitoba. In the Brier’s first two decades, for example, Manitoba won 11 times. But thanks to Alberta’s recent run, the province is rapidly closing the historical gap, with 49 top-three finishes compared to Manitoba’s 52. Chalk it up to curling’s abiding characteristics of rural roots and family tradition, with a little demographic shift thrown in. The sport, as we know it, began on the frozen lochs of Scotland, an outgrowth of informal competitions to see who could slide ordinary river stones closest to a distant target. Scots immigrants brought the pastime to ice-rich Canada in the 1800s, where it took root just as its rules of play and dimensions were being formalized. Prairie settlers took to the sport early, often on outdoor rinks with a wall of straw bales as a windbreak. Then came indoor ice; both Calgary and Edmonton had curling clubs around 1888, shortly after the arrival of the railroads. By mid-20th century, few prairie towns lacked a long, low building housing a few precious sheets. Forget hockey; for adults, at least, curling provided the one reliable social outlet during the long, cold winters.

Flash-forward a few decades, however, and curling now mirrors the population in general in its inexorable shift from rural to urban areas. Throw in Alberta’s strong economy and it’s no wonder the province’s cities have become magnets to talented curlers looking for both a good job and top-flight competition. Three out of four players on Kleibrink’s Calgary rink, for example, are originally from Saskatchewan.

The other factor Alberta has in spades is the family curling connection. Randy Ferbey would probably never have played the game had his father not taken him to Edmonton’s Thistle Curling Club as a boy of 10. Most top curlers tell a similar story. And then there’s the importance of growing up amid not just lifelong curlers but actual world champions. Dave Nedohin (whose uncanny skill at throwing last rocks for the Ferbey Four has made him a four-time Brier MVP) carries distant memories of sitting on the knee of Don Duguid, the legendary Winnipeg skip.

According to Gerry Peckham, high performance director for the Canadian Curling Association, this is very much a sport where success breeds success. “Quality play evolves in places where quality play already exists,” he points out. “It goes back decades with players like Hec Gervais, Ron Northcott and Ed Lukowich” – all multiple Brier-winning skips from Alberta whose reigns spanned the 1960s to the 1980s. Randy Ferbey, who at 50 will be among the oldest Olympians if he makes it to Vancouver, played a full season with Gervais as a youngster, further proof that skills in this game are passed hand-to-hand.

So it’s no accident that the Canadian Curling Association’s two national training centres are located in Alberta: at the Calgary Winter Club and Edmonton’s Saville Sports Centre. Olympic legacy funding has endowed curling in Calgary, while multiple factors have contributed to the latter’s emergence as a 21st-century curling mecca, and surely a model for others to come.

The Saville Sports Centre has some things in common with other curling clubs. It enjoys a rural setting, sort of. Though surrounded by city, it’s located near the barns connected with the U of A’s agricultural studies. There’s also a typical snack bar and a lounge overlooking the ice sheets.

Beyond that, all similarities end. Opened in 2004, the SSC is a $7-million, 120,000-square-foot, multi-sport facility (though it focuses on curling and tennis). It is named for its principal benefactor, well-known Edmonton entrepreneur and sportsman Bruce Saville, who happens to be the partner of skip Cathy King. Blessed with a gymnasium, spacious locker rooms and an ultra-modern fitness centre, it more resembles a country club than curling’s drafty Quonset huts of yore.

And like a country club golf course, its professional staff manages the 20-plus leagues that play here. It even boasts its own pro shop, Kevin’s Rocks-N-Racquets (Kevin Martin, proprietor) where a top-end carbon shafted curling broom (or brush, as the cornstraw-free contemporary device is known) sells for $179.99.

Martin, by the way, is likely the topearning curling professional of all time, and a reminder of how far the sport has come since winning a bonspiel got you little more than a Texas mickey or a bag of steaks. Martin-skipped teams have raided the highend cashspiel circuit, now formalized as the Asham World Curling Tour, for a lifetime total in the $2-million range. It’s a measure of the sport’s blue-collar roots, however, that even the leading lights have day jobs. Along with his pro shop, Martin co-owns a north Edmonton M&M Meats store with his talented young second, St. Albert’s Marc Kennedy.

Needless to say, M&M is a significant sponsor of both Martin and the sport in general. Sponsorships of all kinds have become key to curling success, what with the increasingly far-flung travel required to compete at the top level. The Martin and Ferbey rinks have thus made logo-festooned athletic wear as common as hand-knit cardigans once were on the pebbled ice.

But as rich as the Saville Sports Centre is in talent, training and opportunity, you can only expect it to get richer. I can tell that by seeing the other curlers sharing the ice with the Little Rocks in the middle of summer. Jill Officer and Dawn Askin, members of Jennifer Jones’s Canadian champion rink, have flown in from their home in Winnipeg to the national training centre for a pre-season tune-up, since they, too, are prequalified for the Roar of the Rings. Like elite athletes in other sports, top curlers receive Sport Canada funding for just this sort of advanced learning. Stretching off-ice before her session, Officer explains what it takes to reach and stay at the game’s pinnacle. “In-season it’s a minimum of 40 hours a week,” she says. “If we’re not on the ice, we’re in the gym working on cardio, strength and core stability.” Needless to say, the ashtrays and drink holders that were once standard-issue rink accessories are now ancient history. Fitness as a prerequisite for top curling dates to 1987, when paunchy skip Ed Werenich was told by the Canadian Curling Association that if he qualified for curling’s debut as a demonstration sport at the 1988 Calgary Olympics, he would have to lose weight.

But for more than just aesthetic reasons, modern curlers like Officer are genuinely ripped athletes. They require arm strength for efficient sweeping, not to mention effortless flexibility for the long, low delivery of the 100-or-so rocks players throw in practice. Meanwhile, at rinkside, teammate Askin is studying her own technique on a huge computer screen alongside Rob Krepps, an expert instructor whose job is split between curling director at the SSC and national team coach. It’s his dream job. “If this were golf, it would be like being the pro at Pebble Beach,” he explains. As for this fancy electronic gear, it’s been provided in part by a grant from Canada’s Own the Podium 2010 initiative.  “This is a state-of-the-art motion-capture system, a one-of-a-kind video array that allows us to immediately analyze an athlete’s delivery from multiple perspectives.” Throw in contributions from the U of A’s sport scientists, says Krepps, and “there are some really unique synergies at the SSC.”

No kidding. Video. Core training. Synergies. It’s easy to see how far curling has come since the 52-year stretch, ending in 1979, when Macdonald Tobacco was the title sponsor of the Brier. Rest assured, the Saville is a non-smoking facility.

It used to be said in men’s curling circles that it was every bit as hard to get beyond the northern Alberta playdowns as it was to win the Brier. That has changed, though, according to Al Cameron, curling writer for the Calgary Herald. “They changed the qualification process for provincial playdowns. Now guys like Martin, Ferbey and Koe prequalify in other ways, so there’s actually a chance for other Edmonton teams to make it to provincials.”

Still, says Cameron, it’s going to be a long time before an upset winner emerges from Alberta to challenge the rest of Canada and the world beyond – if ever. Curling superiority, he notes, “is not an instant thing. First, you need skill. Then you’ve got to find a flexible employer. You also need an understanding family, and then you’ve got to round up three other teammates who have the same kind of motivation. That’s a pretty rare thing.” Referring to the Martin and Ferbey rinks, he adds, “These guys are seriously committed. They practice harder than anybody. They play in the big events more than anybody. And they have sponsors who allow them to do it. That all makes for a tough combination to beat.”

But try they will next month at the Roar of the Rings. The Olympics, it’s safe to say, eclipses – at least, quadrennially – Canadian curling’s usual pinnacles of achievement: the Brier or its female equivalent, the Scotties Tournament of Hearts, followed by annual world championships. Every one of those 16 rinks will gladly forego both competitions this year if it means a chance at Olympic gold.

Among the men, Alberta’s Titans will have to ward off the current number-one rated rink in Canada, the one skipped by Ontario’s Glenn Howard, who has appeared in an astonishing 11 Briers. Newfoundland’s Brad Gushue would love to reprise his gold-winning performance from 2006 in Torino. And Martin, should he prevail, will be out to avenge his loss in the final game at the Worlds last year to Scotland’s David Murdoch rink.

Among the women, Shannon Kleibrink will have to outduel both Cheryl Bernard and Jennifer Jones if she hopes to defeat the reigning world-champion Chinese and improve on her own bronze finish in Torino. Meanwhile, not surprisingly, given that it’s at the centre of the curling universe, organizers are expecting the sort of sellout you’d usually see only for an Oilers playoff game. As the Canadian Curling Association’s Gerry Peckham enthuses, this thing is going to be huge. “We had the Brier in Calgary last year,” he notes, “and I’ll tell you, Alberta curling fans are exceptional.”

But Peckham says we ain’t seen nothing yet. “If you want to bear witness to the curling spectacle of all time, then attend these Olympic trials. I guarantee it will be the biggest event our sport has achieved on this planet.” True, these aren’t just any Olympics. They’re our Olympics. And the path to reach them goes, quite fittingly, through curling’s latest stronghold. For the millions who will watch this event on television, many of whom have never picked up a broom, this may come as news. For the Gabby Rocques of the world, however, it’s all in the natural order of things. i Checking out bonspiels beyond your home town?

Jaunt: Vancouver to Port Angeles, return
Distance: Approx. 650 km Fuel: 1 1/2 tanks
Duration: 3 days
Prime Time: Winter
Tunes: Trio of albums by Seattle-based Bill Frisell,
hailed as one of the finest jazz guitarists in the
known universe — The Intercontinentals, the Grammy
Award-winning Unspeakable and East/West

Waves crashing on a rocky shore, huge cedars dripping in a fog-shrouded rainforest – what better time than early winter to enjoy the Olympic Peninsula coast? This three-day trip from Vancouver follows Washington’s northern shoreline to its westerly tip, explores south, then returns through old-growth forest to Port Angeles, a classic Victorian seaport.

From the border crossing at Blaine, Washington, drive Interstate 5 to Edmonds (about 160 kilometres) and follow the ferry signs through town to dockside (freeway exit 177). Hop a Washington State Ferry to Kingston; these run about every 45 minutes. From Kingston, drive Highway 104 north to Port Gamble, a prim and proper 19th-century mill town with the architecture of a New England village. Beyond, the road curves to access the three-km-long bridge across stormy Hood Canal and joins Hwy. 101. Turn north. Next stop: Blyn, at the southern end of Sequim Bay, where the Jamestown S’Klallam tribe runs the 7 Cedars Casino. Across the highway, Northwest Native Expressions is one of the finest galleries around for native coastal art and artifacts (360-681-4640); at the nearby House of Myths carving shed, native artists work publicly (weekdays, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.). West of Blyn is the town of Sequim – in the deepest rain shadow of the Olympic Mountains but with the lowest annual rainfall on the peninsula. In fact, its 300 days of sunshine and mild temperatures make the area ideal for growing lavender.

Sequim is also famous for the bones of an ice-age mastodon unearthed here in 1977, now on display at the Museum and Arts Center (360-683-8110); the Olympic Game Farm’s drive-through safaris (360- 683-4295) are also popular and the Dungeness River Audubon Centre at Railroad Bridge Park has great birding (360-681-4076). The town itself is also worth a browse – for books, linens, lavender products and wine-tastings (Dungeness Bay Wine & Cheese; 360-681-2778). Don’t miss: the Old Post Office Sweets and Gifts (360-681-8014) for chocolates, espresso, home baking and gifts. Dungeness Bay, north of Sequim, is renowned for its crabs and natural sand spit, one of the world’s longest – eight-plus km and growing at a rate of about seven metres per year. Hike to the 152-year-old New Dungeness Lighthouse, immaculately kept by volunteers, with its museum in the old keeper’s house and 74 spiral steps leading to a great view. The spit is part of a wildlife refuge sheltering 250 species of birds, 41 land mammals and eight marine animals. Tide schedules can be found on the New Dungeness Lighthouse website.

Opposite the spit: the remains of historic Dungeness Village, including an elegant old schoolhouse, general store, cottages, wonderful B&B and, within walking distance, the beachside 3 Crabs Restaurant – the perfect spot to watch the sun set while waves crash onshore and the lighthouse twinkles against the dark bulk of Vancouver Island.
Good sleeps: Groveland Cottage ,an 1886 house in a lovely garden. Phone 360-683-3565.
Good eats: 3 Crabs Restaurant. Phone 360-683-4264.
In town: excellent Mexican fare at El Cazador, next to the historic grain elevator. Phone 360-683-4788; the funky Highway 101 Diner for homestyle 1950s food and ambiance. Phone 360-683-3388.

After a morning beach stroll, return to Hwy. 101 via Marine Drive and Kitchen-Dick Road and head west about 25 km to Port Angeles. Follow the shore along the boat harbour and Marine Drive to another astonishing sand spit. Ediz Hook boasts terrific views east across town to the Olympic Mountains and west over the stone breakwater to Vancouver Island, almost 30 km away.

Rejoin Hwy. 101 and head west for about five km, then turn right onto Hwy. 112, the scenic Strait of Juan de Fuca Highway – 100 km of forest and shoreline road leading to Cape Flattery. Worn by the ceaseless crashing of ocean waves, the exposed northwest shore is an intriguing mixture of wide, sandy beaches, pebble coves, tide pools, cliffs, caves and eroded sea stacks. The highway parallels the shore inland for most of the way, but several short side roads lead to the coast: to Freshwater Bay, Pillar Point and Salt Creek (including Crescent Beach and Fort Hayden World War II remnants), all county parks.

Pillar Point Park at the mouth of the Pysht River is one of the best fishing spots along the coast, and nearby Merrill & Ring Pysht tree farm, the oldest (1888) on the Olympic Peninsula, is still operated by its founding family, with self-guided tours of the forestry operations.

About 20 km west of Pysht, the fishing communities of Clallam Bay and Sekiu nestle on opposite sides of a wide bay. Clallam Bay Park, a small grassy plot near the town’s eastern edge, provides access to a five-km agatestrewn beach. Birdwatchers flock to this western peninsula edge in winter for hundreds of bald eagles, migrating swans, tufted puffins, marbled murrelets and thousands of wheeling gulls, with grey and humpback whales, orcas and sea otters offshore.

Before overnighting in Clallam Bay, circle the bay to Sekiu (whale-watching tours available from the dock) and past the monolithic Seal Rock and Sail Rock offshore stacks to the native Makah settlement of Neah Bay and the northwestern edge of Washington at Cape Flattery. First stop: the Makah Cultural and Research Centre, a world-class interpretive display of ancient native life, with artifacts from the 500-year-old village of Ozette, farther south, and a whale skeleton hanging above hand-carved cedar canoes (360-645-2711). To hike to Cape Flattery or explore the beaches on Makah lands, pick up a Makah Recreational Use Permit for U.S.$10 at the museum or Tribal Historic Preservation Office.) Lunch stop: picnic supplies at the 107-year-old Washburn General Store.

For the hike, drive through Neah Bay and turn right at the Tribal Centre, following the signs for Cape Flattery – named by Captain James Cook in 1778. Six km along, this gravel road leads to the head of the Cape Trail, where a boardwalk winds amongst towering trees and ferny bogs to an observation point on cliffs worn into caves and undercut by crashing surf – a wonderful picnic spot. Offshore: tiny Tatoosh Island’s circa-1857 lighthouse. Bring binoculars: marine birdlife abounds; that tiny speck bobbing on the waves could be a puffin or an auklet. (Allow 1½ to two hours for return hike; wear sensible shoes.) Good sleeps: Winter Summer Inn, a cozy Clallam Bay B&B with decks overlooking the river estuary and beach beyond. Here a family of river otters lives within sight, and great blue herons and other birds haunt the nearby wildlife reserve (360-963-2264; ). Good eats: For seafood: up the road toward Sekiu at Breakwater Inn (360-963-2428).

The direct route back to Port Angeles is barely 100 km, but there’s plenty to see. Drive east about five km from Clallam Bay, then south on Hwy. 113, which joins Hwy. 101. Keep south on 101 for about 10 km, then west on Hwy. 110 to La Push. But before reaching this native fishing village, turn right to Rialto Beach, one of the few readily accessible beaches along the western shore of the Olympic Peninsula’s national marine sanctuary – habitat for one of the most diverse populations of marine mammals in North America and a critical link along the Pacific flyway.

The beach is separated by the estuary of the Quillayute River from the native fishing village of La Push, a must-stop, 15-minute drive away, with surf beaches and excellent fish and chips at the River’s Edge Restaurant. The place is so picturesque, it’s tempting to overnight at Quileute Oceanside Resort (1-800-487-1267). To reach Port Angeles, return to Hwy. 101; it swings east at Sappho to follow the Sol Duc Valley and the south shore of forestrimmed Lake Crescent. Post-roadtrip, Port Angeles is a picturesque Victorian town with a host of luxurious shops, accommodation and eateries – well worth exploring. Good sleeps: Indulge in some pampering at Colette’s B&B. Phone 360-457-9197.
Good eats: Michael’s Divine Dining (360-417-6929). And if you still have time on your hands, the M.V. Coho car ferry has regular sailings to Victoria (360-457-4491), from Port Angeles; 250-386-2202, from Victoria.

Nothing polishes up a city like preparations for a royal visit, a world’s fair or, most superlatively, the Olympics. During B.C.’s 2010 winter games, Canada’s third largest city will function as a roaring day and night club with entire neighbourhoods roped off as VIP rooms. Before and after, though, every inch of the freshly buffed town is open for inspection.

Vancouver hasn’t gone the Beijing route, with bird’s nests and water cubes from the world’s greatest architects. Instead, the focus is on sustainability, both economic and environmental, which means, for example, an athlete’s village that will be converted into one of the world’s greenest neighbourhoods and a speed-skating oval constructed of salvaged pine-beetle wood. Downtown, the new trade and convention centre (which will serve as media centre during the games) has a grass roof, traversable via a network of zigzagging pathways linked to the seawall. Inside, the building is a triumph of modernist millwork, comprising more than a million individual pieces of B.C. wood.

And thanks to an Olympics-driven frenzy of restaurant openings, it’s more gratifying than ever to eat out in Vancouver. The city’s cuisine emphasizes fresh, local ingredients and a contemporary take on classic European and Asian cookery. And with the literally hundreds of eateries offering every variation from across the Pacific, it’s easier to eat for $10 a person than $20. Plus, while the city wasn’t exactly renowned for its nightlife, that situation is changing in a hurry. With one of the most densely populated city centres on the continent, cocktail culture thrives, and many restaurants serve as de facto bars, offering up bites and bottles into the wee hours.

Of course, there’s also the unparalleled location, where mountains verge on sea and a river runs through a verdant valley. Even those who decide not to spend a winter day skiing in the morning and golfing in the afternoon will feel blessed.

Insider’s Guide

The Go Spots
The new Canada Line from downtown to the airport is getting all the attention, but the SkyTrain’s seven-year-old Millennium Line provides better rooftop views of the city and North Shore mountains. A journey to the eastern ’burbs and back downtown costs $2.50. 604-953-3333; http://www.translink.ca
• The Olympics aren’t just sport, of course. Vancouver’s Cultural Olympiad offers an amazing variety of arts and entertainment options. 1-866-925-8657; http://www.vancouver2010.com
• Centre A, a gallery specializing in contemporary Asian art, transforms into a giant teahouse for the Games (with “special” teas after 5 p.m.). 604-683-8326; http://www.centrea.org

Trendy Vittles
• Dozens of new restaurants have launched ahead of the games, including outposts of superstar chefs Daniel Boulud and Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Early favourite: Market, by Jean-Georges.
604-689-1120; http://www.shangri-la.com
• Vancouver is known for cheap sushi, but the global cognoscenti — and thousands of ESL students — pack its izakayas: Japanese gastropubs with names like Guu and Hapa (both of which have multiple locations). http://www.hapaizakaya.com, guu-izakaya.com
• Some of the coolest eateries are pushing into the infamous Downtown Eastside, including Salt, a wine-focused charcuterie, and Boneta, featuring inventive cocktails and cuisine. 604-633-1912; http://www.salttastingroom.com; 604-684-1844; http://www.boneta.ca

Best Crash Zones
• The ultra-luxe Shangri-La inhabits Vancouver’s tallest — and, to many eyes, most dashing — building. http://www.shangri-la.com
• The in-room art and lobby jazz bar help make the Listel a Robson Street favourite. 604-684-8461; http://www.thelistelhotel.com
• Waterfront location and reasonable rates? That rare combination exists at the hidden-away Granville Island Hotel. 1-800-663-1840;
http://www.granvilleislandhotel.com

Leave it to kids to lead the way. Grade four and five students from the Briar Hill Elementary School environmental club started the “Idling Gets You Nowhere” campaign in 2007 to encourage parents to turn off their vehicles while waiting outside the Calgary school. The students patrolled entrances with their clipboards, tracking the number of idling vehicles. They put up notices on parking signs, in the school newsletter and at an open house. By the next school year, parents had learned their lesson. A remarkable 75 per cent of parked drivers were turning off their engines.

Excessive idling wastes a significant amount of fuel and, by extension, money. But of more interest to the children at Briar Hill was the unnecessary emission of greenhouse gases (GHGs) in the form of carbon dioxide. For the average vehicle with a 3.0-litre V6 engine, National Resources Canada (NRCan) reports that if drivers of light-duty vehicles avoided idling by just three minutes a day each year, Canadians would collectively save 630 million litres of fuel and reduce carbon dioxide emissions by 1.4 million tonnes.

And studies show those emissions are taking their toll on our bodies as well as our environment. The American Lung Association reports emissions from vehicle tailpipes can irritate and damage human lungs, leading to higher risks of asthma, cancer and heart disease. Vehicle exhaust contains more than 40 hazardous air pollutants and 15 of them are classified as known, probable or possible carcinogens. As communities increasingly come around to such realizations, anti-idling campaigns are gaining traction across the country. Idling is now an offence in Victoria, B.C., and Kingston and Ottawa, Ontario. Here in Alberta, the municipalities of St. Albert, Hinton and Jasper have also made idling against the law. Jasper was first to implement its anti-idling bylaw in November 2007. The regulation exempts only working vehicles, cars stopped at traffic lights and parked vehicles with frosty windshields. Jasper mayor Richard Ireland reports the bylaw has decreased idling significantly.

St. Albert’s idle-free bylaw, meanwhile, passed by a 4-2 vote at city council in March 2008. Now vehicles idling longer than three minutes during a 30-minute period, except in extremely cold or hot weather, face a $100 fine. Drivers loading or unloading passengers, conducting mechanical service or operating emergency or armoured vehicles are exempt. Earlier this year, Edmonton City Council also explored the idea of an anti-idling bylaw, but decided against it. Instead, the city has implemented a multi-year educational program in partnership with school boards and community leagues to build awareness of the issue.

Calgary is taking a similar approach. Red Deer council also debated the issue but limited its anti-idling policy to city vehicles. City workers are prohibited from idling near building intakes, school grounds or groups of people, and never for more than three to five minutes anywhere else. In St. Albert and other cities that have introduced bylaws, enforcement hasn’t meant many fines, if any – at least not yet. “Our enforcement efforts are mostly complaint-based and, at this point, have only required warnings,” says Meghan Myers, the city’s environmental coordinator. “Our Municipal Enforcement Service department reports that they’ve been successful in simply advising motorists of the bylaw to gain compliance.”

The same is true in Ottawa where, for all of 2008, 460 complaints and 28 warnings resulted in only two tickets being issued. A spokesperson for the city says that officers endeavour not to ticket since compliance can usually be attained with a warning. For the most part, drivers understand the need to change their behaviour. An antiidling public awareness campaign, started in Mississauga, Ontario, in 2002 by NRCan and the Canadian Petroleum Products Institute (CPPI), found motorists understand that prolonged vehicle idling is wasteful and harmful. Of the more than 11,000 drivers approached by student ambassadors in the two weeks of the campaign, 86 per cent were willing to discuss idling issues, 85 per cent took the information card, and 81 per cent accepted the cling vinyl windshield decal. An impressive 20 per cent posted the decal in their windshields on the spot, making public their commitment to reduce idling.

Such awareness campaigns are helping municipalities fast-track into law what could otherwise have been a hotly debated issue. Ottawa, for example, passed its idling control bylaw in 2007, following a campaign that informed citizens of the emissions resulting from idling and the related health impacts.

“The awareness campaign created buy-in that was necessary to pass the bylaw,” says Birgit Isernhagen, an Ottawa environmental planner. “At the time, most municipalities were choosing three minutes, and so that’s what we went with as well, although now most municipalities are going with a oneminute limit.”

Still, in spite of these efforts, not everybody thinks anti-idling bylaws are a good idea. Some even resent what they perceive as big government exerting too much control over petty behavioural matters. For its part, AMA is promoting awareness and educating drivers by designating its locations as idle-free zones. As Carrie Herrick, program coordinator with AMA’s advocacy and community services, stresses, “We need to address public misconceptions and change behaviour to minimize unnecessary idling.”

The most common misconception is that running the car (as opposed to restarting it) actually protects the engine and saves on gas. In reality, says NRCan, idling for more than 10 seconds consumes more fuel than restarting the engine. Furthermore, the break-even time to offset any potential incremental maintenance costs to the starter or battery is under 60 seconds. So, as a guideline, the ministry recommends turning off the engine if stopped for more than a minute, except while in traffic. Driver behaviour was the focus of a 1998 federal Office of Energy Efficiency survey which found that, the previous winter, Canadians voluntarily idled their vehicles for a combined total of 75-million minutes a day – the equivalent of one vehicle idling for 144 years. The survey results also showed that the most common reasons for idling the engine were, in order, warming the vehicle up in the winter (and cooling it down in summer), sitting in a drive-through lane at a fast-food restaurant, waiting to pick up a
passenger, stopping to speak with an acquaintance and leaving the car active while running errands.

In response to seasonal idling, NRCan notes that, contrary to popular belief, the best way to warm up a vehicle is to drive it. With today’s computer-controlled engines, two or three minutes of idling is enough warm-up time, even on the coldest winter days. As part of the quest to reduce unnecessary idling, some municipalities are also tackling vehicle drive-throughs. This summer, the city council in Comox, B.C., voted 4-3 to ban new drive-throughs. It shows that, far from sitting idle, the movement is gaining significant momentum.

The cost of excessive idling

• Damage: idling causes water condensation in your vehicle’s exhaust that can corrode the system. It also results in fuel residue on cylinder walls that can contaminate oil and damage engine components.
• Wasted fuel: 10 seconds of idling consumes more fuel than restarting your engine. Ten minutes of idling a day burns more than 100 litres of gasoline over the course of a year. At today’s prices, that’s more than $100.
• Wasted energy: a poorly tuned engine uses up to 15 per cent more energy when idling than a well-tuned engine. Keeping your vehicle properly maintained according to the manufacturer’s suggested maintenance schedule is a key to fuel efficiency and reduced GHG emissions. When it’s cold out, reduce idling to 30 seconds or less. Driving your vehicle is the best way to warm it up.

Chocka block
When temperatures dip below -15ºC, plug in your vehicle two hours before driving. A block heater warms the coolant, circulating heat to the engine block and lubricants and making your vehicle easier to start. At -20°C, block heaters can improve overall fuel economy by as much as 10 per cent. For a single short trip at -25°C, fuel savings can reach 25 per cent.

Anti-idling Advocacy
AMA encourages the federal government to require vehicle manufacturers to equip all new vehicles with advanced catalytic converter technology to reduce emissions when vehicles are started cold, and
idle-stop features that temporarily turn off the engine when the vehicle is stopped.

A few examples of satisfied travel medical insurance customers should suffice to illustrate that even a daytrip outside Alberta without coverage can be costly. They include a woman bitten by a temperamental house cat in Texas who spent $2,200 in IV solutions and tetanus shots, a man who suffered a heart attack and ran up $125,000 in medical bills and a holidaymaker who dislocated his shoulder while sleeping and was dinged U.S.$4,000 in “repair” costs. All had their expenses covered by their insurance provider. And while it’s true Alberta Health Care reimburses travellers for medical services obtained abroad, it only pays what the same services would have cost domestically, typically a fraction of what gets charged in foreign climes (especially in the U.S. where a hospital bed can cost $5,000 a day versus the $100 a day Alberta Health Care reimburses).

Travel medical insurance, too, has conditions that you should know before you go. Most important is not to think of it as an out-of-province substitute for Alberta Health Care. “That’s the biggest misconception,” says Andrew Hopkyns, director of business development, AMA Travel, who explains that travel medical insurance is designed to cover “unexpected issues,” not complications arising from pre-existing conditions. Hopkyns emphasizes that in order to prevent policies from being declared null and void, travellers of all ages are required to declare all pre-existing medical conditions such as high blood pressure, diabetes, chronic ailments, recent diseases and heart conditions. What’s more, policyholders should inform their carrier if a condition develops or changes between taking out the
policy and the time of travel because insurance coverage may change.

If you have a “stable” pre-existing condition, you can often still get insurance, but the nature of the condition, combined with the age of the applicant, can affect the premium. Hopkyns explains that “stability requirements” for declared pre-existing conditions apply to all ages. A 12-year-old who had an asthma attack two weeks before travelling, for instance, would not be covered for any claim relating to asthma at destination. Even a shortterm illness can affect coverage. In the same way, a traveller who suffered a bout of pneumonia on November 1 but who planned to travel on November 15 would be deemed unstable for that condition, and any medical care related to pneumonia would not be covered.

Additionally, travellers over 60 are required to fill out a medical declaration. Completing it incorrectly will result in loss of total coverage. For example, failure to correctly describe a pre-existing heart condition would result in loss of coverage not only for complications arising from the heart condition, but even for a broken leg! On that note, thrill-seeking travellers who engage in activities such as skydiving or bungee jumping should also enquire in advance about whether resulting injuries would be covered. They often are, but the ER is not the place to find out otherwise.

Finally, after obtaining a policy, travellers need to read it carefully and contact their provider if they have questions or concerns to ensure they have the right level of coverage.

The big, bad four

The following are the most common mistakes travellers make when purchasing or using travel medical insurance.
• Failing to accurately disclose pre-existing medical conditions.
• Forgetting that policies cover unexpected expenses, not things like regular medical checkups.
• Failing to contact their insurance provider about changes to medical status that arise after purchase of the policy.
• Failing to call a toll-free assistance number before seeking medical care while travelling.

I’ve always wondered what goes on in Norway. It’s never in the news, which must mean nothing bad ever happens there. I know it’s where the ’80s pop band A-ha came from, and that all the Norwegian women I have met in my travels possessed both superior intellect and supermodel stature. I figure any country producing such women must be doing something right. Also, I know about the Vikings.

The opening line in every guidebook is that Norway is beautiful – and expensive, which is right on both counts. Arriving hungry late at night in Oslo (this year named the world’s fifth most expensive city by The Economist), my girlfriend and I duck into a corner bar. Burgers and beer run us 375 kroner, about $70. I realize that Edvard Munch’s iconic painting The Scream (something else Norway is known for) is likely a depiction of a tourist receiving his first bar bill. We decide to focus more on the beauty of Oslo, a place suitable for framing. Wrapped around the north end of a stunning fjord with a backyard full of wilderness, the thousand-year-old city is a seamless mix of neo-classical stonework and modernist glass and steel. Structures like the Royal Palace and imposing Akershus Fortress appear built from the blueprints of fairy tales.

It helps to be a wealthy prince here, but we quickly learn how to stretch those kroner. We take advantage of our B&Bs, stuffing daypacks with thick bread and rich local Jarlsberg cheese from their breakfast buffets. We avoid the customary fermented trout, which doesn’t travel all that well. And fuelled by free bananas courtesy of finish-line volunteers at the Oslo Marathon, we explore the
Kon-Tiki Museum and its catalogue of objects from Thor Heyerdahl’s 1947 raft expedition. Later, we walk the cobblestone streets, our pockets weighted down by stashed hardboiled eggs.

Even public toilets are $3, public transit, $6. I figure the city’s high costs are all a part of the Norwegian master plan to keep people like me out. Standing just six-foot, with basic brown hair, a measly undergraduate degree, and barely capable of one language, I feel like a Sears catalogue reject compared to the GQ-worthy Mensa Vikings using Oslo’s streets as a catwalk. My girlfriend considers dumping me for a cashier at the 7-Eleven who speaks five languages (four is standard) and drives a Saab. With federal oil reserves estimated at $400 billion, Norway is one of the richest countries in the world, which apparently means free healthcare, education and stylish clothing for everyone. But I know there must be cracks in Utopia. Watching Champions League football at a hotel bar in the west coast city of Bergen, a psychology student named Kjell gives us a few lecture notes on the Norwegian state of mind. Rates of depression, alcoholism and suicide are on the rise, he notes, and not just
because of the long, dark and cold winters. “It’s mostly because we are bored, because we are so perfect.” With Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs” so well taken care of, Norwegians are apparently forced to strive for a higher purpose. It’s no wonder arts and crafts thrive here. Forget Ikea. Norway’s fast-emerging design community makes neighbouring Sweden’s superstore look like a thrift shop. It’s so
good, Bergen even has a museum dedicated to it. In the West Norway Museum of Decorative Art, where the motto is “to create debate about taste,” we max out the Visa on a squidshaped whisk for the mother-in-law and an intricate device for cracking hard boiled eggs that’s suitable for a space-shuttle kitchen.

Riding the spectacular railway from Bergen back to Oslo, we easily understand why it’s known as one of the top train journeys in the world. Warm, golden light spills through our cabin windows as we roll through the rugged, high alpine of Hardangervidda National Park. Chimney smoke spirals from quaint cottages nestled at the base of snowcapped mountains and glaciers. It’s like a Christmas movie. I halfexpect to see talking polar bears or maybe a photo shoot featuring the Norwegian national women’s ski team. Nearing Oslo’s outskirts, the train slows and the landscape greens. I peer into white picket-fenced backyards. Healthy, happy kids in thick red reindeer sweaters smile and wave. I notice I’m beginning to feel a little taller, maybe even smarter.

‘Zine Supreme
I just renewed my AMA membership for another year and want to take a moment to comment on Westworld magazine. I really enjoy your publication, and even if I don’t ever use the emergency roadside service or any of the other membership privileges, I feel that just getting the magazine is worth the membership fee. -Elise Maltinsky, via email

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Re: “High and Mighty"(June 2009)
After reading this interesting article, I decided to plan a vacation following writer Liz Bryan’s route, although I basically started from St. Mary and went the opposite direction. Going-to-the-Sun Road was one of the most enjoyable vacations I’ve ever had and I thank Liz for writing this story. For those similarly inspired to follow her route, I found that Liz left out two worthwhile places: Hungry Horse (with the Hungry Horse Dam and Huckleberry Cannery res-taurant and gift shop) and the hike through Ross Creek Cedars near Noxon. -Norma Wark, Sherwood Park

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Re: “Reconsidering Tangier” (September 2009)
I am Tunisian and noticed that the picture used to illustrate the Moroccan city of Tangier is actually a place from medina Elarbi (the old city) in Tunis, the capital of Tunisia. Even the flag in the picture is the Tunisian flag. In fact, I know the place in the picture. It is located close to Zitouna Mosque, the oldest mosque in Tunisia. -Houssem, via email

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Re: Weekenders (September 2009)
On reading the short history of Lacombe, it is necessary I relay a story of early residents, who ventured to Lacombe before the arrival of the train. My aunt Jane (Jenny) Argue of Stittsville, Ontario, came west about 1882 to Lacombe with five others. At that time, the train only went as far as Winnipeg, so they had to get off the train and travel the remainder of the way to Lacombe by ox cart. Know ing how rough the carts were to ride in, it is pre sumed they walked most of the way. Upon arrival, they each set up a business, or found a job. My aunt, for example, opened a restaurant, where she baked 100 pies a day. She married a Mr. Jamieson, who was a brother of Colonel Jamieson of Fort Macleod, of which so much has been published. When Mr. Jamieson (husband of my aunt Jenny Argue) died, all those from Stittsville moved to Calgary. I have been to Lacombe many times, and checked in their library, town office and other businesses for its early history, but was always told their history was not kept that far back. -L. Argue, Edmonton

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Re: Travel Smarts (September 2009)
This article’s opening statement about “getting there was half the fun” can still ring true if you don’t bother with air travel. Last Christmas, my wife and I travelled by train to visit family in Ontario. Amtrak and, especially, VIA Rail did a marvellous job getting us to our destination in comfort, and I’ll certainly consider going that route or taking my own vehicle before I fly again. As for the integrated checkpoint scanner in Kelowna: the article states: “It also performs a full-body scan for objects carried under passengers’ clothing.” You note that it reduces the number of pat-downs but neglect to mention that this technology allows a security officer in a separate room to see (and potentially record) the unclothed forms of everyone who goes through the scanner. I’m sure the more modest among us find this more than slightly disturbing. -Jon Calon, Calgary

The private member’s bill C-310, mentioned in this article, is unsafe. It exhibits illogical reasoning and would cost us all more money. No airline can be held responsible for a sudden bad weather system rolling in, thereby delaying a flight departure by one hour. I would much rather wait on the ground than take off into an unsafe sky. In a misguided attempt to make airlines accountable for their operational delays, C-310 could inadvertently force pilots and companies into the dilemma of putting safety behind profit, an especially dangerous notion in our struggling economy. If passed, C-310 would drive airlines to charge more for seats to cover the possible “com-pensation” arising from flight delays. Better to arrive a bit late and in one piece than become a breaking news tragedy.
-Michele Barrett, Strathmore

Note from AMA: Bill C-310 is still in the federal legislative process and has a long way to go to become law. In the meantime, WestJet has introduced a “Care-antee” to explain how they will compensate a passen-ger in the event of lost baggage or flight delays. Air Canada has made similar changes. Both have likely introduced the measures to demonstrate their goodwill. Even so, these changes are legally binding on the airlines.

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Re: “The Winds Unchanged” (June 2009)
I have just finished reading the June issue of Westworld.  I read Roadside several times thinking I had missed the name of the place where the windmill museum is located, but cannot find a named location.
Mary, by email

Editor’s Note: We received a number of letters regarding the windmills’ location. It’s not a secret, the place name just fell out of the final copy and we apologize for the error. The windmills are in the tiny town of Etzikom, southwest of Medicine Hat. They are definitely worth a visit!

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Re: “Dim Sum Diaries” June 2009
Thank you, Michelle Wong, for your article. I was sent back in time to when my dad took me into the Chinese-owned “Queen’s Cafe” on the west side of Main Street in Fairview. It was in this restaurant that I saw a jade plant and a “mother-in-law’s tongue” plant for the first time in my five year-old life. My treat was a vanilla ice-cream cone for the long ride back to the farm. The “Queen’s” eventually expanded to offer two more varieties: chocolate and strawberry, although my own taste buds soon grew sophisticated to crave a “Bink,” which required a doughnut under a scoop of vanilla. They also had a seasonal dish which included half a cantaloupe under the scoop of vanilla. Finally, this is where I settled on banana splits as the ultimate six year-old treat, while my sister Stella discovered milk shakes. Spinning on the counter stools was another highlight, and made my dear mom cringe.
I never ate a meal in the cafe but saw many farmers with pie and coffee and I felt real smart to learn what “a la mode” meant before my sister did. Truckers seemed to prefer pork sausages with mash potatoes or liver and onions.
When I was in high school, the cafe was on the east side of Main Street and was owned by Jimmy Der’s family. It was a noon-hour destination and the place where I fugitively choked on my first cigarette (a “Black Cat” in a blue box). The main purpose of the noon-hour visit was to look over Jimmy Der at the till, and all the farm boys who frequented the cafe. Jimmy was still in high school but manned the till during the noon rush.
Fifty years later I returned to this cafe with my siblings and their families. The family rendezvous was in the backroom and decorated with Chinese lanterns. We feasted on all the Chinese food that we couldn’t afford to order growing up on the farm.
Thank you Michelle Wong for letting me remember all the firsts in my life…including seeing swinging doors (into the kitchen), red jukeboxes and spinning stools.
-Audrey Moormann Gabl, Calgary

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Re: “French Roll” (June 2009)
What a pleasant surprise it was to read, on the cover of Westworld Alberta, a French title: “Tour de l’Alberta!” The roots of French presence in Alberta go back more than 200 years and continue to thrive across the province thanks to the dedication of francophone communities and institutions. Francophone history is an integral part of Alberta’s history, and it gives us great pleasure to see articles about the language and culture that we hold so dear published.

Today, according to Statistics Canada’s 2006 census, 68,000 Albertans indicated French as their mother tongue. If we add those students graduating from French immersion schools and those who learned French as a second langugage, the census estimates more than 222,000 people are able to speak, live and work in Alberta. This ranks Alberta the third largest minority French population in Canada after Ontario and New Brunswick. The ACFA is proud of people who, like you, choose to plane an emphasis on this wealth.
-Jean Johnson, President, ACFA (Francophone Association of Alberta), Edmonton

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Re: “Nahanni Journal” (June 2009)
I was most pleased to read about the Patterson family’s trip down the Nahanni River. I am a retired helicopter pilot and have flown geologists in that valley three different times.
Twice we camped at Nahanni Butte; I also lived in a camp just above the Flat River and many times had Albert Faille with me. Also, anytime I flew from camp to Nahhani Butte I would bring back mail and supplies for Gus and Mary Kraus. These were magical places, and the first time I landed Mary was scraping a moose hide and stopped to make tea. They lived in one of the nicest, cleanest log cabins I have ever seen, as was Vera Turner’s.
Thank you for relating your trip. Your grandfather’s book is the most accurate book about the Nahanni. 
-Hal Tetz, by email

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Re: “Hang 10” June 2009
I found this story alarming. There is a growing trend is toward high-adrenalin, high-risk sports, and many of the partakers feel that the high cost of rescue is their right. It is quite a debate one can get into considering the high cost and risk of the lives of the rescuers.  I feel encouraging these sports is irresponsible. If the person carries extra insurance to cover these activities, that is a different story, but as long as taxpayers cover the cost, encouraging this behavior is inexcusable. Try a story about the accidents of rescuers.
-Ann Mathers, by email

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Re: “Travel Smarts” (April 2009)
Kudos for the article on singles travel!  I have travelled solo to several countries, always with a group for safety, and would never hesitate to go with a reputable travel company.  I’d travel more were it not for the punishing and highly discriminatory practice of charging a single supplement. Companies that practice this say that I can avoid the fee by agreeing to room with a same-(blank) stranger, and they expect that I should find this satisfactory…. I don’t. I boycott travel companies that maintain this practice, and will gladly patronize those that don’t. It’s good to know more companies are dropping the single supplement fee.
-Allison Johnson, Calgary

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Re: “Voltage Drop” (June 2009)
Thank you for your recent article on the Zenn / CityZenn.  One thing I would like to know about electric cars is how well they would fare in Edmonton in January.  Unlike Vancouver and Toronto, we have -20 to -40C weather that is really bad for my regular car battery.  What would it do to an electric car?
-Michael J. Lewchuk, Edmonton

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The ZENN LSV (low-speed vehicle) is powered by six AGM lead-acid batteries.  These batteries enable a federally regulated top speed of 40km/h and a range of between 50-80 kilometres per charge.  There are however, inherent challenges with lead-acid technology and its ability to function efficiently in temperature extremes.  In short, range can be impacted significantly by extreme hot or cold temperatures.  As such, the ZENN is marketed as a three-season vehicle, much like a scooter or motorcycle.

The cityZENN is planned as a fully certified, highway-capable vehicle with a top speed of approximately 125 km/h and a range of approximately 400 kilometres per charge.  These specifications are made possible by a technology breakthrough made by EEStor, Inc., ZMC’s energy storage partner.  EEStor’s EESU (Electrical Energy Storage unit) is a game-changing technology in terms of energy density, rapid charging capabilities and its ability to operate in extreme temperatures.
-Catherine Scrimgeour, Manager, Public Affairs, ZENN Motor Company

In reference to this article, I suggest you take a look at Canadian Electric Vehicles Ltd. on Vancouver Island (http://www.canev.com).
My son has worked for this company over eight years and they not only build electric vehicles but they convert Tempos and S10 pickups to total electric systems and these vehicles can and do travel on all Canadian roads.
-James Corkan, Edmonton

Interesting story but what about objectivity? If these cars were put on the road without proper safety testing the public would jump all over Transport Canada after people started dying. Oil companies could not and would not try to keep electric cars off the road. We make our own decisions, we have our own moral conscience.
-Geoff Sander (Encana), by email

My wife and I own an RV and I agree with the conclusion of the author about the advantages of travelling with an RV, especially if you are spending several days in one place. However, I was dismayed by the distorted view given in the sidebar to this article, “The Caravantage.” I would like to point out some glaring errors. First, the ferry cost is extremely high on car/air/hotel side, but not included on the RV side. Secondly the cost of fuel would suggest that your mid-size rented car is going to get about 10 MPG but the Class C motorhome will get over 20 MPG. I would love to own an RV that gets that kind of fuel mileage. Then there is the RV rental cost. I would like to know where you can rent a Class C unit for that kind of money. I couldn’t find anything for less than $200 per day, without the extra mileage included. I think a more realistic number would be about $3500 for a two week rental covering that distance of travel (probably more in mid-summer).
While I wholeheartedly agree that travelling by RV is a great way to see our wonderful country, anyone who believes that they will save that kind of money renting an RV is going to be very disappointed.
-Gordon Rowland, by email

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Re: “Alberta’s Protection Racket” (April 2009)
For 55 years I have enjoyed encounters with bears in the Kananaskis area, Bow Valley, Banff and other natural areas in the Rocky Mountains (from a good distance). We have completely ignored the protection of one of our great natural resources: our wildlife. Time after time, I have seen wildlife killed by our country’s rail systems. It is about time CN and CP Rail finally helped prevent the killing of our wildlife, especially in protected areas—just as our government has attempted to help on our highways, by constructing wildlife corridors in the mountain parks.
The only effort I’ve seen made by the railway companies was to repair grain carriers so that they leak less grain on the tracks that attracts wildlife. It is about time they follow the example of European countries and tunnel the rail lines under these areas.
As I write this letter, two more grizzlies (a female and her cub) have just been killed on rail lines in our mountains. Her other cub is now an orphan.
Let’s make government and transportation industries make a change! Call your MP or MLA.
-G. O’Brien, Calgary

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Re: “Up Front” (June 2009)
I am writing regarding the reference to Galileo in your interview with Phil Langill. The article noted that Galileo discovered the moons of Jupiter and announced that the earth was not the centre of the universe, and was consequently placed under house arrest for heresy. This is a common view of the matter, but some notable writers (Owen Barfield, Arthur Koestler) point out that Galileo did not in fact land in hot water because he discovered these moons, or made the claim of a non- geocentric universe, or invented the telescope, or any such thing. The issue that created the problem with the church was his claim that science was truth.
Modern science and hermeneutics have clearly established the elusive nature of truth, and the unavoidable tangle of interpretation and theory that governs our thinking and understanding.
-Ken Williams, by email

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Re: “Dim Sum Diaries” (June 2009)
I very much enjoyed reading Michelle Wong’s “Dim Sum Diaries” in the June 2009 issue. I recall reading a very interesting book by Canadian writer Fred Wah called “Diamond Grill” in which he speaks of his own family’s struggle with their Chinese restaurant. It’s worth taking a look at - his sense of humour is great!
-Tamara H., by email

First of all, I wanted to mention how much I enjoy reading each issue of the magazine.  It is always very interesting and informative.
Next, I would like to say that I really enjoyed reading the Dim Sum Diaries article written by Michelle Wong. I found it to be very well written and very interesting with the local history it provided and her experiences growing up in the Chinese Restaurant environment. I was able to relate to the article quite well, having grown up in a small Prairie city with an abundance of Chinese restaurants and grocery stores. I never really understood the history behind them or how prevalent they were before reading the author’s article. Kudos to her for submitting it and to you for publishing it.
-John Beattie, Lethbridge Alberta

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Re: “Travel Smarts” (June 2009)
I thought you made an unfair comparison between a car/air/hotel trip and that in a Class C rental RV. The first trip was to Vancouver Island using ferries and the second made no mention of ferries, which are particularly expensive for RVs. Also, working out what was spent on gas, the drivers on the second trip must have driven about 2500 km and Mom would have been been working in the kitchen as usual. Some holiday!
-Jackie Bigg, by email
Editor’s Note: Many readers pointed out the flaws in the trip comparison chart (and many supplied the revised math for us. To see the new calculation, please read
Can a RV Vacation Be Green?

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Re: “Travel Smarts” (June 2009)
I am writing to bring your attention to mathematical and factual inaccuracies in this article.
The article claims that the cost for a vacation to Vancouver from Calgary by air/rental car is $6,948 whereas an RV Rental vacation is $2,312.The latter number is underestimated. First, here are some assumptions:
a. Round-trip mileage between Calgary and Vancouver is approximately
2000 km
b. It is acceptable that round-trip mileage between Vancouver and Campbell River is 650 km (as stated in the article), but note this is the first of many problems as a portion of this trip is on a ferry which doesn’t count against the gas tank. However, this additional mileage is fine because when in Campbell River, either in an RV or rental car, one would likely need to drive around on day trips, etc.
c. The vacation is 14 days in the middle of summer (also stated in the article)
d. Gasoline, for the sake of ease in calculations, is $1.00 per litre
Although there are problems with the assumptions behind the air/car calculations, I will generally comment on the RV trip.
1. The article states the RV rental fee would be $1200.00. Is this for one or two weeks? Most rentals from Calgary start above $1200.00 per week in peak season. (For example: http://www.alldrive.com/2009/r-motorhome.php - $1315.00 per week + $0.35/km (500 km/week incl); http://www.canadianleisurerv.com/motorhomes.html - $145.00 per night + $0.35/km (100 km/day incl).). Plus, most RV rental companies have additional charges for “preparation” and packages of dishes/cutlery, bedding, linens etc. So, the more reasonable fee for rental is probably $1400.00 to $1800.00 per week.
2. Gasoline - The article states that the cost of fuel for a round trip from Calgary to Vancouver Island is $312.00 at 8 km per litre. If gas is $1.00/litre this would mean the trip is 2496 km. Which is pretty close to my estimate of 2000 + 650 km.
Vehicle mileage is not measured in “km per litre,” but in “litres per 100 km.” The fuel efficiency of a Class C motorhome is in the range of 20 litres per 100 km or 12 mpg (this pro-RV article states 10 mpg is average http://www.rvlifemag.com/file355/rvdn351-fuel.html). So, 2650 km round trip at 20/100km is $530.
3. Extra miles. The article states that only 700 km are included in the rental and the extra fee is $0.35 per km. Why did the article not account for these additional fees? The 700 km is per rental week, so the 2-week vacation would include 1400 free km. There is thus an overage of 1250 km from the 2650 km round trip; at $0.35 per km, this amounts to an additional $437.50
4. Ferry. Why didn’t the author include the ferry fee in the RV calculation? It would be more for a Class C motor home than a passenger car (about 35% more), but let’s even go with the amount provided for the rental car. Ferries would be an additional $288.00
5. Camp fees - The article claims a total of $300 in fees for a 14-day trip which is about $21.50 per night. The same pro-RV article quoted above puts the average camp fee at $35.00 USD per night. Salmon Point resort in Campbell river gives a peak night RV rate for $32.00 (http://www.salmonpoint.com/sp-rates.html). Camp fees would be $32.00 for 14 days which is $448.00 total.
So, the 14-day costs look more like the following:
$2800.00 RV Rental
$530 Fuel
$437.50 Mileage Overage
$288.00 Ferries
$448.00 Camp fees
$500 Meals
$5003.50 Total

Nor does the article mention additional factors that some would find a hassle when traveling by RV such as:
1. The additional travel time (more than 1/3 of your 14-day vacation is spent driving to and from the destination which means 5+ days straight)
2. Anytime you want to go someplace, you need to take the RV out of level, pack up your stuff (campsites generally don’t have a secure lockup for personal property) and drive/park that massive vehicle
3. Drive a massive vehicle through mountain passes and into confined places like ferries - many people find driving cars in those conditions difficult.
I’m not saying an RV vacation isn’t a wonderful option for some, but the article is misleading, at best, or RV industry propaganda, at worst. I don’t expect hard-core investigative journalism from Westworld magazine, but I think AMA members do require some degree of accuracy in the information published.
I believe a correction in the next issue of the magazine is in order.
-Colin Geissler, by email

What’s there to say about Banff that every Albertan doesn’t already know? Its great skiing, world-class restaurants, charming shops and cozy mountain-resort atmosphere are already essential holiday repertoire. But one point worth repeating, and reason enough to visit Banff again and again: its spectacular, humbling scenery. Established as Canada’s first national park in 1885, Banff covers 6,640 square kilometers of protected wilderness area. Its first tourists came all the way from Europe, traversing the Atlantic by steamship and the Dominion by rail. No doubt their journey was worth it then; we’re just lucky to have such easy access now.

The hideaway
To get the most out of Banff’s wilderness scenery, stay in the midst of it. At 7,000 feet, Sunshine Mountain Lodge (top) is the hill’s only ski-in, ski-out accommodation. It offers an entirely different experience from a stay in the townsite below. Guests bypass the 15-minute gondola ride to base, getting first dibs on morning powder. And, once the 5,500-or-so daily visitors ski out at dusk, lodge-dwellers again have the mountain to themselves. In this sudden solitude, pastimes include bundling up on the balcony with a steaming cup of tea and soaking in the seven-metre-wide outdoor hot tub under softly falling snow (above). Originally a simple ski lodge built in 1965, Sunshine Mountain Lodge recently underwent a series of renovations, including the just-completed construction of a new wing. The décor stays true to its mountain setting with slate floors, earthy colors, down duvets and a fireplace in every room. And from an old-time saloon to a formal dining room, the hotel’s list of culinary amenities also impresses. The food is shockingly good considering everything comes up by gondola or on the back of a snowmobile. During my stay, Eagle’s Nest chef Martin Brenner created an excellent tuna tartare, root vegetable risotto with wild mushrooms, organic beef tenderloin with local potatoes and saskatoon crème brûlée. shine_mountain_lodge.php; 1-877-542-2633

The inside track
Interior Vista: Down the halls of Sunshine Mountain Lodge, where a 120-piece art collection covers the walls.
Altitude Wellness: An aromatherapy or hot stone massage at the hotel spa. Yeast Feast: Wild Flour in Banff, for bison rye and walnut brownies.
Nocturnal Suggestion: The Banff Centre for a concert or show. (Sunshine’s gondola runs late on Fridays.) Check out the centre’s events calendar at http://www.banffcentre.ca

The economic downturn has forced many Albertans to make cuts to their household budgets. But recently this personal-finance exercise has turned risky, as insurance coverage – whether for home, business or health – increasingly ends up on the chopping block. In cruel illustration of the consequences, a Spruce Grove family who, under financial duress, allowed their insurance to lapse, lost everything when a fire destroyed their home this spring.

The total estimated cost hit $1.4 million and the family is now making mortgage payments on what amounts to a black hole. All it takes to protect your investment against potential misfortune is a small financial commitment every month. A half-million dollars worth of homeowners’ insurance, for example, costs about $800 a year. “Times are understandably tight and what might seem like a good decision to save a few dollars can really have disastrous results,” says Jim Rivait, Insurance Bureau of Canada vice-president for Alberta and the North. The Spruce Grove case was extreme, but for the average single-family home destroyed by fire, residents could expect at least $350,000 just to rebuild. Add the cost of the home’s contents and the money needed for additional living expenses, and the total replacement cost ends up being closer to $500,000.

One of the biggest benefits of home insurance is guaranteed replacement, which reflects the cost to rebuild the house, rather than its market price.

Plus, home insurance covers more than just fire and theft. As Rivait points out, “It covers liability in case someone is injured on the property. Some home insurance policies even cover against identity theft.” And while it’s possible to take precautions against some risks, little can be done to fend off damage caused by Alberta’s wild weather – including wind, hail, freezing and heavy snowfall. Rivait points to the destructive summer storm that passed through Central Alberta August 1 to 3, from which damage estimates came in around $250 million. The other issue is how the bank will react to a lapse in home insurance. “Lending institutions could call the mortgage, for one,” says Rivait.

When it comes to taking chances, renters are even more likely to drop insurance. Sometimes it’s just a case of believing they don’t have enough to insure. In fact, the cost of a computer, TV, stereo, clothes, jewellery and furniture can quickly add up into the tens of thousands, making the $18 to $30 monthly fee seem hardly worth debate. “Insurance is just that, it’s insurance,” says Rivait. “It’s to take care of you if those unforeseen things happen. Cutting it out is simply pennywise; pound foolish.”

Taking Care of Business
Alberta homeowners aren’t the only ones dialing back their insurance coverage during the downturn. Judy Mercer, director of sales and production with AMA Insurance, likes to tell the tale of the building contractor who called his agent to say he’d like to save a few bucks by “self insuring” (essentially putting a little of his own money aside to cover potential losses). “The agent convinced him of the necessity of at least his liability insurance,” she says. “Now he’s only going to self-insure his tools. But if he loses them or they get stolen, he’s on the hook.” To put things in perspective,
the cost of a small-business package policy covering liability, contents and business interruption ranges from $62 to $83 a month. Conversely, Mercer stresses, a theft or mishap could make or break a business already struggling in the current economic climate.

The Best of Times
And whether it’s your business or your body, any agent will explain that the best time to shop for insurance is when you’re healthy. Yves Beauchesne, manager of life and living benefits with AMA, receives a fair number of calls from members wanting to purchase disability insurance “right away” – only to find that they are already injured. “Of course, by then it’s too late,” he says.

It’s too late because insurance companies don’t typically offer life or health insurance to customers with preexisting conditions. Once injured or ill, an individual’s options become limited or non-existent. Before, however, (and for less than $100 a month) a healthy self-employed person who brings in $50,000 a year may qualify for a personal disability plan that offers $3,000-a-month in non-taxable income.

Moreover, a supplemental health and dental plan with a $1,500-a-year price tag carries as much as $43,900 in annual benefits. Coverage includes ambulance service and prescription drugs as well as physiotherapy and chiropractor fees, proving again that a little insurance makes it possible to survive much more than a downturn in the economy.

A visit to Superman’s high school in High River, a peak at the Brokeback “apartment” in Fort Macleod and a day spent in Delia with wannabe mobsters from the movie Knockaround Guys, Westworld magazine sure has covered a lot of ground lately. This past summer, editors Kristine Kowalchuk and Tracy Hyatt hit the CBC airwaves with “The Alberta Movie Roadshow.” The six-part series aired on Daybreak, a popular CBC weekend morning program, during the months of August and September. Each episode presented an Alberta town, a summary of the movie filmed there, descriptions of specific locales and top tourist attractions. To prepare for the show, Hyatt spent three days travelling across Alberta to get a first-hand look at many of the film locales. “The highlight of the trip was visiting the coffee shop that was used in Brokeback Mountain,” says Hyatt. “I ran into a local who told me that when Heath Ledger died, people sent flowers to the table where he sat during the movie. I got shivers down my spine knowing that Heath Ledger had been standing in the same spot that I was.”

To listen to the interviews visit the CBC Day Break website.

From Quebec City to Port Aux Basques, discover the best places to eat, visit and stay along the St. Lawrence

Quebec City
Stay Auberge Saint-Antoine
This early eighteenth-century boutique hotel located in Quebec City’s Old Port is part of the Relais & Châteaux chain. Need we say more? The two-storey lobby boast original wood beams, stone walls and floors, a library and a bar.  As you wonder throughout the hotel, you might wonder if you’re staying at a museum.  More than 5,000 artifacts were discovered near the property in 2003 during an archaeological dig, including a rare French cannon that now sits in the hotel’s lobby. 10, rue Saint-Antoine, Québec, 418-692-1022, aubergestantoine.com

Eat Panache
If you can’t afford to stay next door at Auberge Saint-Antoine at least dine at Panache, one of Canada’s best restaurants.  Executive chef Francois Blais serves up a healthy heaping of wild game, including deer and wild boar. Try the pan seared scallops with hollandaise sauce, morel and asparagus or maple-glazed halibut. 10, rue Saint-Antoine, Québec, 418-692-1022, restaurantpanache.com

Do Île d’Orléans
Head back in time at Île d’Orléans, one of Quebec’s oldest settlements. Prior to French explorer Jacques Cartier’s 1535 arrival, the island was inhabited by Aboriginals. Today about 7,000 residents call the island’s six villages – Sainte-Famille, Saint-François, Saint-Jean, Saint-Laurent, Sainte-Pétronille and Saint-Pierre – their home. Many French Canadians can still trace their ancestral roots back to the small island and their original family homes are preserved.  Bring your appetite with you to Isle d’Orleans too because the island is home to an abundance of apple orchids, strawberry and potato farms.  There’s even a chocolate factory, Chocolaterie de l’Île d’Orléans, in the village of Sainte-Pétronille.

Tadousac
Stay Hotel Tadoussac
Situated overlooking the Tadoussac Bay and the mouth of the St. Lawrence River, the village’s largest hotel is a favourite holiday spot for vacationing Quebecers.  The hotel’s whitewashed walls, red roof and dormer windows reflect its maritime history. Movie buffs might recognize the hotel from 1984’s Hotel New Hampshire, starring Jodie Foster, Rob Lowe, Nastassja Kinski and Beau Bridges. 165, rue Bord de l’Eau, Tadoussac, QC, G0T 2A0 Canada, 418-235-4421 or 1-800-561-0718

Do Center for Marine Mammal Interpretation
Although the St. Lawrence beluga whale has no natural predators, it’s estimated that about 1,000 beluga whales inhabit the St. Lawrence. To learn all about beluga whales and other marine mammals, visit the Centre for Mammal Research located at mouth of the Saguenay Fjord.  Naturalists will help visitors learn about whale behaviour, reproduction, feeding habits and migration.  Check out the centre’s skeleton collection, underwater-sounds listening station and current research projects.  108, de la cale sèche, Tadoussac , QC, G0T 2A0, 418-235-4701

Do Petite Chapelle de Tadoussac
A leisurely stroll around Tadoussac Bay takes visitors past the Petite Chapelle, the oldest wooden church in Quebec. It was built in 1747 when Quebec Jesuits headed north to spread their faith. Take a guided tours of the church and lean about a missionary’s life in the 1700s. rue du Bord-de-l’Eau, Tadoussac, QC, Canada, G0T 2A0, 418 235-4396

Baie-Comeau
Do Église Sainte-Amélie
Built in 1940 by French monk and architect Dom Bellot, Église Sainte-Amélie is an architectural marvel.  Bellot developed a signature style that features parabolic arches, brickwork in a variety of colours and strong geometric shapes. The church is also of note for its stained-glass windows made by Italian artist Guido Nincheri. 38 Marquette Avenue, Baie-Comeau, QC, G4Z 1K4, 418-296-5578

When 2009 goes down in the record books, historians might describe it as an annus horribilis – a year punctuated by job losses, plummeting natural gas prices, the H1N1 flu pandemic and deadly summer storms. One ray of hope was the minor-injury cap story. In June 2009, the Alberta Court of Appeal ruled that the $4,504 cap on pain and suffering awards for minor injuries – namely sprains, strains and whiplash – was constitutionally valid.

The monetary-cap issue isn’t new. It actually dates back to 2003 when a sweeping reform package called the Minor Injury Regulations (MIR) was introduced in Alberta. Most of the reforms, such as an increase in no-fault medical rehabilitation benefits from $10,000 to $50,000 and the introduction of automatic payment of up to 10 or 21 treatment visits based on the type of injury were tabled without any opposition. However the minor-injury cap was the most contentious and opposed reform. 

After four years in and out of court rooms, the minor-injury cap is closer to being a finished story. To assist you in your understanding of the minor-injury cap and how it will affect auto-insurance premiums, here’s some useful information.

What is a soft-tissue injury, anyway?
Soft-tissue injuries involve the non-bony parts of the body, such as muscles, tendons and ligaments as defined by the Diagnostic and Treatment Protocol Regulation (http://www.qp.alberta.ca/574.cfm?page=2004_122.cfm&leg_type=Regs&isbncln=0779730909). Anyone who has been involved in a collision and experienced general soreness or aches and pains, but no skeletal damage, has likely suffered a soft-tissue injury.  Whiplash is one of the most common soft-tissue injuries.

What happens if I have a more serious accident?
Regardless of who is responsible for the collision, your insurance company will pay out up to $50,000 per person under the Section B benefits of your automobile insurance policy to cover surgery, chiropractic, dental work, hospital stays, psychological, physical, occupational and/or massage therapy, acupuncture, professional nursing, ambulance and other needed services for serious injuries. In addition, if you are totally disabled from working, a weekly benefit of up to $400 per week may be available for up to 104 weeks.

How will the cap affect my insurance rates?
The Alberta government argued that if the cap were introduced, insurance rates would likely go down. Four weeks after the cap was upheld, the Alberta Insurance Rate Board (AIRB) announced that effective November 2009 basic auto insurance rates in Alberta would decrease by 5%, bringing the total rate reductions since 2004 to 18%.

Do other provinces have a minor-injury cap?
New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island have minor-injury caps in place. Drivers in these provinces have benefited from lower insurance premiums as a result of the monetary limits. Nova Scotia’s $2,500 cap, for example, was introduced in 2003. By 2005, premiums had decreased by 9%. 

Is this the courts’ final decision?
No. The two women who lost the appeal court decision – Peari Morrow and Brea Pedersen—announced on the eve of the AIRB decision that they planned to appeal and take their case to Supreme Court of Canada.  The lawyer representing the women argues that the cap denies collision victims their constitutional right to access fair compensation through the court system.

Will insurance companies reopen settled claims?
Individual companies will decide for themselves how they will handle settled claims. However, AMA will not reopen claims settled before February 2008. The cap only applies to new claims and ones that are currently open.

While other countries are making their roads safer, here at home the number of collisions, fatalities and injuries per capita has been rising over the past 10 years. And such stats worry Dr. Richard Tay, AMA Chair in Road Safety, University of Calgary. 

WW: What is the key component of road safety?
RT: Political support and leadership. You need buy-in at the top levels of government in order to implement anything, whether it’s public education, road engineering or enforcement. For example, Australia has a parliamentary road safety committee in each state and politicians oversee road safety. In France, President Chirac has made road safety an election issue. Of course, a scientific approach using theoretical models and evidence-based methods is also crucial.

WW: How is Canada’s road safety performance?
RT: Canada has seen no significant improvements in road safety. In fact, the number of collision-related fatalities has gone up, not down. What’s even more shocking is that the number of collision-related fatalities in Alberta has increased in the past 10 years.

WW: How effective is post-licensing? 
RT: The research shows that periodical training after acquiring a driver’s license is not successful. Such programs focus on vehicle handling capabilities, emergency braking, skid control, etc. Drivers need these skills, but they don’t face these situations often. The majority of collisions are caused by speeding, alcohol and fatigue. We need to re-think our driver-training programs to focus more on risk management and behaviour change.

WW: On the topic of aging drivers, how do we balance public safety with the right to mobility? 
RT: There’s little evidence that shows aging drivers pose a safety concern. Yes, their driving abilities and skills do deteriorate. But when you examine the behaviour of aging drivers – attitudes toward drinking and driving, speeding and distracted driving and the like – you see that they manage risk well because of their experience and maturity. Driving is not all about skills; attitude counts, too.

The Alberta summer roadtrip tends to be all about speed. Cruise control on the steaming highway. Burgers from a fast-food chain wolfed down in the car. Languid holidayers on a beeline to their destination give little thought to what lies down those dusty rural side roads. But in autumn things change. The pace of life slows. Leaves brighten and tumble. Harvests begin just as the kids head back to school. It’s the ideal time to turn off the highway for an unhurried rural wander in search of the finest grown-in-Alberta fare.

I’m on one such narrow stretch of gravel 10 km south of Turner Valley. Dust gathers and hangs in the road’s hollow behind me. Straight ahead, the Cornflower Ranch fence weaves wire and light together, backdropped by the dull umber of the foothills. The blue-black face of the Rockies looms to the west. I park the car and step onto soil etched by the passage of bison, cattle, horses and time.

At the Cornflower Ranch, owners Trudy and Richard Cutfield are bucking conventional cattle-rearing wisdom in pursuit of Food Alliance certification. (The alliance is a North American non-profit that certifies farms, ranches and food handlers for sustainable agricultural and management practices.) The couple’s pasture-raised, grass-fed cattle produce leaner meat with less marbling than the standard grain-fed variety, and unlike their cloistered cousins, Cutfield cattle are not routinely given antibiotics. The result is some of the province’s finest dry-aged beef, a densely textured and richly flavoured meat available wherever there is a demand for local fare – places like the Millarville farmers’ market and Turner Valley’s slow food pit stop, Route 40 Soup Co.

Richard Cutfield’s innate scepticism led him to deviate from the norm in an industry too often guided by the credo of “We’ve always done it that way.”

“I have questioned everything,” he says, “starting 29 years ago when my agricultural mentor advocated for naturally raised crops and animals. We didn’t have much scientific data to go on back then – just a conviction that natural had to be better for the land, animals and humans.”

When Albertans travel abroad, eating local is expected – pesto in Liguria, leek pies in Wales, congee in China. In fact, culinary tourism propels travellers around the globe. But in times of monetary belt-tightening dictated by the global recession, such memorable excursions are begging to be discovered in our own backyard.

Eating from the source is the foundation of Slow Food, a movement conceived by Italian journalist Carlo Petrini in 1986 as the yin to fast food’s yang. “Slow” in this context doesn’t refer to prep time. On the contrary: a garden-ripe tomato gazpacho takes minutes to prepare. Instead, slow connotes how long a mouthful of the delicate potage – with its ephemeral taste of Indian-summer sun – might linger on the palate. Slow food puts the pleasure back in sourcing, cooking and eating food.
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Observing a slow food diet goes hand-in-hand with supporting local agriculture. Visiting the source is a must, says Marlene Abrams, head of Alberta Agriculture’s Dine Alberta, a program dedicated to connecting restaurant chefs with producers and putting more Alberta-grown fare on restaurant plates. Abrams is keeping a close eye on the province’s new breed of chefs, ranchers and farmers – like the Cutfields – who are convinced that local markets are the best bet for ensuring a sustainable and secure food system.

“Off-the-beaten-track restaurants using local ingredients sustain rural producers and ensure that the family farm will endure,” says Abrams, who suggests another central Alberta roadtrip to meet Mary Ann Stevenson and Les Brunelle in Bashaw, population 800. On the couple’s 100-year-old family homestead, Applejack Ranch, they raise Dexter cattle, a tough Celtic breed that thrives in Alberta’s dicey weather. Together with Stevenson’s brother Geordie, the couple also recently opened Apples, a small restaurant in town. On its uncomplicated menu, their AAA natural grass-fed Dexter beef has pride of place.

“We want to be a destination,” says Brunelle over a steak dinner on the restaurant patio. Apples was once the site of the town post office. But now, not only is the setting steeped in tradition, so are the farm-direct ingredients. “It also means people don’t need to go into Camrose or Red Deer. They can keep their cash in the community.”

Still, “Eating local doesn’t necessarily mean white-tablecloth service,” says Abrams. She points to Eco Café in the hamlet of Pigeon Lake as a gold-standard example of casual, locally inspired dining. Owners Tim and Deborah Wood serve an ever-evolving selection of seasonal fare in a low-key setting along the roller-coaster road to cottage country. Then there’s Calgary’s Forage, a “farm-to-fork, foods-to-go” retail shop, where at least 75 per cent of the purchasing budget is spent on grown-in-Alberta products.

Forage’s robust and outspoken co-owner Wade Sirois is also Slow Food Calgary member and the primary motivator behind Local 101, an annual Calgary conference devoted to educating consumers about where their food comes from. His favourite foodie drive: south, to pick berries at the Saskatoon Farm and Kayben Farms, stopping at Chinook Honey Company and Chinook Arch Meadery in Okotoks and ending with supper at Route 40 Soup Co. in Turner Valley. “I love the atmosphere, the conversations with the locals, the sense of familiarity and comfort in being in a place with traditions,” he says.

There are no wrong turns when exploring Alberta’s rural food scene: a map, an appetite and an imagination are the best guides. Sometimes the next destination appears unexpectedly on road signs embedded in prairie sod, pointing to a farmers’ market, U-pick field or farm-gate stand.

In the north, for example, along the Peace Country’s long, looping roads, a ravenous traveller is sure to find good grub. Melsness Mercantile in Valhalla Centre serves a fine slice of homemade pie. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, the nearby Beaverlodge Farmers’ Market is in full swing and the beautiful Red Willow Gardens is home to some of the province’s finest snappy-sweet crisp carrots.
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Or, roll east from Edmonton into the Ukrainian bloc, where the landscape in the region is peppered by massive sculptures that pay homage to Ukrainian culinary staples – sausages, perogies, mushrooms. There’s even an outdoor oven from the old country (called a piche) beside the venerable Smoky Lake Old Fashioned Bread Bakery. Another mandatory stop: the Mundare Sausage House.

Meanwhile in central Alberta, The Jungle Farm is arguably one of the oldest – and prettiest – family farms in the region, offering strawberry U-pick fields and a farm-gate store in the centre of its berry patch.

Owners Blaine and Leona Staples pull in harness with four other farms as part of an informal coalition known as the Innisfail Growers. The team includes Elna and Doug Edgar from Edgar Farms, the authority on asparagus, as well as neighbour John Mills. One of the province’s rare under-30 farmers, Mills grows sunflowers, melons and garlic at Eagle Creek Farms. The growers share a marketing budget, offer a self-guided “Country Drive” and sell their goods together at a half-dozen farmers’ markets. These markets are, in themselves, collectives. And as business incubators, they provide affordable, low-risk venues for farmers more familiar with seeding than selling, while offering a painter’s palette of seasonal heirloom plants, heritage animal breeds and artisan crafts.

Finally, in the province’s deep south, where wind turbines perch atop hills and dinosaur bones sleep in the earth, the strawberries bloom until late fall in the fields at Broxburn Vegetables & Café, east of Lethbridge. It’s a favourite of Scott Pohorelic, executive chef and local-foods advocate with the River Café in Calgary, who spends a lot of time in farmers’ fields. “I love the sense of awe that fills me on the wide-open prairie,” he says. “Farmers respond well to serious interest in what they do.”

In the field or market, anyone leery of food-borne illnesses and pesticides can learn exactly how their food was grown or raised. Foodies can also pick up tips on how farm-fresh foods should be handled, stored and prepared for optimal enjoyment.

“Two years ago, for example, we were putting Broxburn strawberries onto plates until November,” says Pohorelic. “They were bloody delicious.” Then he adds: “There’s something humbling about kneeling on the soil, picking berries.” The statement reminds me of a passage by the 13th-century Persian poet, Rumi, who wrote, “Let the beauty of what you love be what you do. There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the earth.”

Dee Hobsbawn-Smith is a poet, chef, author and culinary educator. Visit her at http://www.curiouscook.net

Agri-vation Free
Plan your foodie roadtrip with the help of chomparoundalberta.com (click on “Off the Eaten Path” for 12 suggested routes).

• Before setting out, assume that all farms offering tours or farm-gate sales require advance notice. Calling ahead is not just polite, it ensures up-to-date information on weather, produce availability and local happenings.


• To safely bring home the goods, load the car with a cooler and cold packs. Take cash and the kids, but leave the pets at home.


• Respect bio-security by staying within posted areas on the farm and dipping your boots in cleaning solution when you get home. (Yes, you’ll want to wear boots!)

A wise driver-ed instructor once told me that driving is like making love – no one likes to admit they do it badly. In other words, if we were to ask those who share our beds – or highways – how we’re doing, we might not like the response. And yes, the comparison makes for a provocative sound bite, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t similarities between the two. To be good at either one must give undivided attention to the task at hand, be aware of how our actions affect others, stay current on new techniques and avoid slipping into auto-pilot mode.

So, let’s be frank: are you a good driver? If you had to write a driver exam or take a road test today, would you pass? Or does the mere thought of being retested generate performance anxiety? Courage: it’s time to draw back the covers for a realistic look at our overall driving habits.

Yankee No How

A similar survey done in 2004 by Lloyds TSB Insurance shows that the Brits aren’t any better at maintaining their behind-the-wheel skills, either. Nearly a quarter of those polled admitted that they’d probably fail if retested and nearly half believed they’d barely squeak through. Respondents also freely ’fessed up to a staggering list of routinely committed road violations: 53 per cent frequently turn without signalling, a third are guilty of cruising down the middle of the road and 36 per cent speed to pass slower drivers.

Your Turn, Genius

Habitual Offenders

The Usual Suspects

Habitual Offenders

Test Drive Your Knowledge
To assess your own driving prowess, take the Alberta Learner’s Licence Practice Exam.

Photo credit: Jay Procktor

You live in Grande Prairie, Alberta. You’ve been out to see A Guide to Mourning, Eugene Stickland’s mordant comedy about a family trying to arrange the funeral of their father and husband. The play was compelling, and you breathe in the crisp fall air thinking about how your own family will behave when they have to plan your send-off. You savour the evening: live theatre, wit and wisdom, a spirited discussion with friends that you ran into. It feels like you’ve been away, enjoyed a brief vacation. And the cost? $24 per person – reasonable. Peanuts, actually.

However, to mount that production, Second Street Theatre worked more than just the footlights. The script is by an Albertan, and the actors are volunteers. But a successful play requires more than a script, actors and an audience. It needs props, costumes, a director, a producer, a stage manager, a technician, stagehands and a box office – which means a long list of supporters, from the Alberta Foundation for the Arts to a variety of sponsors and local businesses willing to write a cheque. In short: it takes a community to put on live theatre.

But with the economic downturn, the non-profit and arts sectors are feeling cold shivers up their spines. Donors, many of them associated with the oil and gas industry or the retail sector, are guarding their wallets. They haven’t closed them completely, but they have re-evaluated priorities. And when a major oil company cuts arts sponsorship, as one did in 2008, those shivers become icicles. This, in a province where the generosity of the private sector has for years nurtured that elusive organism we call Alberta culture.

In the Klein years, the word “culture” was hardly even whispered. It was a not-even-lip-service zone where government funding languished, drudging along without any infusion of new money. But last year brought a breath of relief, an actual Department of Culture and Community Spirit, and a minister, Lindsay Blackett, who is downright passionate about the arts. An indefatigable optimist, Blackett has maintained arts funding at previous budget levels despite the economic downturn, in the belief that arts and culture provide great value for investment, that every dollar is replenished in multiples and that it’s the best advertisement there is for life in this province. And as he claims, “Alberta’s culture is demonstrating an incredible renaissance, one that shows this province as having some of the best talent in the world.”

Municipal governments have also stepped up to the plate, recognizing that their communities need to be seen as desirable places to live, and increasingly cognizant of the role the arts play in shaping a city’s reputation. Meanwhile, Alberta’s private sector has consistently demonstrated a shrewd awareness of the effect of culture on quality of life. When it was not given much government funding, business bench-pressed for the province as a whole; without that backup, Alberta’s artistic sector would have been destitute. Instead, in tandem with the rise of character and confidence that this province has experienced, the arts stood their ground and, working hand in hand with sponsors and donors, just got better and better. The range of cultural activities in Alberta centres large and small is now a tasty smorgasbord.

Still, despite the return on investment generated by sponsorships, corporations are carefully evaluating their support. Petro-Canada, for one, says Renee Kelly, advisor of corporate communications, has “redirected funding to include new areas and new organizations.” And with the current emphasis generally on environmental and social concerns, business is rethinking priorities along similar lines as well. Most companies, though, are doing their best to continue long-term relationships. Enbridge’s Dan O’Grady, national manager of community partnerships and investments, for example, indicates that the company “takes an integrated approach with community investments, with the goal of helping to build sustainable communities.” Such support, says O’Grady, rests on the rubric that “the arts are an integral part of our social fabric, creating the sense of belonging and co-operation needed to help sustain a healthy society. The arts create jobs, help to diversify local economies and, of course, strengthen community spirit and pride.” Similarly, Corey Evans, with WestJet, asserts that the airline continues to support festivals and plans no foreseeable cuts to its funding, though programs are re-evaluated regularly.

Obviously, these companies reflect the philosophy that culture is more than a frill. Even those who dismiss the arts as nothing more than “entertainment” have come to acknowledge its role in the quality-of-life competition. To attract and retain the very best workers, managers and families, a province must have a thriving knowledge economy. Citizens want their children to take music lessons, to experience theatre, to explore arts and crafts and learn history’s lessons. A community without galleries and museums, without festivals and live performances, simply cannot compete.

And the arts do connect everyone with their community. That chair you’re sitting on? Probably designed by somebody who went to an art and design school. The sculpture you walk past every morning on your way to work? Public art. Your daughter’s field trip to the provincial museum? The past is key to our culture. The music you’re listening to in your car? Musicians are artists. The books beside your bed? Even business writers indulge in a metaphor or two.

Culture imbues every gesture we make, from how we answer the phone to the shapes of our shoes. The arts inform habit and style, symbol and skill, patterning behaviour. They give meaning to life and enable the expression of life’s meaning. Humans do not live on bread alone.

So it’s no surprise that business sees sponsorship of the arts as key to connecting with potential customers or audiences, employees or investors. Because the arts are the spark plug in the engine of identity, most companies recognize that they have an obligation to give back to their communities. But now the frazzled economy presents the arts sector with another challenge. Keep on doing what you do so well, but do it with even less. Tighten that already tight belt.

Anne Green, director of October’s annual Banff-Calgary International Writers Festival (popularly called WordFest), confirms that with the downturn investors are definitely more cautious and that raising money has been a challenge. But, she adds, “We’ve experienced boom-and-bust situations before. We work on such tight margins, but we just go into tighter margin mode. And WordFest is reasonably well-positioned because its broad mandate includes reading, communication, literacy and education – though that does not make it immune to the vagaries of the current economic climate.”

David Anderson, general manager of the Calgary International Children’s Festival, which hosts between 40,000 and 50,000 patrons every May, describes a similar effect on fundraising. Individual supporters remain strong, but corporate support has faded – perhaps, he suggests, “because corporations may be altering their focus. An oil company might be under pressure to appear more environmentally friendly, so they shift their support to an environmental non-profit.”

“And children are an unusual target,” he continues. “Sponsorship is aimed at selling, but children aren’t seen as a market. And though some businesses understand that those children have parents, that remains an ongoing hurdle for us. Also, we’re not able to diversify in terms of supplementing revenue – a children’s festival can’t have a beer garden, for example. At the same time, we don’t want to have a huge merchandise area because parents don’t need to be bombarded. So we strive to stay away from commercial concerns.” Also, the cost of a ticket is kept deliberately low, requiring even more hard work by organizers, government and private industry. Yet the result, says Anderson proudly, is that “adults who came as children are returning with their children.”

Still, what is strikingly less positive in today’s art-funding arena is the echo effect of reductions in corporate support: it is always difficult to make up lost ground. While WordFest, which brings in more than 65 local, national and international writers to read and perform each year, isn’t as affected as publishers themselves (who are feeling both the economy and digital invasion), travel remains a major cost and cutbacks translate into fewer big-name draws.

It’s a similar dilemma for music festivals, which seek to mix homegrown talent with high-octane international performers. Terry Wickham, producer of the hugely successful Edmonton Folk Music Festival, notes that although 2009 passes sold out within four days of going on sale, sponsorship was difficult to attract, and its budget was a shade tighter. Fortunately, the Alberta Foundation for the Arts increased funding, while other supporters include Big Rock Brewery, Volkswagen, Rogers and Ramada, all companies that “have a natural connection” to folk music. Instead of “naming” the festival with one big presenter, organizers have managed to retain its local identification, ruling out the big money but keeping the event’s unique character.

Calgary’s Big Rock Brewery, for one, continues to support festivals with which they have a long-term relationship. Communications manager Tara Nychkalo explains that the company thinks of these sponsorships as “true partnerships,” mirroring founder Ed McNally’s approach to community: “When somebody needs help, everybody pitches in and lends a hand.” So, Big Rock’s philosophy is “to invest wisely and make sure that everybody is getting what they need. We’re really celebrating the craft, the little guys who need a leg up to get to where they are going.” To that end, Big Rock contributes to agricultural and environmental interests as well as the Eddies, the brewery’s answer to Oscar night, with proceeds supporting Alberta arts organizations. And while the cost of such sponsorship is low, the return is high. As Nychkalo puts it: “We have always seen a long-term payoff, and view it as an investment in the communities where we do business.”

Also in their favour, arts groups overall practice an incredible sense of fiscal responsibility, running ships so tight they could teach economists a few lessons. Volunteers do a ton of work. Nothing is wasted. Ideas on best practices are shared with similar bodies. And yet, while their profit margin is small, their impact on community is huge.

As Karen Ball of the Calgary Arts Development Authority sees it, “Cultural workers are the best financial managers. They take artistic risks but they take them carefully, from an economic standpoint. They have some acumen on how to weather bad economic situations. The leanest have the best survival strategies.”

For a budgetary snapshot of such accounting smarts, take the Edmonton Folk Festival. Sponsorships and government funding combined cover about eight per cent of the festival’s costs. Then there’s merchandise, concession (beer) sales and a cut of the profits from the CDs that artists sell. The arts-and-crafts tents are a loss; but there’s a huge gain posted by the 2,200 volunteers on 46 work crews who make the festival run smoothly. Also, the price of admission is absolutely right: four days of music and outdoor fun for $129 per adult, half that amount for those aged 12 to 17 and free admission for seniors and children under 12. What a deal for the audience, which ranges from babies to 90-plus.

Still, though the model of hard work and frugality has proved to be a success, it’s not recession-proof. For that reason, says Wickham, “We’ve never been greedy. In the good times, we’ve kept our prices low and tried to keep everything else fairly stable,” keenly aware that every nickel (in trade, in kind, or real) counts. And this, he concludes, is the real story of Alberta. It’s home to smart, hard-working people; major universities and colleges; groundbreaking research; jazz, folk and blues festivals; good orchestras; a renowned ballet company; great singers and writers – that cornucopia of expression that makes life here rich. “You can’t dismiss culture and the arts,” continues Wickham. “Our festivals are as good as those anywhere in the world. And so much of the great energy of this province is related to our cultural diversity. For the minuscule amount that is put into culture, it has a serious voice, a big role to play.”

Finally, as Terry Rock of the Calgary Arts Development Authority notes, “In tough times people want to connect with their community – and the arts become the vehicle for doing that. In a perverse way, the bust has made us rethink our priorities. In fact, part of the job of the arts is to encourage people, to give them a rich inner life.”

And yes, Albertans do need that inner life, especially because our boom was accompanied by a fair dose of bad manners and arrogance. The arts can mend that attitude, return us to our better natures. When the economy turns grumpy, people value non-monetary experiences, and culture does provide a different kind of value, the kind that can’t be bought or sold.

Aritha van Herk is a cultural speaker, a professor of Canadian Literature and the author of Mavericks: An Incorrigible History of Alberta. She lives and works in Calgary.

An enduringly popular travel destination, Scotland appeals to visitors for all sorts of reasons. Mostly these tend to be of a mature and complex nature, often related to some sort of quest. Many involve the search for an elemental landscape or a rugged history involving castles, sheep and men in kilts; in other cases, visitors are members and descendants of the 25-million strong Scottish diaspora, hunting for geographic kinship, ancestral stirrings, a lost piece of themselves. Descended from proud Scottish grandparents, I suppose I qualified on all counts, but the irresistible force drawing me was rooted in something far more crucial: I was looking for my lost golf swing.

The next paragraph will be difficult for some: specifically, the 100 per cent of humanity who do not wish to listen to someone else talk about his golf game. Unfortunately, the passage is crucial to the story and must be included so I have attempted to keep it as short as possible.

Adult onset golfer. Idiosyncratic swing. Gradual refinement. Glacial improvement. Discover radical new Stack and Tilt swing. Hop on bullet train to single-digit handicap. Envision eventual scratch. (Too little, too late for Champions Tour?) Arrange triumphal trip to mythic cradle of golf. Start shanking. Continue shanking. Shank even more. Lose all feel. Lose all form. Lose all hope. Frustration. Despair. Dread.

Well, hello Scotland!

For someone else, someone like my former low-handicapper self, the spot where we’d arranged a comfortable house for the entire month of June could not have been more ideal. North Berwick is Scotland’s original resort town, a gathering spot since medieval times where pilgrims stopped before ferrying across the Firth of Forth to the ancient town of St. Andrews, the Rome of the north. There they would worship; here they would party. But the picturesque seaside village with the extinct volcano for a backdrop truly came into its own during the late-19th century, when the dawn of rapid train travel made it a favoured summering spot for affluent residents of nearby Edinburgh, among them the family of Robert Louis Stevenson (Stevenson was inspired by the nearby island of Fidra to write Treasure Island). More recently it has become a kind of commuter Shangri-La for executives working in Edinburgh’s prosperous financial sector; they come for North Berwick’s bucolic surroundings, fine sailing and – did I mention? – golf.

Indeed, the argument can be made that North Berwick and environs contain a greater concentration of play-before-you-die courses than any other spot on the globe, even St. Andrews. Yes, the larger town’s deservedly sacred Old Course claims the title of the Home of Golf, but the current layout there was predated by Musselburgh Links on the North Berwick side of the firth. It once hosted that most notorious of ball strikers, Mary Queen of Scots, not to mention six 19th-century Open Championships. And while St. Andrews has no less than seven links, the 15 kilometres of coastline between North Berwick and Aberlady features 10, three of which outrank any of the Old Course’s neighbours on Top 100 lists.
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North Americans tend to gape in wonder at the Scottish decision to devote so much of their oceanfront to often-empty golf courses instead of overpriced residential subdivisions with unfortunate design themes. No decision was involved, of course. The hectares linking sea to land simply aren’t good for much – owing to Scotland’s climate, which can be replicated in the home laboratory by placing a whirring fan inside an old fridge then defrosting the icebox. Until the 20th century, with its sissy insulation and central heating, everyone except the odd seafarer elected to live a little inland, where temperatures are a shade warmer, the wind doesn’t blow so fiercely and potatoes can survive.

The links were therefore left to the sheep. For centuries the animals grazed the tight fescue growing out of the firm and sandy turf, producing large areas of lawn-like expanse. These were often sprinkled with blown-out dunes and bordered by scrubbier areas of gorse and less palatable grasses. Sometime around the 15th century, the locals started hitting homemade balls around these natural obstacle courses, and by the 16th century the word “obsession” had entered the language. I’m not saying there’s a connection, but I will say my wife, Jessie, and I played 36 holes the day after stepping off the plane.

Before we get into the story of our game, I must say that the linguistic appeal of Scotland being impossibly infectious, one finds it hard not to slip into the local dialect. Jessie soon learned to answer to McJess, just as I became McJim. Later in our stay we were joined by friends and fellow golfers from back home, McJack and McMick.

For better or worse (and, actually, it was worse), McJess and I happened to spend our first day on two of the three Gullane courses, the theoretically less challenging Gullane No. 2 and Gullane No. 3. In the North American imagination, Scottish golf consists of undulating, unmanicured unfairways marred by cavernous hidden bunkers and crowded by bristling impenetrable rough – bracing enough on a warm and sunny day, all but impossible during the other 355 when you’d be trying to shield your multiple layers of clothing from the horizontal rain if only your umbrella wouldn’t keep collapsing like a Wall Street investment bank. In truth that’s not universally the case, as many courses are in fact quite tame. At Gullane, however, the slim fairways and thick roughs tend to garner head shakes from even the straight-hitting locals. I lost more balls than I sank par putts, which is not the way to attract consideration for a Ryder Cup berth.

Much of that was my own fault, of course. Hosel rocket right. Can o’corn left. Check grip. Check stance. Check alignment. Rehearse swing. Painstakingly relax. Stiffen like board. Hosel rocket right. Finally approach green. Skid wedge right. Skid wedge right. Kick bag. Attempt 40-yard putt. Kick bag. 

Still, we were back at it the next day. Those who haven’t golfed in the Old Country like to say the game can’t be better there, just different. Well, it’s better. You’re not on an overgroomed playing field, but rather in the midst of an almost natural meadow that, in the case of a links course, runs right alongside the Atlantic or the North Sea. Carts are rarely seen, an aesthetic bonus that also, contrary to popular belief, keeps play moving more quickly. (Incidentally, the Scots don’t refer to playing from a vehicle as golf but as “cartball.”) There’s also the intangible benefit of every hole answering to not just a number but a name – and not some contrivance coined by a copywriter hired by the land developer, but one that dates from the 19th century and was inspired by some natural feature, strategic consideration or shocking incident that occurred during a challenge match between the club champion and a mutton-chopped hustler from across the firth in the Kingdom of Fife. The influence of myth and history on Scotland’s courses cannot be overstated. It’s not uncommon to stand on a tee box that dates from the Highland clearances or the invention of the steam engine. This certainly helps keep the game in perspective, even as it raises a question: between spooling through religions and killing one another in their sleep, how did the Scots find the time for golf?
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McJess and I were saving the most renowned and historic courses for later in the stay, which meant, for example, North Berwick’s merely 100-year-old East links instead of the almost 200-year-old West links; and in nearby Dunbar a similarly youthful shorter course instead of the main 1856 links. Well, Dunbar’s Winterfield proved to be a hugely entertaining diversion, with several 200-yard-plus par threes and a misty, ocean-sprayed back nine, while North Berwick’s Glen Golf Club was the sleeper course to end all sleeper courses, a smooth clifftop marvel with occasional forays down toward a rocky beach and hole after interesting hole.

We also played a newer course called Whitekirk. Its layout owes a little too much to North American innovations such as power carts and artificial water hazards, but it still granted us extra-firm fairways and mostly unguarded green fronts, to accommodate bump-and-run approaches. The latter are advisable in Scotland, partly because many putting surfaces won’t accept a shot through the air (instead bouncing you into whatever unspeakable troubles lie behind) and partly because of the wind, officially registered in miles-per-hour, unofficially measured by McJess and me in carry-bags-blown-over-per-round. The day we played Whitekirk, the breeze registered a gale-force nine, a number we assured ourselves we’d never experience again.

Thankfully, I was playing a bit better now, making some decent shots and the odd great one, which helped soothe the pain caused by the still inevitable hosel rockets, usually launched from my wedges. My respectably long drives had not been affected, and the combination of strong winds and bounce-happy fairways meant that many second shots were from inside 100 yards. Amazingly, I found that on the low-resistance fescue I could putt from that distance, meaning that many holes could be played, even parred, without ever striking an iron.

Equally amazing was that we found ourselves, smack in the midst of golf Nirvana, spending less and less time on the courses. Scotland, it turns out, is also about other things. These include charming high streets, blissful seaside rambles, once-fortified castles, still-fortified distilleries and, I swear this is true, really good food.

Leaving aside unvoiced speculations having to do with kilts and hazily remembered whisky-drinking episodes, New Worlders left behind assume you will do two things in the Old Country: play St. Andrews and eat a deep-fried Mars bar. We did neither, and while I can’t absolutely guarantee the courses we played are the equal of the Old Course, I can attest that Scotland’s reputation as the home of the world’s second worst food (after England’s, of course) is in shreds. With a population of about 6,000, North Berwick is home to maybe 10 pubs, and beside the door of our nearest, The Ship Inn, was a board detailing the dozens of local farms and suppliers who provision its kitchen.

Pub lunches are a timeless institution; not so institutional was the Ship Inn’s daily fresh sheet, featuring regionally appropriate dishes that change according to the choicest available ingredients and the chef’s whim. A $12 or $15 meal might involve a house-made soup or oysters to start, a choice of mains revolving around smoked fish, a lamb stew or farm-made sausage, and for dessert a pudding or rhubarb concoction swimming in thick cream. On tap: a selection of ungassed local ales as well as more conventional brews, including – another surprise – well-chosen wines.

Meanwhile, scattered around the surrounding countryside are several examples of the farm shop, Scotland’s version of the fruitstand, each brimming with exclusively local fruits and vegetables, fish and meats, baking, preserves, soup stocks, casseroles and more. Around North Berwick, happening upon a fast-food outlet would be as shocking as calling up for a tee time and being told that none is available.
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With the arrival of McMick and McJack, tee times became an important consideration once again, as there were clubs to be swung, balls to be hit, courses to be struck from one’s life list. McJack, in particular, had an itinerary in mind. Dunbar, Musselburgh, Gullane No. 1 and North Berwick were in. Muirfield, the area’s crown jewel, would have to wait. Its St. Andrews-like green fee didn’t fit our budget, though that may have been irrelevant in any case. A private club, the 15-time Open Championship venue is ostensibly playable by the public but in practice less than eager to host them. A former club secretary achieved renown for his routine of first gazing across the empty acres with binoculars before telling visitors that, terribly sorry, he couldn’t get them on because the course was just too busy.

As much as we’d liked Winterfield, Dunbar proper proved to be in another league, a mid-19th century layout by the legendary Old Tom Morris, stretched out along the North Sea and set mere metres from the waves. Virtually unchanged in 150 years, it curls by old stone walls and up and down punch bowls and hillocks, a formula exhilarating enough that McJack and I played it twice and would have happily done 54 if the late June day hadn’t faded away after only 20 hours.

Musselburgh was another story: a flat piece of land marooned in the middle of a somewhat dowdy suburb and, strangely enough, surrounded by Edinburgh’s racetrack. Still, some of the holes play exactly as they did in the 1700s. McJack donned Harris Tweed and rented hickory-shafted clubs for his turn on the world’s oldest continuously played course and still defeated all comers. 

That’s the thing with golf: when you’re on, you’re really on. And I was off, really off, by the time we got to Gullane No. 1, on a record-smashing day when the breeze proved to be an astonishing 12-bagger. I will spare the details, except to note that the game got up to its usual coquettish tricks, ensuring I would be back for more by letting me bounce my tee shot almost onto the green on the hurricane-aided 18th.

Of course, I would have been back regardless because the one spot left on our list was North Berwick, the 13th oldest course in the world. It was also one I had gazed upon every day for a month now, not to mention walked the extent of during some jet-lagged early mornings. There were only three of us by this point, McJack, McJess and McSelf, and after so long in the area we knew something about what we would be playing. This was a course from the so-called primitive age of golf, when the designer, if there was such a person, did little more than designate the teeing areas and greens. Nature took care of the rest, and here that meant hole after hole threading along the Firth of Forth, past rocky outcrops and up and down grassed-over dunes.
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The first hole is a short par four, though it’s anything but an easy touch, owing to the green’s steep rightward slant toward the adjacent sea and its location atop a small cliff. The characteristically wry starter urged us to hit a long iron off the tee rather than take our chances on the exposed rock below the face, but with only one reliable stick in the bag I had no choice but to hit my driver. No problem at all, he assured me after my ball found the stony area. “Now, you’ll be borrowing your friend’s club,” he said – aye, because certainly a fellow wouldn’t want to risk ruining his own mashie-niblick amid all those rocks.

And so it went: the long third and our first encounter with criss-crossing, centuries-old stone walls, first erected to stop sheep but equally effective with golf balls; the 13th, a short par four but one in which the green is guarded by a wall on one side, a genuine beach on the other; the par three 15th, the famous Redan, one of the most strategic and copied holes in golf, but effortlessly birdied by McJess. Coming down the final stretch, we were held up by slower players even as the group of juniors I’d watched pitch effortlessly across the wall for birdie chances on 13 caught us from behind. They were standing with us on 18 as I prepared for my last chance at Scottish golf immortality, another short par four, this one a little downhill.

Well, great: a gallery. Still, take wide stance. Initiate swing with left shoulder. Extend club head straight back from target as far from body as possible. Make full shoulder turn. Feel belly tug at top of backswing. Begin downswing with right hip. Sweep through ball. Push forward into follow-through. Hold pose. Watch ball launch straight down fairway. Bounce. Bounce. Disappear down swale. Roll back up. Trickle onto green. Stop a few feet from pin. “Brilliant, sir!”

Well, it was a moment, and I’m glad it happened, but I can’t say it marked a turning point in the search for the lost swing. I didn’t find it then, I haven’t found it since, and I’m increasingly coming round to the possibility that I’ll never find it again. Still, something else happened during that month in Scotland, something every bit as important. Between the stone walls, the stone houses, the green, green countryside and the blue, blue sea, I found something else. Call it geographic kinship, call it ancestral stirring. I’ll just give my bag a little kick and call it a lost piece of myself. 

And now the easy part
The key to arranging a golf trip in Scotland is straightforward: show up. With almost 600 courses for five million people, getting on is rarely an issue except at a handful of big-name links like St. Andrews. (There, tee times should be booked a year in advance, though an overnight lottery is available for single players.)

Green fees are comparable to North America: $30 to $80 for most inland courses and the lesser-known links; $100 and up for more important links; $200 to $400 for courses in the Open Championship rota. A day pass costs little more than a round, and the farther one gets from Glasgow, Edinburgh and St. Andrews, the cheaper the play, so consider Scotland’s wild west, around Aberdeen, Inverness. At many clubs, the guest rate is a fraction of the visitor rate, so if you can wrangle reciprocal privileges or arrange to play with a member, brilliant. If not, visit during the off-season (rates drop dramatically in the winter) or search the web for coupons and discounts — you’re in Scotland, remember, so no one will think less of you.

You can also accommodate yourself exactly as you see fit: self-catering cottages begin at around $200 a week, nightly bed and breakfasts are about $40 a person, hotels a little more. More luxurious lodgings are equally abundant. But however you decide to approach things, be sure to order a free copy of the superb Official Guide to Golf in Scotland from http://www.visitscotland.com.

In these seafaring parts, “Barrett’s Privateers” is generally considered the unofficial anthem, a weekend staple that spills year-round from the doorways of waterside pubs and clubs. True, most Maritimers might stumble over the poem’s numerous verses. But to every last man, woman and child, we can be counted on for a rousing, foot-stomping, glass-banging rendition of the chorus: 

God damn them all!
I was told, we’d cruise the seas for American gold
We’d fire no guns! Shed no tears!
But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett’s Privateers.

It’s that standing “on a Halifax pier” that leaves us dewy-eyed, for Maritimers love to be on the water. (Failing that, we’re keen to raise a jar next to the water.) But this is the year I won’t be left stranded, comforted only by dreams of running away to sea. In less than an hour I’ll board the Canadian-flagged-and-crewed SV Caledonia, a 245-foot-long barquentine that, for the nautically challenged (i.e., me), looks like a cross between the Bounty and the Bluenose. Ahead of us is a 10-day cruise of the St. Lawrence: We’ll depart Quebec City and, bucking that time-worn admonition to go west, sail east for Newfoundland, stopping at Tadoussac, Baie-Comeau, Anticosti Island, Havre-Saint-Pierre, Norris Point and Corner Brook. This series of ports has long been a trading route for local First Nations – a route later travelled by 18th-century explorers, invading armies, turn-of-the-century settlers and fur traders, freighters flying every country’s flag and, now, us.

Launched off Iceland in 1949 as a fishing boat, the Caledonia sailed worldwide as a freighter before being converted into a floating hydrology research station. In 2008, under the stewardship of entrepreneurs and sailing enthusiasts Doug Proterho, Michelle Clark and David Evans, it then underwent a $9.5-million, five-year retrofit in Halifax. Today, the vessel’s 32 luxury cabins feature ensuite baths, flat-screen TVs and Everest-like displays of luxury linens reminiscent of the Westin’s Heavenly Bed concept. And while not suitable for those who require a beauty salon and the myriad amenities offered aboard many cruise lines’ floating resorts, its old-world exterior and modernized interior symbolize idyllic, boutique-style adventure for the discerning and inquisitive traveller. Me, I’m so eager to board that, rather than wait for the cab to nudge its way through the throng on Quebec City’s waterfront, I grab my duffle, shove my cash toward the driver and leap to the sidewalk, using the three yellow masts sprouting from a nearby office building as a beacon.

We cast off just after noon with Captain Kim Smith, a laid-back, flip-flop-shod Lunenburger, acting out a scene that will be repeated daily over the next week and a half. He sticks his head over the railing, studies water and wharf, ropes and rigging – and, waving his hands, shouts orders to the blue-clad sailing crew who enthusiastically pull on massive lines and scamper up riggings as if gravity doesn’t apply. A crowd gathers along the waterfront and on boats bobbing in the basin as the Caledonia does a 180-degree turn in the space of her own length. It is masterful seamanship – inspiring, if intimidating, to someone like me, who once almost sank a cabin cruiser in a French canal.

The crowds wave. We wave back, then retire to a late lunch of apple and fennel soup, salad and duck confit on crusty bread. This may be a small ship, but the meals could pass muster at any fine restaurant. Based on local, seasonally fresh ingredients, the menu over the next week will range from warm croissants at breakfast to quail eggs at lunch to the most magnificent lobster I have ever tasted. (Timothy Charles, the Nova Scotia-born chef who worked at Tofino’s world-renowned Wickaninnish Inn before joining the Caledonia’s 22-person crew, will confide that he half-cooks his lobsters before de-shelling and a final butter bath.)

The passenger manifest reveals an eclectic group. Friends Jill and Bill and Hillary and Tim hail from Vancouver, where the two women met after moving from New Jersey. Tim is a retired doctor, Bill a retired engineer (who consulted on Prince Edward Island’s Confederation Bridge). Ed and Larry are avid gardeners who plant 12,000 flowers every year. Bruce, a retired minister, is married to Ruth, who steps out each morning in a new hat. Lorna is mad for rug-hooking and hails from rural Ontario. Laura is a banker in Toronto. Chantal and Henri, from Ottawa, work for the federal government. From Alberta we have three couples: Mary Anne and Deryl, Tim and Suzanne and Bill and Agnes, who constantly travel together (the guys play pranks on each other; the women roll their eyes). And finally there are four friends from France: cousins Françoise and Solange, and two men they met at the end of World War II, Jean and André. All of us are united in our love of the sea and the sense that we’ve embarked on a journey few modern-day travellers experience.

According to maritime historians, our idealized expectations are the fallout from the publication of English poet laureate John Masefield’s 1902 poem “Sea-Fever,” which begins with these now-iconic lines: “I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky, / And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by . . .” Ever since, the term “tall ship” has been shorthand for all manner of large sailing vessels, including barques, barquentines, brigs, brigantines, ketches, schooners and sloops. (While most of us still imagine the wooden pirate ships and Spanish galleons of the 16th and 17th centuries when we hear the term, the reality is that most early 20th-century tall ships that have survived are iron-hulled.) Of course, few modern-day shipbuilders receive commissions for traditional tall ships, but some companies and educational trusts are still finding old hulls to convert to training ships and small cruisers. The Caledonia is one of 200 or so such vessels now registered worldwide (at 245 feet and with 17,000 square feet of sail, she represents only a mid-sized example of this great sailing tradition). Yet despite such modest numbers, the general public is finding increased access to these icons: through sailing lessons, floating classrooms for private schools (such as Lunenburg’s Class Afloat), daytrips and adventure cruises.

At eight the next morning, we awake to the high-pitched calls of whales sounding in the deep. The Caledonia is anchored wharf-side at Tadoussac, and two researchers from its Centre d’interprétation des mammifères marins (Centre for the Interpretation of Marine Mammals/CIMM) are showing slides and videos in the ship’s dining room and explaining the effects of human-generated noise on whales – some of their research findings generated while tracking and tagging fin, beluga and minke whales in the St. Lawrence and Saguenay Fjord. It’s a spellbinding presentation.

The two scientists are just the first in an intriguing lineup of local experts and entertainers scheduled to board en route. Still, the ship’s casual approach keeps us blessedly free of such big-ship pressures as dressing for dinner and booking tours. Each port’s recommended highlights are instead discreetly posted, with options for guided and solo excursions. Tadoussac, for example, is a popular summer destination for Quebecers keen on sandy beaches, fresh seafood, sailing and sea kayaking. Ed and Larry soon saunter off beachcombing while Mary Anne and Deryl cycle to a dune-lined secluded beach on the far side of town. The rest of us hike the treed trail just up from the wharf and wander the CIMM. After, I stroll alone into the town’s small, restored fur-trading post, now a museum, where exhibits of tanned beaver, fox, deer and bear hides help illustrate the fur-trade era. I feel a certain kinship, given that, like Tadoussac, Port Royal – near my home in Nova Scotia’s Annapolis Valley – was founded by Samuel de Champlain and Pierre Sieur de Monts.

A day later in Baie des Anglais at Baie-Comeau, we pile into taxis bound for the Centre boréal du Saint-Laurent, a heavily treed park with several lakes and beaches. The group’s hiking contingent again heads for the hills (an ambitious route Henri laughingly calls “a forced march”) while the rest of us climb a five-storey zipline tower to plummet over the treetops and across Lac Glaciaire. The return line sags just enough so that the less svelte among us are dipped rear-first into the lake, a refreshing break from the Indian summer heat – walking back through the forest to where the taxis will pick us up, the bugs are ferocious.

Each day blurs into the next. Anticosti Island, three times the size of Rhode Island, boasts only 234 residents but 166,000 deer and Vaureal Falls, 70 metres taller than Niagara (it is also home to a hunting estate built for French chocolatier Henri Manier). I buy wine at the hardware store, just for the novelty of being able to do so outside an official wine and beer outlet. At Newfoundland’s Gros Morne National Park, we Zodiac past a pod of four humpbacks as another breeches 10 metres off the bow. (Françoise almost falls overboard trying to take pictures.) And docked at Havre-Saint-Pierre, we wander the first in a string of 40 limestone islands in the little-known Mingan Archipelago National Park Reserve, just 45 minutes by Zodiac from the town wharf. (At the crescent-shaped, tree-lined bay of Ile Quarry, a naturalist identifies rare alpine and marine plants as the avid gardeners among us throw themselves to the boardwalk for close-ups.)

Scattered among the on-shore adventures: more guest naturalists and local experts report on climate change and studies of marine life in Bonne Bay, where we learn how to toss collector tubes into the bay to gather microscopic samples. We welcome Acadian fiddlers on board in Harve-Saint-Pierre (then sneak out for an ear-drum-damaging battle of the bands in the local arena). And in Norris Point, Newfoundland, a Celtic folksinger is accompanied by a comic who “screeches in” outsiders like us with the traditional reciting of an oath, the tossing back of a shot of Newfoundland’s famous Screech and the kissing of a dead codfish. But the biggest thrill is the sailing. The wind isn’t with us at first, so we practice. We learn that each rope has to be pulled in a certain order and tempo, and that how and when to set each sail depends on wind and waves. We take lessons in tying knots, sailing against the wind and navigation. But mostly we pull, and it quickly becomes apparent what an abdominal workout rope pulling is.

Finally, on the sixth day, a wind of 10 knots rises from the east, and Captain Kim Smith sends out the command we’ve all been waiting to hear. Fortunately, the crew translates the captain’s orders. When Smith shouts, “Hoist the main staysail,” Nick, the muscular, tanned young bosun from Malta, thrusts a wrist-thick rope into the waiting hands of Deryl, Tim and I and says, “Pull this.” Grunts, groans and grimaces follow as we pull and pull and pull in unison. Forty-four metres above us, winches creak and the rings holding the vertical sails rattle up the metal masts. Ropes thud against the iron deck and sails swell with a subtle bloom, like sheets on a clothesline. The Caledonia, pitching to starboard at an eight-degree angle, digs in and races through the waves at a little over six knots. We squint as the sun-washed, salt-laced sea air rushes over us, our world suddenly so much more alive. “Ships are the nearest things to dreams that hands have ever made,” is how B.C. poet Robert N. Rose described it a century ago. “For somewhere deep in their oaken hearts, the soul of a song is laid.”

Full-keel Deals

• The featured Caledonia accommodates up to 77 passengers on voyages along the coastlines of Quebec, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and in the Caribbean.
• The Europa, a Dutch-owned tall ship originally built as a floating lighthouse in 1911, offers seven-to-62-day cruises in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres, as well as 22-day Antarctic cruises.
• The Stad Amsterdam is a 250-foot-long tall ship built in 2000 to accommodate 28 passengers in 14 cabins. It offers seven-to-21-day schedules on its Mediterranean, Caribbean and Transatlantic sails.
• The Star ClipperThe Star Clipper line has three modern sailing ships that can accommodate from 170 to 227 passengers and feature such amenities as pools and gyms; they also tend to be a little more formal than other tall ships.

The ‘eat locally’ trend has brought us back to our roots, literally. Here’s a look at how Alberta’s predominantly urban population is rethinking how to feed itself closer to home.

Photo credit: Itzafineday, Creative Commons, Flickr

Greater Edmonton Alliance (GEA) is a multi-issue social advocacy group. Lately, one of its main focuses has been on lobbying the municipal government to adopt a local food policy in the interest of revitalizing the Edmonton’s local food economy. (Many other municipalities in Canada have legislated food security policies and protected agricultural land in their bylaws.) The GEA has also been behind the massive city hall rallies to preserve the existing highly fertile urban farmland in northeast Edmonton. Aberta has a long legacy of community gardens. By the 1920s, Vacant Lot Garden Clubs grew a significant amount of the fresh produce for c

Day two. “At sea” – two of the happiest words in the English language, along with “summer afternoon” and “tea, madam?” The MS Ryndam is steaming south from San Diego, bound for the Mexican Riviera and the Sea of Cortez.

We may say that we cruise to get away from it all or to have it all (from bingo to Las Vegas shows and Elizabethan-scale buffets), even to unpack only once. But doesn’t it really come down to the romance of being at sea? As Joseph Conrad so lyrically puts it in The Mirror of the Sea: “Yes, it needed a few days after the taking of your departure for a ship’s company to shake down into their places, and for the soothing deep-water ship routine to establish its beneficent sway.”

John McMullen, an L.A.-based expert in Japanese antiquities who consulted on the film Memoirs of a Geisha, has shaken down into his place just a few Charles Eames leather lounge chairs away from mine in the Explorations Café-cum-library. Headset on, I’m listening to Kiri Te Kanawa’s sublime “In the Bleak Midwinter,” one of 33,000 musical selections on Holland America’s giant iPod. The blue Pacific dazzles past floor-to- ceiling windows.

We wave lazily and smile. John is so skilled at the art of cruising he has turned his back to the sea. Within half an hour of boarding yesterday, while new passengers squirrelled up and around the ship’s 10 decks, a relaxed John, feet up, was reading Dean Koontz’s Velocity in a corner of the Ocean Bar when I first stumbled upon him. “Oh yes, I have my favourite places,” he said, explaining how he and wife Bobbie sail the same ship on the same route precisely because they feel no need to explore ship or shore and can just do . . . well, whatever they feel like.

But it is day two when Conrad’s words “a ship’s company . . . shakes down into their places” hit me like a maritime Da Vinci Code. I have grasped the secret Holy Grail of happy cruising. Truly contented passengers travel on the same ship, but in parallel universes. My folly until now has been trying to embrace everything cruise ships offer. Meanwhile the cruise-savvy have been choosing their own cruise experience – tailored to their own interests, needs or whims. Wiser cruisers, for example, loll by the stern’s Sea View pool for 10 days. Others stake out favourite steamer chairs on immaculate teak decks or sign up for every shore excursion going. Walkers live for dawn on the Lower Promenade, while many more don’t care if Fritzie is tickling the ivories in the Piano Bar; they’re relaxing in terry bathrobes on their stateroom verandah, shoes set out for a complementary polish after a leisurely bath. A DVD and room service Viennese Apple Strudel completes their evening.

In other words, you can float your own boat. And what floats my boat is the chance to step into page 782 of 1,000 Places to See Before You Die. For Holland America is the only cruise line offering the world’s longest shore excursion: a chance to ride the rails of the jaunty Ferrocarril Chihuahua al Pacífico across the Sierra Madre to Mexico’s fabled Barranca del Cobre, or Copper Canyon (an area four times the size of the Grand Canyon, carved by rivers twice as deep and home to the Tarahumara Indians). An eight-man sanitizing team fogs down the entire train, Purell hand sanitizer will be omnipresent against gastrointestinal transfer and margaritas in the train’s bar car are pronounced “safe to drink.” It’s the hottest ticket on the ship and quickly sells out to the first 100 passengers keen to muster at 4 a.m. for the police-escorted bus ride to El Fuerte train station.

It’s a jolly beginning. Most of our eager band of Americanos, Dutch and Australians, heavily self-caffeinated since 3 a.m., are enthusing over the passing scenery. The windows on our air-conditioned cars don’t open, so the keen photographers among us hang out the open vestibules between cars, hair whipping, too intent on capturing the next curve of the train across a trestle to notice organ-pipe cacti and power poles blurring past frighteningly close. Cheerful local guides leap up occasionally to describe the staggering feat of building the railway that rises from sea level to 2,400 metres (Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa was briefly a contractor) and to answer our questions about Tarahumara culture.

The tiny, hardy Tarahumara men and women are possibly the world’s most natural long-distance runners. Literally “running people” (Rarámuri in their own language), the Tarahumara run ultra-marathons for several days and torch-lit nights through the wild ravines of the Sierra Madre, just for fun. Kickball games can span more than 300 km. Deer hunting is simple. Run the deer down until the exhausted animal collapses. Impressed, Adidas offered a sponsorship deal. Fine, replied the Tarahumara, said to be the most difficult for the Jesuits to convert. Oh, but we won’t wear your shoes. How can you not be entranced by people whose poetic language offers “I greet you, as the dove that warbles” instead of hello, who believe their “neighbourhood” is halfway to heaven, whose legends tell of stars that are Tarahumara women shot into the sky on arrows?

Over the next six hours, we will ride the rails of the Chihuahua al Pacífico as it jostles and sways across 39 bridges and through 87 tunnels for 15 hours on its full 483-km journey, crossing five climatic zones and two states – from the Gulf of California in the state of Sinaloa to inland Chihuahua. Our guide promises that the six-hour section we’re travelling from the western end of the route will cross the most dramatic scenery and most of those bridges and tunnels, some almost two km long. Train buffs regret we won’t experience El Lazo, which is farther east than our last stop. At El Lazo, or “The Loop,” the Chihuahua al Pacífico doubles back so tightly in its ascent that the train actually crosses under itself. Small wonder it took a century to complete the railroad (the last spike was placed in 1961).

Divisadero Barrancas is a brief 15-minute whistle stop and our first glimpse of the Tarahumara. Kerchiefed young girls, bright as a bouquet of birthday balloons in their wide skirts, printed blouses and shawls, shyly offer small baskets for sale. The exquisite double-weave baskets of sotol, beargrass leaves and pine needles, created by their skilled mothers, only appear at our final disembarkation at Posada Barrancas. Here we break into smaller groups to rotate through three scenarios: a tasty light lunch, a stunning view into the canyon and, for the sure-footed, a 150-step descent to the wind-sculpted cliffside caves of the Tarahumara – the ultimate view homes.

Of course it’s all staged for us. We’ve been told life is hard here, and some informed passengers have brought school supplies for children, many of whom board at distant schools. But despite their poverty, the dignified Tarahumara do not barter. They politely state a price for the baskets, wooden dolls and rustic violins carved by the men. What do they make of us, I wonder: this trainload of gringos who surround their dance performance sucking on water bottles, watching them second-hand through digital screens held at arm’s length? The Tarahumara avert their eyes, too, but through cultural politeness. Then one of the men, in traditional kowera hair band, loose shirt, pants and huaraches, invites a few passengers to outrun the Tarahumara men and women in a game of rarajipame, kicking a hand-carved wooden ball. The interaction ends in genuine laughter, easy triumph for the Tarahumara and softly shaken hands.

Peering into the canyon to the river almost two km below, I feel a sound that I’ve never heard before. An unearthly rush, a distant roar, lifts across my body. It is wind from another time – time a mile deep. Somewhere in these canyons live 70,000 Tarahumara, forced to retreat from Spanish slavery in the 16th century and, later, from the Mexican authorities. These gentle people are still at the mercy of outsiders: nowadays it’s loggers and drug lords. I shiver in the dry noon-day heat.

On the trip back, we switch sides to ensure everyone has a new view. Some begin to nod off. Curiously, it is the few elderly passengers among us, some with canes, who never snooze; their bright eyes remain focussed on the train windows, soaking in every remaining frame of life.

In the packed bar car, there’s a relaxed back-to-the-barn buzz and distinctly 1950s happy-hour feel. Polite white-shirted waiters lean expertly into the sway of the train, lowering trays of margaritas to the sound of mariachi, still the music of choice when Mexicans celebrate. After a long-necked cerveza Pacífico, I settle into a borrowed copy of Mexico: True Stories of Life on the Road. Author Rob Schultheis, who wrote the screen adaptation for Seven Years in Tibet, tells of his own Copper Canyon experience, hopping off the train for several days at a time to hike and discover more of this “mysterious, convoluted territory.” He writes of other survivors in these steep-sided canyons, or barrancas: 17th-century Jesuit missions and silver mining towns, jaguars, mountain lions and wolves, and the raw, Wild West charm of Creel, a dusty, rough-edged little town “where local lawmen in the plaza pack six-guns [and] vaqueros on horseback trot the streets.” Schultheis crosses canyon after canyon in a series of heart-stopping hairpins on a rough dirt road in a battered old Ford pickup with local guide Jésus Manuel Olivas to find Batopilas, an end-of-the-road village, once a boomtown in the gold and silver rush of the 1800s. “Imagine Tahiti, Treasure Island, hidden in the bottom of the Grand Canyon” where palms sway and gardens beside the narrow cobbled street burst with mangos, papayas, lemons and tropical flowers.

The train has finished its descent back to where we began. Long shadows of track-side mesquite give way to dusk. A lone leathery longhorn cow and her calf amble over the hard-scrabble land. I hang out the vestibule, close my eyes and breathe in the warm evening air of Mexico’s history.

We may not have gone as deep into the barrancas as Rob Schultheis, but we have gone long. Exhaustion is palpable by 11 p.m. as we totter off the sorry-no-toilets buses at Topolobampo pier, the wise ones clutching pillows, 19 hours after the day began.

Lined up at the gangplank, standing at attention and in their dress whites, is the full complement of ship’s officers. We feel like returning POWs, given this unexpected recognition. Slightly embarrassed but pleased, we all stand a little taller as we board.

Next morning I recognize a fellow train traveller in the elevator. She confesses to being in a disoriented state after a sleepless night of headaches. “So you wouldn’t recommend the shore trip?” I assume. “Oh, but I would!” she corrects me vehemently. “The train was wonderful – it’s the reason we came!” The story of our Copper Canyon excursion spreads like a myth through the ship. Passengers unwilling to rise at 3 a.m. to ride the rails look at we happy few who did with new respect and regret.

Yet we are only midway through the Ryndam’s five other ports of call: Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlán, Loreto, La Paz and Cabo San Lucas, scattered on both sides of the Sea of Cortez – the world’s youngest sea that rushed in when an earthquake split the Baja California Peninsula from Mexico’s mainland. I will disembark solo into Mexico at two of these ports. And each evening, back onboard ship, I’ll hear tales from those who chose, escorted, to get up close and personal with dolphins, to scuba-dive or snorkel past sea lions and parrot fish, bike off-road, Tarzan through the treetops on a zipline, fly to San Sebastián (once a thriving silver-mining town and now a sleepy UNESCO World Heritage Site) or spot a Mexican brown pelican for their birders’ life list – and more. Me, I’ve opted to move at my own pace.

By the time I disembark in Puerto Vallarta, it’s lunchtime. I make my way to Isla Río Cuale, a tiny car-free island with a cultural centre, museum, restaurants, shops, open-air stalls and statue of John Huston, whose film Night of the Iguana, starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, put the tiny fishing village on the tourist map in the 1950s as Mexico’s most popular Pacific resort. I skip the crowded River Café and wander into the Bistro Jazz Café, overhanging the Río Cuale. Customers are mostly Mexican. Crisp white linen and striped awnings give a sense of occasion. Chilled white wine and grilled striped prawns appear. Aaron Neville croons, “It’s a rainy night in Georgia . . .” Across the river from my table, a man sweeps leaves in front of a pink building with wrought-iron railings. The sound of hands working – sweeping, shaping tortillas.

After lunch, wandering backstreets where black-eyed boys ride by on pickup trucks of tomatoes, I follow the lead of Mexicans and hug the street’s shaded side, stepping past grannies and young children who watch this sweaty güera – blonde foreign woman – from their home stoops. Near La Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a young woman in the cool, modern Art Café suggests a sample plate of five different gelati, each on a tiny spoon. After, on the cathedral steps, I buy a small doll from an old woman with more dolls than teeth, who gestures me to sit by her. She smiles and holds my hand for a time. A deeply satisfying day.

A few days later, in Mazatlán, home of the largest shrimp fleet in the world, I stumble into Harry Swieg. The ex-pat Colorado lawyer/rodeo team roper is having breakfast, with his dog Goldie at his feet, at their regular table in the sun-splashed courtyard of the Hotel Melville in the centro histórico. A waiter waves me to a seat. Café? Soon I’m relaxing by the central fountain; tiny birds trill from purple bougainvillea hanging off the walls. Harry nods. I pat Goldie. Unlike some Mexican resorts, Harry tells me, Mazatlán has a life beyond tourism. People support the arts – and there’s no shortage, looking at the playbills on the Teatro Angela Peralta. Formerly the Rubio Theatre, it was renamed for the Mexican Nightingale, Peralta, a world-famous opera singer. Ironically, she never sang a note here, having died of yellow fever in Mazatlán just before her scheduled performance in 1883.

Harry and Goldie stroll with me as far as Plazuela Machado, nodding to passing friends who call out “Buenos días, Harry!” I head deeper into the historic centre’s eclectic mix of 19th-century neoclassic and baroque architecture, housing small galleries and local designer jewellery shops. Pairs of uniformed school girls walk past, always one slim, one plump. At siesta time, a slightly built, bored security guard whistles up from the empty street to an unseen canary on a shuttered second floor and waits for its answer.

My last day at sea. El Arco, Cabo’s iconic rock arch that punctuates the tip of Baja California, dividing the Sea of Cortez from the Pacific, is behind us, San Diego just 24 hours away. I could begin with early morning laps of the teak deck, before a Greenhouse Spa seminar on flatter stomachs, work out on weights, sign up for a spinning class and a stone massage. I don’t. I double up on crisp bacon and coffee at breakfast and stroll the ship slowly, pausing at favourite places and nodding to now-familiar faces of passengers and crew.

Before the farewell dinner, I pause at the Ocean Bar to admire a well-groomed lady of a certain age with a skilled younger man, dipping and gliding on the small dance floor in the magic minutes between tea and cocktails. Vancouverites Danny and Mary McMenemy, nodding at the waiter for a second round, have seen it all. Only forty-something, they’re on their 11th cruise with Holland America.

The McMenemys like everything about five-star Holland America: its mid-sized ships; the food (from pheasant breast to Baja Wahoo and nasi goreng); flexible dining times; options to avoid formal nights if they choose and the intimate by-reservation Pinnacle Grill; public rooms filled with superb antiques and art; gracious service from a smiling international crew (nearly one crew member for every two guests); well-organized shore excursions; and professional entertainment. Between trips, Danny trolls the web for deals (he once booked a $4,500 suite for $1,700), and Holland America treats such regular “Mariners,” who consistently rank Holland America among the world’s best cruise lines, well. “One year,” says Mary, “we were upgraded to a suite on the Zuiderdam with a balcony that literally wrapped halfway around the stern. We never left our cabin!”

I can relate. I would dearly love more days at sea, sequestered in the Explorations Cafe, with time to read The Secret Life of Lobsters. Even Inspector Morse, who would surely despise cruising, could be happy here, eyes closed, reclining in an iconic leather chair, absorbing Wagner and a single malt.

At dinner, I talk to Captain Peter J. Van Maurik – hooked on a life at sea since, as an impressionable nine-year-old, he gardened for a retired sea captain. He is pleased to hear how much I’ve enjoyed, well, the Holland in Holland America, from its distinctive blue-hulled ships and Indonesian crew (a reminder of the Dutch Indies) to the museum-quality antiques and art of the public rooms, and the formal toast to Queen Beatrix, whose April 30 investiture happened to coincide with our cruise and under whose law we sail.

By midnight, I’ve heaved my two tagged suitcases into the hallway, mindful to keep back clothes for tomorrow. (“It happens every trip,” the cruise director warned. “One passenger had to leave wearing two sweaters – one as pants.”) Then it’s off to the deck of the Ryndam for a last look at the star-flung Mexican night, stars that I know now are Tarahumara women, shot into the sky on arrows.

Photo credit: u07ch, Creative Commons, Flickr

Greyfriar’s Kirk
One of the most feared men in 17th century Scotland wasn’t a sword-wielding warrior or territory-expanding king. It was a ruthless lord and public prosecutor named George MacKenzie. If MacKenzie even suspected that someone was plotting a revolt against King Charles II, he would imprison them in , Edinburgh’s Greyfriars Kirkyard, leaving them to starve to death. Under his watch, more than 18,000 Covenanters, a group of presbyterians opposed to episcopacy, met their death. Lucky Covenanters were executed immediately and their lopped heads displayed on the prison walls for all to see. MacKenize died in 1691 and was buried in the Greyfriars Kirkyard in Edinburgh. Although there have been sporadic tales of poltergeist activity, the MacKenzie ghost really became active in the 1990s when his tomb was disturbed and desecrated. Numerous passerbys have since been attacked by an invisible presence, even suffering bruises and scratches at the hands of the MacKenzie ghost.

Photo credit: gorritti, Creative Commons, Flickr

The A75 southwest Scotland.
The 15-mile stretch of highway A75 from Annan to Gretna Green is said to be the most haunted road in Scotland. Numerous drivers claim to have hit someone, only to stop and find no one there and no damage to their vehicles. On occasion, the police have been called out to so-called accident spots to search the area for a possible body. No one has ever been found or reported missing. Aptly, the road is named “Ghost Road” by the locals.

Photo credit: europealacarte, Creative Commons, Flickr

The Seton castle has a long history of ghauly apparitions. In order to take a second wife who could produce him a male heir, Alexander Seton locked his first wife Lilias Drummond in the chamber of the Seton tower, starving her to death. On the night of his wedding to his second wife, Seton saw a ghostly female apperition dressed in green ana found the name “D. Lilias Drummond"carved in the windowsill of his bedroom. From time to time, the Green Lady has appeared with a green glow surrounding her. 

You’re riding your ATV, momentarily scooting down a piece of public road connecting two off-road tracks, when you hear the familiar whoop-whoop of a police siren. When you fail to produce valid auto insurance for operating your vehicle on a public road, the police officer takes out a ticket book. “But, but, but,” you sputter. It’s too late. You’re about to find out the hard way that any vehicle, even one that only crosses a public road like the proverbial chicken in an attempt to get to the other side, must have valid auto insurance.

“This is the kind of seasonal insurance situation that confuses a lot of people,” says Diane Lennie, manager of administration for AMA Insurance in Edmonton. As she explains: while an ATV operator with a home insurance policy is covered for theft and liability when operating on private property, any use of the vehicle on public roads brings with it a responsibility to carry valid auto insurance. But confusion over the appropriate ATV coverage is not the only seasonal insurance conundrum that leaves many Albertans wondering if their vacation home, RV, tent trailer, boat or motorcycle are properly
insured, she adds. Because basically, a valid homeowner or renter’s insurance policy covers a lot of recreational property and possessions – except when it doesn’t.

Protect Your Fun Stuff

Here are the most common areas of confusion when it comes to seasonal home insurance needs and what is – or isn’t – covered by most homeowner/renter’s insurance policies.
• Cottage owners need to insure their second home just like their first. Short-term cottage renters will find that their homeowner policy travels with them when they go on vacation. If a liability claim is made against them anywhere in the world, or they suffer loss of property through theft, their policy has it covered. However, when renting a cottage long-term and leaving belongings on site, additional insurance coverage is needed.

• The homeowner policy for boat owners and those with other recreational vehicles provides good general coverage in most situations – if your RV awning collapses at a campground and injures someone, for example. However, any recreational vehicle travelling on a public road, whether it’s a travel trailer, motor home, camper unit, vacation trailer, fifth wheel or tent trailer, must have auto insurance. Specialized RV insurance is also available to protect against windstorms, theft and collisions.

• Homeowner policies also carry automatic coverage for watercraft, bicycles, ATVs and other assorted recreational toys, though within set limits (typically in the $3,000 range). Higher-value goods need to be separately itemized; policyholders pay more in premiums but get increased coverage in return.

• There’s typically no limit on lost or stolen cameras, AV and other electronic gear, but it’s a good idea to have it itemized and possibly pay a higher premium for a lower deductible. In fact, it’s a good idea to itemize all possessions, both recreational and those used year-round. (The Insurance Bureau of Canada has posted free software on its website that can be used to itemize possessions.
See http://www.ibc.ca)

If this all sounds confusing, it is. Mandatory auto insurance is reasonably straightforward (either you have what’s legally required or you don’t), but homeowner policies are tailored to suit individual needs. The only way to be sure that a policy is right for you is to contact your insurance agent and describe the kinds of recreational property and possessions you have – and where and when they are going to be used. After all, you don’t want your insurance deficiencies explained to you by the police.

Gone, But Not Forsaken

Thieves don’t necessarily have the same vacation schedule as holidaygoers. Below are a few tips for protecting a temporarily empty home.

• Cancel the newspaper and suspend mail delivery, or have a neighbour pick it up.

• Have someone mow the lawn.

• Ask a neighbour or family member to check your home regularly; let them know if anyone will be there while you’re away (such as a gardener or repairperson) and how you can be reached in an emergency.

• Use timers on lights; set timers in different rooms for various times.

• Install motion sensor lights in the front and rear of your home, out of arms’ reach.

• Don’t leave an entry key hidden outside.

• Turn off the valve on outside water taps.

• Ensure windows are locked; place a strip of wood in sliding window/door tracks.

• Ensure attached garages are locked.

• Turn off the water main inside the house and drain the pipes (in case a pipe bursts while you’re away).

Calgary’s Chinatown is the third largest in Canada, next to Vancouver and Toronto. As you will discover on this walking tour, this vibrant downtown community is filled with irresistible boutiques, unique culinary experiences and historical landmarks. Unwind and explore the heart of Calgary’s Chinatown. Click on the audio icon above to listen to the tour.

Start: Calgary Chinese Cultural Centre, 197 First Street SW

The Calgary Chinese Cultural Centre is an impressive landmark in Calgary’s Chinatown, modeled after the Temple of Heaven in Beijing. Before heading inside, stop to view the two carved marble lions guarding the centre. How can you tell which one is male or female? The female cub always nurses her cub with her left paw, while the male lion holds a ball, representing authority.

Thanks to generous donations from individuals, businesses, various levels of government and international donors, the centre was built for a modest sum of $10 million in 1992. Like the Temple of Heaven, the four red pillars are elaborately gilded in gold, representing the colours of the Emperor of China.

Stand in the middle of the lobby to enjoy a breathtaking view of the ceiling. The series of patterns may look simple but upon closer inspection, the detail and intricacy is stunning. Many of the outer tiles depict dragons, an important symbol and motif in Chinese art. The dragon is the spirit of change, unfolding himself from storm clouds and bringing life to earth. Take the steps to the second floor and get a closer look at the gold dragon in the centre ring. Head north on First Street SW to Riverfront Avenue.

Sien Lok Park, Riverfront Ave. & 1 Street SW

Unlike most Chinatowns in Canada, Calgary’s Chinese district has a large green space. The Sien Lok Park was built in 1968 after the Chinese community thwarted the city’s plan to construct a road through the centre of Chinatown. The name “Sien Lok” comes from a Chinese proverb “Wai Sien Gee Lok,” which means happiness is found in being charitable. During the summer, seniors from the nearby residence practice tai chi on the manicured grass.

South of the two lions guarding the park, stands the sculpture “In Search of Gold Mountain,” made from 15 tonnes of granite brought over from Hopei Province in China. The piece represents a rich and moving story of the Chinese immigrant experience in Canada. Look for a carving showing Chinese workers toiling on the railway. During the late 1800s, Chinese men counted for a large percentage of workers on the Canadian Pacific Railway projects. Head south to the Canton Block

Canton Block, Centre Street South & 2 Avenue

Built in 1910, the Canton Block is said to be the first permanent building built in Calgary’s Chinatown. Like most buildings that went up during the early 1900s, the stores housed in the building are long and narrow, most of them no more than six metres wide.  The two-storey building stretches the entire length of the block. The building was a pivotal centre for commerce in Chinatown. When revolutionary Chinese leader Dr. Sun-Yat Sen visited Calgary in 1911, he toured the Canton Block and gave a moving speech to Calgarians.

Photo by Mike Berson

“It wasn’t the gun that won the West, it was the windmill,” states a sign at the entrance to Canada’s only windmill museum in Etzikom. In fact, the windmill played an even greater role than the railway in settling the West, according to Historic Windmill Centre founders Bill Peters Sr. and Leonard and June Mitzel. “People needed water,” explains Leonard. “And in the early 1900s, wind-powered pumps enabled settlers to move away from rivers and avoid hauling water from town” — until the single-cylinder gas engine took over pumping duties in the 1920s.

Today, whirring and creaking gently in the breeze, the centre’s 20 antique windmills represent several once-ubiquitous models, some with fading logos or even a few bullet holes on their weathered vanes.

Also on-site: a three-storey replica of North America’s first windmill and a pyramid-shaped Gould Shapley & Muir power mill — the latter plucked from Bill’s grandfather’s farm, where it was used to mill grain in the early 1900s. Inside the museum: photos and books chronicling windmill history and a walk-through reproduction of an early 1900s Alberta town.

Anyone curious why UNESCO recognizes Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump as the most successful food-gathering enterprise ever should pick up a copy of Jack W. Brink’s Imagining Head-Smashed-In (Athabasca University Press, 2008). As curator of archaeology at the Royal Alberta Museum, Brink has studied the site for more than a quarter-century. And with Imagining, he offers a thorough and passionate explanation of this cultural phenomenon within the larger context of First Nations life on the Great Plains and bison biology and behaviour.

As evidence for his treatise, Brink draws on his archaeology training as well as travel journals and drawings by early historians and explorers — along with legends and insight provided by Blackfoot elders. (All proceeds from the sale of the book are donated to Edmonton’s Cross Cancer Institute.)

At last count, there were just six people living in the southern Alberta town of Rowley. But one wouldn’t know it by walking into Sam’s Saloon on the last Saturday of any month, which is when area residents and volunteers throw open the doors to dish up the best pizza north of Drumheller in an evening of neighbourly revelry.

Those in the know arrive at the main-street watering hole before 5 p.m. to grab the best seats; those who can’t bear to leave after a night of down-home hospitality have already pitched their tents at the town’s campground. Why? Because even though it’s generally described as a ghost town, there’s lots to see in Rowley, including more than a dozen early 20th-century heritage buildings preserved by the Rowley Community Association. 403-368-3816

Photo supplied by the Wong family

I am a Chinese-Canadian woman, born 44 years ago in St. Paul, Alberta, home of the World’s First UFO Landing Pad. No flying saucers have ever landed in St. Paul to anyone’s knowledge, but a sign in front of the landmark promises down-home hospitality to any extraterrestrials hovering over east-central Alberta: “All visitors from Earth or otherwise are welcome to this territory and to the Town of St. Paul.” Certainly, since my grandfather’s arrival here in the 1940s, the town has welcomed our family into the community.

Today I live in Calgary, call myself an Alberta girl and routinely cheer for both the Edmonton Oilers and the Calgary Flames – when I’m not working as a documentary film director and producer. My first film, Return Home (1992) chronicled my grandparents’ experience journeying from China to Canada. But more recent films have me exploring new communities. In 2000, for example, I scouted locations near Drumheller for a Terri Clark documentary, and fell immediately in love with one of them – a ’50s-style café called the Diana that reminds me very much of the restaurant I grew up in as a child. 

I like Drumheller. It’s a bit like St. Paul, except it doesn’t take seven hours to get there from Calgary. The town also has an unusual tourist attraction: the World’s Largest Dinosaur, a fibreglass Tyrannosaurus rex standing 26 metres high (at least the locals can accurately claim that dinosaurs rumbled around and deposited their bones hereabouts at some point in time). But it’s not why I’m journeying here today. Driving down the town’s main street, I spot the familiar landmark that justifies this daytrip. Eight years have passed since I discovered the Diana, but every time I return, it feels unchanged, like it’s a home away from home.

Owners Gina and Ken Mah, who have run the café since they purchased it from its Greek and Ukrainian owners in 1960, greet me at the door. Gina is a town fixture, the well-liked mom in this popular mom-and-pop operation, and even though it has been years since I’ve seen her last, we immediately slip into a booth and begin chatting like old friends. Her easy manner and friendly conversation are as warming as the aromas drifting from the kitchen out back. Scattered around us, the regulars are deep in conversation, just like in the old days. I see the dining room wallpaper has changed, with the walls repainted a more up-to-date bluish-grey. But the café section retains its mustard-yellow décor, accented with funky red stools and chairs. Scanning the menu, I also notice that the Diana still has all the standard items I expect from a Chinese restaurant that serves Western Chinese cuisine. I deliberate over whether to order their most popular dish, a combination plate featuring sweet-and-sour spareribs, fried rice and a homemade egg roll, or the hot turkey sandwich with crinkle-cut fries. The hot turkey sandwich wins out.

Looking around Gina’s café brings back a flood of memories. It is so similar to the Boston Café, my family’s restaurant in St. Paul where I grew up. Like the Diana, we had booths, a counter with ’50s-style stools and a classic chrome Hamilton Beach milkshake machine. And we too served steaming dishes of Western Chinese cuisine. At the age of five, I was already peeling potatoes in the kitchen alongside my grandmother, mother and brother, while my older sister worked the front, serving customers with my father, grandfather and the local waitresses my father hired.

I once asked why our restaurant was called the Boston Café. “That was its name when we bought it,” my father replied. He and Mom kept the name because it sounded worldly and exotic – though, like the Diana, our café was located on a country road that ran smack-dab through the middle of town, directly across from the post office, a place where my family felt safe and at home.

In the mornings, the townspeople would stop at the post office for their mail, and some would cross the street for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. We would greet them just like family, and took every opportunity to talk to them about our lives and what was going on in theirs. Working in a family business, there aren’t many chances to venture out, and it was always refreshing to stop work, sit down with a customer and chat about what was happening around town. In this way, the café was an entry point into the community. Even though we were “those Chinese people,” the restaurant gave everyone a reason to stop by, meet us and become familiar with who we were beyond the stereotype of the outsider.

On weekends, my parents would make the long drive from St. Paul to Edmonton. My mother longed for the company of other Chinese families, and Edmonton’s Chinatown was full of familiar faces, and my father loved his four-door hardtop 1974 Chevy Impala. I remember so many trips with the car packed tight, three kids in the back and my parents in the front, barrelling down Hwy. 28, all of us eager to eat dim sum in Edmonton’s Chinatown by 10 a.m. or picnic at the Royal Alberta Museum. Other times we would drive east, passing through Bonnyville into Cold Lake, and every small town we pulled into shared a familiar landmark: the locally owned Chinese restaurant. No matter where we stopped, we were sure to find a satisfying meal of chop suey, chicken chow mein, pineapple chicken balls with beef fried rice and the familiar smiles of another Chinese family.

Still scattered throughout the prairies, Chinese restaurants today are iconic fixtures on every streetscape. But for our family in the 1950s, such cafés were not just town landmarks but points of community contact. The owner always knew someone who knew someone who knew about us and our restaurant in St. Paul – a maze-like network of connections that always surprised me. Once I asked my grandfather why he chose St. Paul. “Too many Chinese restaurants in Edmonton,” he replied; the only way to make a living was to venture into the smaller towns. So when one of his business partners discovered St. Paul, since there was not yet a Chinese restaurant locally, it was the perfect place to settle.

I didn’t know it as a child, asking my father and grandfather such questions, but historically it wasn’t unusual for Chinese immigrants in Canada to open a restaurant, grocery store or laundromat, either in a city or small town. In the Chinese community, people who travelled abroad to work were called “Keim Sun” (“Golden Mountain”). In fact, Canada was known in China as “the Golden Mountain,” a nickname from the Klondike gold rush days when it was said that the streets of the New World were paved with gold. Early Chinese immigrants who came to Canada were sojourners whose main purpose was to live overseas, work hard and send money home to support the family.

By the late 1800s and early 1900s, the Canadian government’s immigration policies paralleled many of those in the U.S. At that time, there was a need for cheap labour, so policies were created that would allow Chinese immigrants to enter the country to work. These men could not bring their families, the logic being that a bachelor society was preferable, one in which young men would work for a certain number of years but eventually return to their home country to be with their families or start a family of their own. Yet many Chinese still took the opportunity to come to Canada to work. To stem this ever-increasing flow, the Canadian government then passed the Chinese Immigration Act of 1885, which required Chinese immigrants to pay a head tax. Though exem-ptions were made for students, business people and educators, of all the ethnic groups who have immigrated to Canada, the Chinese are the only group that has ever been required to pay a head tax to enter.

All in all, it wasn’t an easy landing for my grandfather. Wong Kee Yuen came to Canada from southern China (Tai-shan, Guangdong province) in 1923 as a “paper son,” meaning he had purchased identity papers granting him entry as a merchant’s son. But like all new immigrants, when he arrived in Victoria he was first held in a facility the locals called “The Piggery,” where he was detained for up to 40 days in order to pass health and immigration inspections

It was here he learned that his patron, a Chinese businessman, had gone bankrupt, which meant Grandfather had lost his exemption from the head tax. Fortunately, he had two brothers in California who helped raise the $500 needed (generally, the equivalent of two years’ wages at the time), so that he could gain legal status. (Later that year, the Canadian government would pass the Chinese Immigration Act of 1923, also known as the Chinese Exclusion Act, which abolished this head tax. But the new act also contained provisions that virtually stopped all Chinese immigration to Canada.)

It was the summer of 1924 when my grandfather first journeyed into the Okanagan, picking fruit for less than a dollar a day – back-breaking labour for an 18-year-old. He once told me it was the hardest work he’d ever done, toiling as long as 12 hours a day and sleeping on apple boxes at night. Eventually, though, my grandfather migrated to Alberta and found employment in a Wetaskiwin restaurant. Like most new immigrants, he found the service industry the most accessible entry point for earning a living and gathering expertise, jobs where, if fortunate, he could save enough spare cash to send money back home to family members.

When my grandfather turned 23, his father sent word that he was ill and asked that his son catch a steamer home for a visit. So my grandfather returned to China in 1928 and, with the help of a local matchmaker, married. But after less than a year he returned to Canada, without his new wife. According to Canadian policy, immigrants could spend no more than two years outside the country before they lost their status, and my grandparents’ first child, my father, was born in China in 1930, after my grandfather was already back in Canada. It would be nine long years before he could return for a second visit. In 1939, before leaving China to return to Canada once more, his daughter Kim was born.

In 1947, the Canadian government re-pealed the Exclusion Act, and a year later my grandfather was able to bring his family to Canada. His wife was 38 years old by then and could not speak a word of English. But my father, now 18, and his nine-year-old sister, Kim, were enrolled in the local school. Meanwhile, my grandfather worked the restaurant of a hotel and tavern called the Donald Café. It would be 1954, 31 years after first coming to Canada, before my grandfather and three partners could save enough to open the A-1 Laundry in St. Paul.
In 1959, my father, like his father before him, sailed to China in search of a wife, and married my mother later that year. They returned to Canada and in 1960 had their first child, Jeannie. In 1963, my father then opened the Boston Café with his own set of business partners, and two years later, he was the proud papa of two more children: Phillip and myself. My grandfather joined my father’s business in 1969, and for more than three and a half decades, the Boston Café served the townspeople of St. Paul before it was sold in 2001.

Of course, my grandparents’ experience was mirrored in the lives of many early Chinese immigrants in Alberta. Like most hardworking newcomers, Grandfather paved the way for future generations, while his perseverance and diligent labour helped create a positive image for a Chinese community widely known for its focus on hard work, family values and education. As children, we were also encouraged to foster a humble and modest disposition that is part of the Chinese philosophy of mia-zi, or “face.” I can recall being told more than once by my father not to boast or brag about my accomplishments. It wasn’t polite or respectful to call attention to one’s own success.

Meanwhile, other families like ours also assimilated into Canadian society by serving the needs of their new neighbours. The entrepreneurial nature of our culture allowed us to be resourceful and to recognize where basic services could be satisfied, and opening restaurants or grocery stores was an effective option without the need for a lot of training. As my grandmother once said, “No one taught me how to cook; I just watched and learned from others in the kitchen.” Many were Chinese cooks who had first worked in Caucasian restaurants before finding employment in Chinese-owned establishments, with recipes passed down from cook to cook. Nothing was written down; recipes were relayed from person to person by word of mouth. My grandparents taught me about Chinese-Canadian history in much the same way, retelling stories that had been passed from generation to generation. Though I was born and raised in Canada, I never knew about the hardships my grandparents faced in their journey to Canada until they shared their experiences with me in this way.

Almost 90 years later, much has changed for Chinese immigrants in Alberta. In 1984, the Chinese Canadian National Council (CCNC) helped spearhead the redress of the head tax for those who suffered from decades of discriminatory government policies. (From 1885 to 1923, approximately 81,000 Chinese immigrants paid Ottawa a sum of $23 million in head taxes, after which Chinese nationals were banned from entering Canada altogether until the tax was lifted in 1947.) And on June 22, 2006, after more than two decades of political pressure, Prime Minister Stephen Harper stood in the House of Commons to apologize for the same tax and the Chinese Exclusion Act before more than 200 Chinese-Canadian head-tax survivors and their families. It was a triumphant moment, though the apology came too late for my grand-father, who passed away in 1994.

Still, the effects of more enlightened laws and policies like these have affected all aspects of life in Canada. When I went to school, for example, I was the only Chinese person in my class. But today, cultural diversity is common in Alberta classrooms. Only two generations ago, the Chinese struggled with immigration and assimilation. Now, I’m proud to say a number of Chinese-Canadians have made great strides within Canadian culture, including Adrienne Clarkson, journalist and former Governor General of Canada (1999-2005); Vivienne Poy, appointed to the Senate of Canada in 1998; and Larry “King” Kwong, the first Chinese-Canadian to play in the NHL (for the New York Rangers back in the 1940s). Even closer to my heart and home: on January 20, 2005, the province of Alberta appointed Norman Kwong as its lieutenant-governor – the first person of Chinese heritage to hold this prestigious position in Alberta. Of course, “Normie” is also known to football fans as the legendary “China Clipper,” the rampaging fullback who helped win four Grey Cups with the Calgary Stampeders (1948-50) and Edmonton Eskimos (1951-60). Like my grandfather, Kwong’s family also immigrated from Tai-shan, Guangdong province.

Back in Drumheller, the Diana’s Gina Mah brings my sandwich. As I’d hoped and expected, its real slices of turkey are smothered in homemade gravy, and the fries are indeed crinkle-cut, just the way we made them at the Boston Café. More memories swirl as I take my first nostalgic bite. Gina again slides in across from me and inquires how my life is going. In turn, I ask about her children: the daughter who works at the local hospital and the son who is with a Toronto tech firm. They’re both happy, doing well, she says. The grandchildren are fine, too.

Ken joins us, and I ask if his son and daughter will take up the family business when he retires. He laughs. No, he says. He made sure his children received an education so they wouldn’t have to. I then share how, at age 14, I asked my father if I could run the Boston Café with him, and the hurt I felt when he told me “No.” But now I understand. My father didn’t want me to live the life he did. His answer spurred me to expand my horizons, to get an education and to go beyond what he was able to do.

Gina asks about the Boston Café. I tell her my father retired in 2001 and how, tragically, the café burned down in the summer of 2002 but that a new Chinese family has moved into St. Paul with plans to open up their own Chinese restaurant this year. I smile. As one Chinese family leaves a community, another comes to take its place. I look over at Gina and Ken, who nod knowingly, and we settle more snugly into the booth for a long conversation. It feels like old times.

The definitive walking guide to Edmonton and Calgary’s Chinatowns. http://www.ama.ab.ca/westworld

Discovering China in Alberta
• Tours Calgary’s New Ming Tours in old Chinatown include tea tasting and authentic Chinese buffet (403-554-8687). Also check out Westworld’s Walking Tour of Calgary’s Chinatown and listen to an audio tour.

• Additional Intel Calgary’s Chinese Cultural Centre. http://www.culturalcentre.ca
• Critical Reading Paul Yee’s comprehensive Struggle and Hope: The Story of Chinese Canadians (Umbrella Press, 1996; $19.95 at Chapters). For a more personal reflection of the experience of Chinese immigrants in Canada: Denise Chong’s The Concubine’s Children (Penguin Books, 2004; $24).
• On -Screen Canadian Steel, Chinese Grit is a documentary on the lives of Chinese railway workers in Canada. http://www.cic.sfu.ca/cchf/CSCG.html (film can be ordered from website).

photo (above) by Robert Redshaw/GNWT

Day One: Fort Simpson to Virginia Falls
The boreal forest stretches out beneath us, broken only by the occasional sinkhole lake, as we leave Fort Simpson and the Mackenzie River behind. The Twin Otter floatplane lifts west, into the sun – still high in the northern sky – and over the Nahanni National Park Reserve, a 4,766-square-kilometre slice of N.W.T. wilderness near the Yukon-B.C. border and the headwaters of the South Nahanni River. Save for the roar of the engine and wind, our group travels in silence. We have waited all day for this flight.Some of us have waited our entire lives to raft the South Nahanni – a Canadian Heritage River that moved Pierre Elliot Trudeau to make it a national park reserve in 1976. Two years later, the area became the first natural region in the world to be designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

We fly over the canyons and karstlands of the Ram Plateau in the Mackenzie Mountains, where every ripple of rock is lit golden in the evening sun. Shafts of sunlight burst through the clouds and we catch our first glimpse of the Nahanni, its Fourth Canyon and – with a collective gasp – Virginia Falls. In The Dangerous River, my grandfather’s 1954 account of his N.W.T. explorations, he writes about feeling the vibration of the “Falls of the Nahanni” from 20 miles away. One week later, on August 25, 1927, Grandpop snapped the earliest photographs of the then-unnamed falls, accompanied by Minnesota prospector Albert Faille. Now a lifetime, two days and four flights later, my father, brother, sister and I touch down in the heart of the Nahanni wilderness, as our plane scuds to a stop on the wide and silty river near the campsite above Virginia Falls. My heart skips a beat. This is where my family’s love affair with Canada began.

It was my brother, Jeremy, who planted the seed of this family expedition – to mark the 80th anniversary of Grandpop’s 1927-to-1929 paddle up the South Nahanni. Soon I was calling my sister, Sam, in Victoria, and urging her to join us. Her only reservation: our easy raft float downriver wouldn’t compare to Grandpop’s adventures navigating rapids in a loaded canoe, surviving sub-zero temperatures and living off the occasional kill of wild game – epic stories he recounted in five books, numerous magazine articles and over Sunday dinners at the Victoria home he shared with our grandmother. Raymond Murray Patterson was one of Canada’s foremost adventure writers. A legendary figure in our family, he also inspired a generation of Canadian adventurers, many of whom to this day attempt to replicate his journeys into the wild. His first book received rave reviews: The New York Herald Tribune described The Dangerous River as “an emotion of the north . . . recorded, it is not too much to say, in a mixture of Thoreau and Jack London.” The New Yorker called it “truly enchanting,” while The New York Times said its modest writing “betrays no indication that Mr. Patterson realizes what a remarkable man he is.”

Day Two: Virginia Falls to Strawberry Island
Nothing beats the Canadian North for bringing diverse groups of people together – my grandfather and Faille 80 years ago and now the Patterson clan: me, the writer, my father, a retired B.C. Supreme Court master, businessman brother Jeremy and architect sister Sam. Then there’s the rest of our 15-member group: Wall Street fund managers Jen and Laura; Corin, an amateur photographer; real estate mogul James and his 14-year-old nephew Jacob; journalist Michael and wife Vivien; guides Rob, Kaj, Jamie and Bhreagh.

Awoken early the next day by the camp bustle, we are anxious to pack up the tents and follow the wooden boardwalk through Jack pines and black spruce to Virginia Falls. The black-and-white photographs I’ve seen in Grandpop’s heavy, leather-bound albums soon come alive in full sound and colour: the Sluice Box Rapids, now a roar of whitewater, and just ahead, Virginia Falls, plunging 92 metres into the river’s Fourth Canyon. And at its base, dwarfed by limestone cliffs: the three sky-blue inflatable rafts that will transport us 200 km downriver over five days. From here, they are the size of jellybeans. My 71-year-old father and I stand for a moment, spellbound. 

We could spend hours here, but the river awaits. We strap bags to backs for the 1.2-km portage to lower ground through rosemary-like Labrador tea, northern starflowers and kinnikinnick. A dirt trail descends in a steep series of switchbacks, where the waters’ gentle mist falls on us like fresh dew.

The Nahanni is the stuff of legends – tales of gold and adventure, trappers and prospectors, of the indigenous Nahanni and European adventurers, my English grandfather included, drawn here in the quest for freedom and fortune. After the Klondike Gold Rush, placer gold was rumoured to have been found up the Flat River, a tributary of the South Nahanni. But men stayed away, fearful of the unforgiving terrain and the numbers of dead or missing that led to tales of “head-hunting Nahanni.” In reality, the string of murders and deaths by starvation, accident or misfortune along the river were more likely the result of greed or poor planning – in the wake of the frenzied and lawless gold rush. Even when Grandpop and Faille set off from Fort Simpson in 1925, their dream of paddling up the Nahanni was considered pure suicide.

From a rocky launching point on the beach, we don wet-weather gear: sou’westers, Patagonia rain pants, rubber boots and life jackets. Packs loaded and secured in the 18-foot Moravia rafts, we then settle in, five to a craft, a guide at the helm. The dramatic rust-coloured Fourth Canyon is the first of four to come. At their greatest height, these sheer rock faces – which escaped the last ice age – rise steeply to 1,200 metres, then curve into natural amphitheatres of dolomite, limestone and layers of sedimentary rock that rival the Grand Canyon.

In one of the other rafts, Jeremy and Sam swap old jokes, leaving me, the baby of the family, alone with Dad. I feel privileged, keen to experience the river through his eyes as he trades anecdotes about Grandpop and the river with the guides. His face lights up as he sees for the first time the landscape he has until now only heard about. “The cliffs and this marvellous, calm water flowing through here – it’s just extraordinary.” He points to the shore: “That’s the sort of spot where Grandpop would have camped, on that grassy bank, with a place to beach a canoe.” Further downstream is Marengo Creek, which Grandpop named after Napolean’s favourite horse.

But it isn’t long before the clouds roll in. And just a few hours later, at a rocky camp on Strawberry Island, I lie in my tent and listen to the rolling thunder echoing off the canyons and mountains like bursts of gunfire.

Day Three: Strawberry Island to The Gate
A light mist rises off the river as we launch the inflatables and head downstream toward the Figure 8 Rapids, a stretch of whirlpools, boils and eddies that Grandpop and Faille, remarkably, navigated without portaging. High water has since changed these rapids – now categorized as class III-plus in difficulty. But by canoe, says Rob, the Nahanni has always been an incredibly challenging river to run, so “you can imagine what it was like for your grandfather and Faille to canoe upstream. That’s why The Dangerous River is so talked about now, because it would have been tough to paddle up. It’s too deep to pole, and in these canyons there are no beaches for tracking a canoe.”

Travelling downriver at about 10 klicks, we soon pass the Flat River and the site of Faille’s cabin, where in 1927 Grandpop stopped on his way to the falls. Faille spent decades on the river, prospecting for gold and trapping furs. But large quantities of gold were never found.

We fall into a rhythm: awaken early, breakfast and break camp. The guides buzz about, prepping the rafts for another day on the river, and preparing meals that provide the day’s structure in a place where time cannot be gauged by the sun’s position in the sky. Pancakes and sausages one morning, eggs Benedict the next. Lunches are eaten en route – pita stuffed with tabbouleh or caribou smokies roasted over the fire. Dinners feature smoked arctic char and asparagus soup starters, main courses of pork tenderloin, chicken curry or lamb kebabs on a bed of couscous. Later, we perch on camp stools, sip tea and talk well into the evening. But always, the focus comes back to the river and Grandpop’s books. Vivien encourages my father to read from The Dangerous River while Michael takes notes. Jamie, the son of bush pilots, who now studies at Oxford, observes, “What’s most compelling about these stories is the legend that was R.M. Patterson himself. He’s a great writer, but he was also out there living life in a really big, amazing way.”

Day Four: The Gate to Headless Creek
The rafting life is making some of us restless. Keen to climb mountains in search of Dall’s sheep, eight of us scramble to the top of The Gate, a narrow limestone passage with 460-metre-high walls, for a view of Pulpit Rock and downriver toward Big Bend, a 90-degree hairpin turn in the river. I study the almost-bonsai twists of stunted trees and tundra plants, brittle reindeer lichen and low-lying shrubs laden with crimson berries, thinking of Grandpop and the “dreamy afternoons” he spent hiking here, where “the river was a distant murmur through the warm scent of pines.”

We soon pass through the foreboding Funeral Range to the Headless Range and Headless Creek, so named for two brothers whose decapitated skeletons were discovered tied to trees here in 1908, or so the legend goes. In 1927, strangers again warned Grandpop against setting out on another expedition: “Men vanish in that country,” one cautioned. “Down the river, they say it’s a damned good country to keep clear of . . . a country lorded over by Wild Mountain Men . . . the river fast and bad.” The MacLeod brothers’ murder was but one of hundreds of dark stories about the Nahanni. From 1908 to 1945, many more men disappeared, starved to death or died here mysteriously.

Fittingly, that evening on a river-rock beach under blue-and-pink brush strokes of cloud, Dad reads a passage about Willie and Frank MacLeod from The Dangerous River – ghost stories in a haunted valley.

Day Five: Headless Creek to Lafferty Creek
We paddle past Headless Creek and through Deadmen Valley, stopping at Sheaf Creek. We’re looking for the site of the cabin where Grandpop and the English trapper Gordon Matthews, his companion on his second Nahanni trek, overwintered in 1928-1929. We pull the rafts onto the beach, and while Vivien and Jamie investigate wolf, bear and raptor tracks in the sand, Sam stumbles upon a rusted stovepipe and a conspicuous clearing in the trees. Further upstream is the likely site of the men’s food cache, where foodstuffs and fur pelts were stored on high wooden platforms to deter animals. We examine sunken cabin beams and the remnants of a makeshift stove, fashioned from an old oil drum, with the enthusiasm of amateur archaeologists. Kaj is certain we have found the site, exactly as Grandpop described it, in a clearing in the trees. Dad’s chest puffs with pride as photos are snapped for posterity. Even Rob and the guides make a note of the find for future trips downriver.

We lunch at Dry Canyon Creek, ride the high-standing waves of the Cache Rapids where Matthews almost drowned after falling overboard in 1928 and enter the dramatic First Canyon, its towering limestone walls the highest yet. Later, at our Lafferty Creek camp, Dad reads from Grandpop’s journals, written in the form of a letter home to his mother in England and published posthumously as the Nahanni Journals.

Day Six: Lafferty Creek to The Splits, a.k.a. “Bug Hell Island”
It is the last full day on the river and we slip into swimsuits in preparation for the hot springs ahead. From here on, we’re at the mercy of the infamous mosquitoes of the North; Rob warns us to keep bug shirts at the ready. Soon enough we reach Kraus Hot Springs, greeted by the sulphur stench of rotten eggs. The rocks in the pool overlooking the river are covered in a brown sludge, the water warm and brackish. Kaj slathers his face with mud, a Nahanni tradition, though a light river breeze keeps the bugs at bay.

We camp on what Bhreagh dubs “Bug Hell Island” in The Splits, where the Nahanni widens as it braids and weaves in myriad directions. Bug shirts are the preferred dinner attire, with dragonflies dive-bombing our heads, hunting for insects. We bat the bugs away from one another. But when the hordes reach class-IV-plus we escape to the sanctuary of the tents, diving in and quickly zipping up the fly. But I still count – and kill – more than 60 mosquitoes that have somehow followed us inside.

Day Seven: To Nahanni Butte and Fort Simpson
It is with mixed feelings that we leave the river behind. All of us feel humbled by the epic journey made so many years ago by Grandpop, without the security of experienced guides or their gourmet meals. Soon we are returning by plane from Nahanni Butte to Fort Simpson, where roads replace rivers and hot showers, flush toilets and bed linens await. The group scatters to B&Bs and frontier hotels, with promises to meet up for a last supper at the only restaurant in town. But like Grandpop, after months of sleeping in the open air, I cannot bring myself to stay indoors. Instead I lounge in a hammock in the B&B’s garden, reading and rereading passages from his books in an attempt to prolong the euphoria of being on the river. Later, unable to sleep, I lie staring at the ceiling fan, plotting my return – this time for two weeks, in a canoe.

Row Row Your Boat
• Outfitter Nahanni River Adventures/Canadian River Expeditions (1-800-297-6927; nahanni.com). Cost: $5,022.20 per person for seven-day expedition.
• Gear Quick-dry clothes, hiking boots, rain gear, insect repellent. Checklist at nahanni.com.
• Additional Intel The Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society (CPAWS) works to protect the 40,000-square-kilometre Nahanni watershed from mining and to expand the park’s boundaries. cpaws.org/programs/nahanni
• Critical Reading The Dangerous River: Adventure on the Nahanni by R.M. Patterson (TouchWood Editions, 2009; $19.95); Nahanni Journals: R.M. Patterson’s 1927-1929 Journals, ed. Richard C. Davis (University of Alberta Press, 2008; $29.95).
• On -Screen Nahanni (1962), a short National Film Board classic, following Albert Faille upriver to Virginia Falls. nfb.ca/film/Nahanni

As I pedal into the town of Legal, 50 minutes north of Edmonton, my carb-starved body is waging a campaign to convince my brain that the doughnut, loaded with sugar and starch, is nature’s perfect food. Find one, it silently commands. No – find a dozen. It’s noon, the mid-July sun is imposing a mild blush through my SPF 30, and after 50 kilometres of riding I’ve burned through not only my breakfast of toast and raisin bran, but also my emergency reserves: a single granola bar, ravenously consumed 10 kilometres back. Thankfully, there’s a way station coming up fast. I drop my bike alongside the curb and join 30 or so of my fellow riders refuelling around two tables laden with fruit, chips and Gatorade. No doughnuts. Instead, there’s sucre à la crème, and as I let the crumbly French-Canadian candy melt in my mouth, my brain bumps cheap pastry off the pedestal. Before heading back to my bike to get on with the last 50 clicks, I grab another piece. You can’t find this stuff in just any old small town.

In a way, sucre à la crème is the whole point of the Tour de l’Alberta, a fully supported ride held annually by the Edmonton Bicycle and Touring Club (EBTC) since 1995, to coincide with the Tour de France. Fourteen years after that first local Tour, EBTC’s objective for the event hasn’t changed, either, even if interest has grown from its inaugural 20 riders to 500-plus today. For unlike the 3,500-km European sprint, the local Tour remains a leisurely voyage of discovery. Nobody wears a number and nobody’s watching the clock, which leaves plenty of time for getting acquainted with some of the province’s often overlooked francophone culture. French may be spoken by barely two per cent of the Alberta population, but here in the wide-open pastoral landscape of north-central Alberta, where settlers began arriving from the east in the mid-1800s, the French connection persists in strong accents, century-old churches, bilingual street signs and, if you’re lucky, sucre à la crème. And there may be no better pace to enjoy it all than by a leisurely pedal.

But let’s go back to the beginning, to Morinville Community High School, where I started off two hours ago. Nearly 200 cyclists had already left at 8 a.m. for the Tour’s 160-km option – 60K more than the 300 other cyclists and I were destined for as we gathered at the start-line in the school parking lot at 9 a.m. Another group was milling about in anticipation of the 50K loop’s noon start (this year also features a 20K ride as well as a nice 3K spin for the kids). And while some of my fellow riders managed last-minute stretches on sinewy legs and made final equipment checks of their sleek road bikes, I sat astride my decade-old mountain bike wondering whether I was really ready for this. I am no athlete. Yes, I’m active, thin for 15 years post-high school and familiar with long-distance cycling. Ten years ago I cycled Scotland and Ireland, rollercoaster terrain drawing into question the fabled efficiency of self-propelled, two-wheeled transportation. And seven years later I repeated the exercise on a smaller scale, closer to home, tackling the stunning Jasper–Banff highway and covering nearly 300 mountainous kilometres over four days. But since then, if I’m not commuting, I’m not biking. Call it an estrangement of sorts – and one the Tour, which I’d recently discovered, could rectify. Still, I’d committed in haste, leaving only three weeks to train, enough to get comfortable with 60 or 70 km at most. I sought reassurance from Jason Demers, EBTC member and Tour coordinator.

“You’ll do fine,” he said soothingly, “because it’s not a race. You’re meant to take your time. And besides,” he added, “this is the flattest course you’ll probably ever encounter.” I hoped he was right as, signalled by a warbling blast from an air horn, the Tour began. Moments later, I was pedalling shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of the pack to the main street, where a few curious townsfolk had gathered to cheer us onward. More of Demers’s advice rang in my ears: “Just stay hydrated, keep eating at every rest stop and you’ll do fine.” Most important: his reminder that I had five long hours to complete the course. “Just pace yourself.” As the pelaton thinned, flashy road bikes streaking ahead, I realized I was among recreational riders as uncertain and eager as I was. A couple on a tandem bike negotiated a comfortable pace; a teenager in flip-flops wobbled on a squeaky mountain bike even older than mine; a senior in spandex shorts and a colourful cycling jersey hunched toward her handlebars to cut the light headwind. I’ll be fine, I thought. And as the first of the trip’s attractions came into view, my nerves settled, my heart calmed and my legs fell into a smooth rhythm.

Morinville’s St. Jean Baptiste Roman Catholic church, which I passed five minutes into the Tour, set the tone for the day. While lacking the gothic grandeur of Paris’s Notre Dame cathedral, the jewel of this town of 6,500 stands after 101 years as not only an extraordinary example of early prairie architecture, but as the reason why many of these northern Alberta communities exist at all. Of those of European descent, the fur traders arrived here first, a couple of centuries back, trapping for the Hudson’s Bay and North West companies. But after that, in the mid-19th century, came the French-Canadian missionaries, who brought not only a new brand of civility to the frontier but settlers, some of whom were willing to forego the urban francophone community beginning to gather in Edmonton – today among the biggest west of Quebec – in exchange for premium farmland. Churches such as St. Jean soon served as both places of worship and social hubs for otherwise isolated communities.

A two-lane highway leads westward out of town and immediately into Alberta’s agrarian heartland. Mostly, this is canola country, and given unusually favourable conditions – the much-needed moisture of recent rainfall – the fields are in bloom weeks early. I passed a century-old farmhouse, two storeys tall and stark white against a pungent, butter-yellow field. Despite growing up in this area and having driven roads like these dozens of times with my family, I was sightseeing. “To do this route on a bike is completely different than doing it by car,” Demers had enthused earlier. “You’re going at a slower pace, you get to see more, smell the fields – you’re just more connected with nature.”

Without stopping in Morinville, we turned north at Rivière Qui Barre and headed for the first roadside pit stop, 25 km into the route. And it’s here that the true nature of EBTC revealed itself as I rolled in and dismounted, land legs shaky, and headed to the crowd in front of what was, essentially, a cyclist’s buffet. For EBTC is, at its heart, a social club, and regardless of the ride (the club runs a dozen or so annually across the province), hanging out at rest stops beyond the point of “fuelling up” is a big part of what it’s all about. “Any time you go on an overnight trip, the number-one rule is that you are to gain weight,” Demers had told me. So I refilled my water bottles and made my way along the tables, grabbing enough chips, trail mix and fruit, which volunteers were steadily slicing, to get me through the next leg. At the end of the table, a woman filled little paper cups with sour, gummy candies. I couldn’t resist. “I haven’t had these in years,” I said. She dropped a few more into my cup and sent me on my way.

There is, admittedly, a certain subtleness to the scenery in this part of Alberta, and the ride over the mercifully flat and virtually traffic-free highway into Legal passed pleasantly but quietly. There’s nothing as obvious as, say, an ancient stone house or a vineyard drooping with ripe merlot grapes – which Tour de France racers might routinely whip past – to indicate a distinct region. The culture here is relatively low-key, and that could be one explanation for what Adriana Davies, executive director of the Heritage Community Foundation, sees in regard to the province’s francophone heritage. “Most people don’t realize it,” she told me, “but the francophone tradition in Alberta is indeed very strong.” In fact, by partnering with cultural societies across the province, the charitable trust helps communities preserve the stories and traditions of their heritage and share them. http://Www.albertasource.ca, for example, the Foundation’s online encyclopedia, hosts both Alberta and Edmonton’s francophone heritage websites. Though in comparison to Quebecois culture, Alberta’s francophone community has “its own unique, western identity,” Davies believes. “It evolved around the fur trade and missions,” but, in keeping with prairie tradition, “it was also about the land,” she notes. “In terms of communities, they’ve grown up on their own … and they’re incredibly proud of their identity.”

To prove its uniqueness, Legal, where nearly 20 per cent of the 1,200 residents are bilingual, displays its heritage in 33 billboard-sized murals throughout town. Some are along the main street, which I’m now cruising down on the way through town – with most of them depicting local founding families whose personal stories have had an impact on the development of the province. The de Champlains, for example, who have farmed here since the turn of the last century, helped to establish the local agricultural economy that persists today. And there’s another mural for the family of Alexandre Lavoie, who, in 1941, successfully lobbied the federal government to make its documents available in French as well as English.

Involved in the mural project since its start-up in 1997, Ernest Chauvet, coordinator at the region’s Centralta Tourism Society, sees these murals as meeting points for the anglophone and francophone cultures. “Part of the [motivation] here is to show that Canada is the [result of a] cooperative effort of those two nations,” says Chauvet, referring to our British and French founders. The hot politics of separatism may have cooled, but barely 15 years have passed since just 50.6 per cent of Quebecers voted to remain Canadian. “There’s healing here,” says Chauvet of the murals. “In a way, [their point is] to develop a mutual respect.”

After savouring my second much-needed sucre à la crème at this most recent stop in Legal, I hit the Tour’s first hill, a bump made as mountainous as the French Alps by the lactic acid pooling in my legs. A tail wind picks up and the sun’s glare incites me to grab the sunglasses stashed in my handlebar bag. The pack has thinned so much that at times I feel convinced I’m riding alone. An EBTC van passes carrying a bike and a tired rider – the only such sight I’ll see all day.
Twenty-five kilometres more and I hit another rest stop and feast on granola bars and PB&J sandwiches before turning south for the home stretch. That’s about when it hits me. Luckily, “it” isn’t the dreaded and dangerous “wall,” when, tank drained, the body exhausts even its built-in energy sources. (The snack stations have prevented that.) Past my 60-km comfort zone, I’m simply wearing out. I’m about to pass a Ukrainian Orthodox church in the community of Fedora, so I stop and rest and snap a few photos before heading off toward the Scottish enclave of Bon Accord, where I turn west for the last leg of the circuit. Despite riding straight into the wind, the same wind that graciously ushered me out of Legal, I’m buoyed by the sight of the steeple of St. Jean’s cathedral just a few kilometres ahead. It’s my Eiffel Tower; this stretch of highway, my Champs-Élysées; Morinville, my Paris of the prairie. I pick up the pace.

But the point of this journey, unlike its French model, isn’t to arrive. An hour later, as I cross the finish line into the parking lot, only my wife, Leah, raises a cheer for me. Five hours have passed, just over four of them spent riding. I dismount and she takes my bike, telling me I look tired but happy. “But everyone who has come in looks happy,” she adds.

As I catch my breath, I realize that I am. In fact, the only thing that would make the moment better would be finding out the next place to get another shot of that sucre à la crème. If today was any indication, it won’t be more than a bike-ride away.

French Roll
• Tours Morinville, Alberta, hosts this year’s Tour de l’Alberta on July 26. Cycling enthusiasts can sign up for one of five races of varying lengths and difficulties. 780-716-3235; http://www.tourdalberta.ca
• Gear Well-tuned bike and sturdy helmet; patch kit for quick tire repairs; working head and tail lights; lightweight cycling shorts and shoes; first-aid kit and waterproof container for maps. For a more comprehensive list, see Mountain Equipment Co-op’s website gear, mec.ca
• Additional Intel The annual Fête au Village in Legal, Alberta, celebrates the French-Canadian culture of Alberta’s pioneers. July 25 and 26. http://www.town.legal.ab.ca
• Critical Reading Nathalie Kermoal’s Alberta’s Francophones, a sepia-tinted, photographic history of the francophone presence in Alberta (Les Editions Gid, 2005; $34.95).
• On -Screen For a behind-the-scenes look at the gruelling-yet-rewarding experience of cycling the countryside on the Tour de France: Hell on Wheels (2004), directed by Pepe Danquart.

Every summer, RVs emerge from hibernation and take to the nation’s highways like elephants on parade – or, as extreme “greenies” like to say, like gas-guzzling leviathans, spewing carbon in their wake. But what is this we hear?  “An RV vacation can be a cheaper and greener way for a family to vacation.” Can it be?
The RV industry, for one, seems to think so. According to Alana Fontaine of Go RVing Canada, “Compared to a traditional week-long family vacation, RVs are by far the most economical way to go when considering the costs of flights, car rentals, hotels and eating out.” And Catherine Fortin LeFaivre, also with Go RVing, notes that in addition to being a more flexible and cost-effective choice, “RVs are also a greener travel option. In fact, many RVers park at a given campsite for days and sometimes weeks at a time, further reducing their carbon footprint.”

But what might be surprising is that recent studies by PKF Consulting, an internationally recognized firm with expertise in travel and tourism, appear to support the industry’s claims. In one 2008 study, for example, PKF shows that RV vacations can cost as much as 50 per cent less than car/hotel vacations, 60 per cent less than bus/hotel or train/hotel vacations, 70 per cent less than air/hotel vacations and two-thirds less than a budget cruise. 

Since dining out accounts for almost half the cost of a holiday, having everything at one’s fingertips in an RV kitchen also brings big savings – not to mention the convenience of being able to prepare snacks on a whim. And with the increase in farmers’ markets and roadside produce stands province-wide, there are additional savings with farm-gate purchases versus shopping at grocery stores – and the added bonus of accessing the freshest produce possible.

PKF has also analyzed the CO2 emissions of RV travel, using a carbon calculator methodology developed by Conservation International. The findings show that RV vacations – of various lengths – have less of an environmental impact than traditional travel involving flying, renting a car and staying at a hotel.

Due to limited on-board space, enthusiasts also claim that RVers are greener because they shop only for what they need and conserve water (a house toilet uses up to three gallons per flush; an RV uses three cups).  Diesel-powered RVs can also use biodiesel fuel, while propane used for cooking and heating is also clean-burning. As well, the newer RV models come with racks for bicycles, so local exploring and shopping can be accomplished via “pedal power.”

Meanwhile, industrial designers are res-ponding to the need to be green with compact RVs made of lighter materials, for greater fuel economy. The new r-pod series of small, ultra-lightweight trailers ranges from cozy “built-for-two” models to larger ultra-compacts that can handle the entire family. An even greener option is the new Verdier solar-powered eco-camper (to be released this summer); based on the classic VW camper, it comes with a four-cylinder hybrid engine and 170-watt solar system oriented by GPS. Then there’s the new eco-friendly ultimate: the ECO, which boasts a rainwater harvesting system, roof-mounted wind turbine and six solar panels.  –Helena Zukowski

The Caravantage
Considering buying or renting? Experts suggest taking in a local RV show (held late winter and early spring), where hundreds of RVs are on display and buyers can gather a lot of info at on-site seminars. 
As for the savings RV travel can offer, here’s a typical budget comparison for a Calgary family of four planning a two-week mid-summer vacation on B.C.’s Vancouver Island:

With car/air/hotel:
• $1,600 airfare between Calgary and
Vancouver
• $680 mid-size car rental with unlimited
mileage (Vancouver to Campbell River)
• $180 in fuel (Vancouver to Campbell River return; approximately 650 km)
• $1,680 ($120 per night in standard hotel)
• $288 for ferries
• $2,520 ($180 per day for restaurant meals)
Total: $6,948

A similar trip using a Class C rental RV:
• $1,200 $3,037 RV rental (with 700 km free and .35 per km over and above)
• $312 $530 for gas (8 km per litre)
• $300 $475 for camp fees
• $500 for meals cooked in the RV’s kitchen
• $343 for return ferry fare
Total: $2,312$4,885

The Getaway

Set amongst endless canola fields in south-central Alberta, Delia is in many ways a quintessential Alberta farming community. All the ingredients are here: UFA gas station, old grain elevator still standing near the railroad, a Western-Chinese restaurant on Main Street and Hutterite communities scattered all around. (In fact, Delia’s typical prairie town character led to its use as a set location for the 2001 film Knockaround Guys, starring John Malkovich and Dennis Hopper.) Yet Delia has its surprises, too: a comprehensive town museum and historic gristmill, a teashop owned by a Quebecois expat, and a view of the beautiful Hand Hills, to the south. Called Michichi in Cree, these hills were once an important spiritual area for First Nations and provided a strategic lookout over the prairie – one can apparently see “for three days’ distance” from the summit. The town of 200 also deserves kudos for its forward-thinking sustainability projects: solar panels already run Delia’s pump station and plans are in the works to similarly fuel the local arena and curling rink.

The Hideaway
The Mother Mountain Guest House (top) is a charming cottage just a few doors down from the Mother Mountain Tea House & Restaurant – owned by the aforementioned Quebecois expat, Yvon, and wife Heide. The guest house – one bedroom and den with pullout couch – has been lovingly restored with hardwood floors and antiques (Yvon is a skilled carpenter and Heide an interior decorator). The east-facing sunroom is a lovely spot for breakfast; the back deck, with a poplar tree growing through it, is the perfect place for a glass of wine at dusk. $150 a night. 
http://www.mothermountainteahouse.ca

The Inside Track
Prairie-phernalia: The Delia town museum, housed in a 1914 schoolhouse. Half the building is a restored classroom with old desks, books and original stove; the other half is a pioneer museum, displaying household items, war memorabilia and various farm implements. Just outside: a working gristmill (left), the only one of its kind in western Canada. (Call for hours: 403-364-3848.) Tipi time: The third-annual Delia Michif Gathering — celebrating local First Nations heritage with drumming, cultural demonstrations, traditional foods and a play. July 2 to 5 (403-364-2521).
The finer diner: For the best burger and fries, the Delia Coffee Shop (locally known as Luke’s) on Main Street (403-364-3841). À la mode-acious: Mother Mountain Tea House & Restaurant, in the century-old Crown Lumber building, for the sweetest apple pie in town. More heaven than heller: Hwy. 851 through the Hand Hills, then west on to 576, affords prime views on the way to Drumheller (watch for deer).

The North American auto industry has driven into the ditch and, like any other serious crash, the impact is being felt far beyond the mangled wreckage. Besieged by collapsing sales, high labour costs and staggering losses, General Motors, Ford and Chrysler have closed or scaled back more than a dozen plants in North America, laying off tens of thousands of workers in the past three years.

During 2008 alone, the industry shed between 12,000 and 13,000 Canadian jobs – nearly 10 per cent of its total, according to Scotiabank economist Carlos Gomes. Meanwhile, both General Motors Corp. and Chrysler LLC are hanging on by their fingernails and have appealed to governments in the U.S. and Canada for bailout funds.

GM’s auditors, for one, expressed doubts in March about whether the company can continue operating and warned it may need bankruptcy protection if it can’t complete a restructuring plan. In the company’s annual report, auditors cited “the corporation’s recurring losses from operations, stockholders’ deficit, and inability to generate sufficient cash flow to meet its obligations and sustain its operations” as the main reasons for the warning. With five retired employees for every one working, GM Canada also says its pension fund liabilities have the potential to crush the company. Pension analysts calculate that GM Canada’s total pension shortfall may have catapulted to more than $6 billion from $4.5 billion in the last 16 months alone. If their estimate is correct, it would leave the pension plan with assets worth barely half of its obligations.

On the international front, automakers have been hit by a drop in sales as consumers lose confidence and jobs vanish. But there’s plenty of blame to go around, experts say, pointing to an unsustainable business model, poor labour productivity and the industry’s refusal to innovate and respond to customer demands for more fuel-efficient vehicles. But whatever the reasons for the trouble, the results are being measured in pink slips. And now Canadian taxpayers, like our American neighbours, could be paying – and paying big.

GM, for example, is seeking US$30 billion from the U.S. government and billions more from the Canadian and Ontario governments. Ottawa has said it would provide up to $4 billion in emergency loans, with GM Canada eligible for up to $3 billion and Chrysler Canada up to $1 billion. Ford, the third member of the so-called Detroit Three, is doing somewhat better and has asked for a line of credit to draw upon if required, though federal finance minister Jim Flaherty has said there needs to be “some assurance that this will not be a waste of taxpayer money.” Flaherty has also noted that it is vital to consider legacy costs, including retiree health and pension benefits; a reasonable assumption of future sales of motor vehicles; as well as the concessions unions are prepared to make to bring down wage rates and adjust compensation packages.

All this talk of bailouts is catching the attention of politicians everywhere. In January, Premier Ed Stelmach stated that the federal government should not ignore Alberta just because the province paid off its remaining debt years ago and had money in the bank. Stelmach has also made a plea for Ottawa to pay attention to all industries affected by the current economic crisis and not just focus on the Ontario-based auto sector. He makes the point that, without “equitable” help, other Canadians won’t be able to afford to buy cars and keep the auto industry afloat, particularly with those in the forestry, agriculture and energy sectors also losing jobs.

Besides affecting auto sales, the financial crisis battering North America’s economy is also lowering the demand for fuel and putting downward pressure on oil prices. And in Alberta, falling energy prices mean companies are throttling back capital budgets and postponing major projects – and because Albertans lead the country in per capita sales of new vehicles, a tightening in the availability of credit and a dampening of the market has a direct impact on car dealers and our local economy. Those losses ripple all the way back to the auto plants in Ontario and the U.S.

In his address to a joint session of Congress in February, U.S. president Barack Obama’s view was that “Years of bad decision-making and a global recession have pushed our automakers to the brink. We should not, and will not, protect them from their own bad practices. But we are committed to the goal of a re-tooled, re-imagined auto industry that can compete and win. Millions of jobs depend on it. Scores of communities depend on it. And I believe the nation that invented the automobile cannot walk away from it.”

Exactly what form that re-imagining might take is not yet clear, but many analysts are betting that the U.S. administration will mandate much tougher fuel-efficiency standards, which have remained largely unchanged for more than 20 years. With the quest to improve fuel economy kicking into high gear, manufacturers will also need to reduce vehicle weights, and Canada’s aluminum and nickel industries are perfectly placed to fill the demand for lighter-weight materials.

The Detroit automakers have suggested they can steer out of the skid and succeed in the 21st-century marketplace by forging new strategic alliances and overhauling their products. Years behind their Japanese and European counterparts, they are finally introducing more fuel-efficient vehicles:  CUVs – crossover utility vehicles – are the fastest-growing vehicle segment, hybrids and electric vehicles such as the Chevy Volt are touted as the way to a cleaner, more profitable future. Meanwhile, at the Canadian International AutoShow in Toronto in February, consumers were drawn like bees to clover to vehicles showcasing alternate-fuel technologies. It’s clear that the auto-buying public has an appetite for innovation, and that hybrids, diesels and electric plug-ins are driving the green revolution.

Amid all the hand-wringing over the auto sector woes, there are also calls for all bailouts in the auto industry to be more of a kick in the pants, in order to prompt bold and decisive turns in a new direction. Not since the introduction of the automobile a century ago and the Depression of the 1930s have world leaders been so compelled to reconsider the nature of the global economy, with consumer groups such as Adbusters describing the economic downturn as an indication that the shopping spree is over for consumption-mad countries. The Washington, D.C.-based Worldwatch Institute asserts that, in the face of stagnating economies and climate change, stimulating green industries is more important than ever. “It’s time for a bailout for the environment: one that creates jobs, is global in scope and can help rebuild communities amidst the ashes of the current economic crisis,” says Worldwatch Institute senior researcher Michael Renner.

Government leaders and the public should also be pushing the auto companies to go green, Renner says, because it is both good for the environment and good business. What’s needed is a paradigm shift, he says, just like what happened during World War II. In 1942, the U.S. government directed its automakers to stop manufacturing cars and start making tanks, armoured vehicles and airplane propellers. The shift was completed in a matter of months and, after the war, the companies went right back to making cars and trucks. Doing the same thing now with the auto sector would save jobs and create millions more that don’t exist, Renner submits. He points to China as an example of where renewable energy technologies provide so-called green jobs for an estimated one million people in the wind, solar photovoltaic, solar thermal and biomass industries.

Closer to home, Alberta’s Provincial Energy Strategy, unveiled in December 2008, is big on promises to address the environmental footprint of energy and encourage the development of renewable technologies. The strategy recommends that the province adopt a Renewable Fuels Standard (RFS) of five per cent ethanol in gasoline and two per cent renewable content in diesel by 2010. Its adoption would support Alberta’s renewable fuels sector and further development of biofuels technology, while improving innovation through increased investment in research and the development of energy technology, encouraging conservation, and upgrading the electricity generation and transmissions systems. The plan calls it “sustainable prosperity” and seems to acknowledge that, if more automobiles of tomorrow are plug-ins recharged by electricity, we’re going to need a serious increase in capacity.

Is it yet feasible to talk of alternative fuels powering a world where solar panels charge our cars and wind turbines power our homes? Critics propose that the infrastructure challenges are enormous and won’t be managed quickly or easily. All of North America’s farmland can’t grow enough biofuel to meet more than a fraction of the need and, after all, a litre of gas remains cheaper than a litre of bottled water. Furthermore, whenever prices fall back to more affordable levels, the incentive to develop alternative fuel technologies diminishes.

Even so, mounting concern over humanity’s unsustainable carbon footprint is pushing us to the cusp of a paradigm shift that will impact how we live and how we move around. The crisis in the auto sector is merely an exclamation point on the changes now underway in our economy, and the challenges of an uncertain road ahead.

Is a sequel to Who Killed The Electric Car underway in Canada? Even those not prone to conspiracy theories are asking the question. To recap: after pulling the plug on its electric EV1 in the mid-1990s, GM is charging up its extended-range electric GM-Volt for a late 2010 launch (anticipated price: U.S.$40,000). Meanwhile, a cheaper made-in-Canada all-electric vehicle already exists (retail price: $16,900) – and it lives up to its name (ZENN: Zero Emissions, No Noise) and costs only a penny or so a kilometre to run. The catch? It’s not sold in Canada outside of Quebec. In fact, there is a ZENN ban on regular roads outside la belle province, where a three-year ZENN pilot is underway on roads with a maximum 50 km/h limit. Yet south of the border, ZENNs are selling in 20 states and street-legal in 44.

A plot by Big Oil to keep Canadians addicted to gasoline? Most definitely, says The Economist in the U.K., where Londoners receive free parking and exemption from $16-a-day congestion charges when piloting electric cars such as the G-Wiz: “[It’s] political bias,” suggests the magazine. “Harper’s Conservatives [have] much support in oil-rich Alberta.” Easy for non-Canucks to say, but the real culprit is a tangle of red tape around safety concerns and bureaucratic classifications. So, to unknot what’s threatening to kill Canada’s little electric-car-that-could, let’s take a ZENN moment.

Another Bulb Dims

Slow Riders

Green Means Stop

Current Situation

Shocking Solution

From Pretoria to Ottawa, capital cities get a bad rap. Perhaps it’s their resident ranks of bureaucrats and diplomats, but capitals are routinely dismissed as provincial, dull and too squeaky-clean by their hi-amp big-city counterparts. Montréalers’ take on Québec City is no exception.

Still, Québec City offers a range of grit. For those looking for the trés cute, there are colourful cafés with sunny terraces perfect for lingering over café au lait and reflecting on the only walled city north of Mexico. And even within the historic old quarter that UNESCO declared a World Heritage Site in 1985, there are interesting niches with undeniable patina if one looks for them – such as the antique shops and cafés lining rue St-Paul and St-Pierre in Lower Town. As for those who want to experience the “real” Québec (as the city is called locally), there are the neighbourhoods outside Vieux Québec’s walls, such as Avenue Cartier to the west, an eclectic mix of chic shops and cafés near the Plains of Abraham. And just beyond the stone gates on rue St-Jean, a stalwart bastion of pur laine Québecois is stoking a growing multicultural and Bohemian vibe.

The real epicentre of change of late, though, is Saint-Roch, a neighbourhood that, even now, no one would accuse of being squeaky clean. Just a short walk beyond the old city walls, Saint-Roch was until recently a dodgy, blue-collar district scarred by a botched 1970s covered-mall project. Then in 2000 the government began its clean-up, creating a public garden on a vacant lot and restoring a grand old theatre. The city ripped off the mall roof and hired artists to paint frescoes on concrete highway overpass pillars at the edge of the neighbourhood. Young entrepreneurs and artists then moved in and, voila, an urban renaissance blossomed: funky cafés, fine restaurants, boutiques, galleries, trendy hotels, a new MEC. Yes, the quartier is still an earthy work in progress. But that’s a good thing.  –Margo Pfeiff

Insider’s Guide

The Go Spots
• Centre Materia Artist-run co-op that collaborates with the Museum of Civilization, exhibiting contemporary and anthropological artifacts. 418-524-0354; http://www.centremateria.com
• Museum of Civilization A Moshe Safdie-designed gem, housing local artifacts along-side international exhibits.
418-643-2158; http://www.mcq.org
• Musée national des beaux-arts du Québec Local and international fine art. 1-866-220-2150; http://www.mnba.qc.ca
• Musée d’Art Inuit Brousseau 500 Inuit works of art illustrate Québec’s strong ties to Canada’s North. 418-694-1828; http://www.inuitart.ca
• Guided Jogging Tours History on the run. 418-204-0511; http://www.quebecjoggingtours.com
• Marche du Vieux-Port de Quebec Market selling regional produce, plus jams, maple syrup — and bike rentals.
Best Crash Zones
• The Auberge St-Antoine Hotel/museum displays more than 250 archaeological finds from the site’s past lives. From $249. 1-888-692-2211; http://www.saint-antoine.com
• St-Roch’s award-winning Hotel Pur Rooms are small but hip, high tech and minimalist.  From $139. 1-800-267-2002; http://www.hotelpur.com
• Hotel Acadia Three 19th-century houses just inside the old city walls; cozy, with stone-walled, stained-glass character. From $79. 1-800-463-0280; http://www.hotelacadia.com

Trendy Vittles
• The Boudoir Lounge Popular with young professionals on the prowl for cocktails and music. 418-524-7777; http://www.boudoirlounge.com
• Restaurant l’Utopie Nine-course dégustation menus, including tuna-belly sashimi, two-pound crab legs and partridge – served with panache. 418-523-7878; http://www.restaurant-utopie.com
• Restaurant Aux Anciens Canadiens Yes, the wait-staff are clad in old Québecois costumes, but the cuisine is excellent: caribou, tourtière (game meat pie) and maple sugar pie. 418-692-1627; http://www.auxancienscanadiens.qc.ca

Tourisme Quebec City: http://www.quebecregion.com

I turn on the boat’s VHF radio and tune in to the latest marine forecast. Last night the buoys were showing a significant, long-period swell, with the winds predicted to blow offshore at our “secret” reef break up the B.C. coast. But things change fast out on the Pacific northwest of Tofino, with big tides, unpredictable wind shifts and quick swell changes. And, while the first few hours of our trek are through the sheltered waters of Clayoquot Sound, the last third is an exposed, open-ocean sprint up an isolated stretch of coastline.

Fortunately the forecast still looks good.

We weave around the commercial crab traps spread over every sandbar in the sound, before slipping between a barely submerged rock on the portside and two feet of water over a sandbar on the starboard. Rounding the point, we’re met head-on with gale force winds. It’s going to be a rough ride from here on out. But we’re happy: the wind is directly offshore at the reef break we’re heading to. We cut the engine to put on the cruiser suits that serve as life preservers and element protectors, then slog into the four-foot chop with a rolling swell underneath.

We pound our way up the coast, rattling every bone in our bodies the whole way – and, just when our kidneys have had enough, spot big white plumes of spray blowing off the tops of perfectly shaped overhead waves. I set the anchor and tie the stern line to a strong piece of bull kelp, then wait for a couple of sets with long, long lulls between, to ensure the anchor is holding. If we lose our boat out here, we’re done for. As we wait, I pull on a 5mm wetsuit, boots and gloves.

Finally, there’s just the surf to contend with: serious, unhindered, powerful waves that rise abruptly from deep water and explode on shallow rock shelves. We jump over the gunwale with our boards and start paddling, the racing thoughts of how far we are from help inevitable. I calculate the time needed to get within VHF radio range, never mind the distance to the nearest hospital. Wave selection becomes critical. Each drop-in is a heart-in-throat leap of faith. The anticipation builds. A lump shows on the horizon – an approaching set. I’m too far inside. I paddle hard for the outside. This is easily the biggest set we’ve seen. My pulse quickens, my heart drops. I’m in the worst possible place. I redouble my efforts, taking long, deep, efficient strokes in a race to the edge of the reef.

The wave touches bottom and rises, the lip feathering, pitching out toward shore – millions of tiny droplets suspended momentarily, then blown seaward by the offshore winds. I’ve lost the race. The wave trips over itself. Suddenly it’s bearing down on me with menace. I grip the rails of my board as tightly as I can, push my knee into the deck and sink it as deep as it will go, beginning a valiant but hopeless duck dive. Looking up into the guts of the wave about to obliterate me, its beauty is oddly mesmerizing. I take a deep breath and brace myself. The lip explodes right in front of my face. For a moment there is nothing but whiteness and the sensation of being struck by a freight train, followed by chaos. I’m somersaulting and cartwheeling, limbs akimbo. I cover my head. My shoulder slams into the reef, then my knee. Water rushes above, pinning me to the rocks. I know not to fight it; there’s no point. The air in my lungs burns. Each second is an eternity. Finally the violence above subsides. I kick off the reef toward the surface, now a frothy, boiling cauldron of whitewater.

Why take such risks? Because there is no way to describe what it’s like to float 45 metres off a reef, with no tourists, no towns, no traffic, no houses, no power lines – heck, not even a fishing trawler puttering back to the shelter of Tofino, just me and my friends sharing perfect waves alone. Surfing becomes something else entirely – a life-altering adventure. The thousands of hours, the years, spent bobbing in the sea, the money spent on gear: all seem worthwhile, even necessary, to snatch these fleeting moments out here in the wilderness, in the surf – moments we’ll reflect on for the rest of our years.

Jaunt: Creston, B.C., to Cardston, Alberta, via Going-to-the-Sun
Distance: Approx. 575 km
Fuel: 1-plus tank Duration: 2 to 3 days
Prime Time: Mid-June to mid-September (or when the road is open)
Tunes: Young, arty rock band The Decemberists — lead singer/songwriter Colin Meloy is from Helena, Montana. New album: The Hazards of Love (Capitol Records)

Going-to-the-Sun Road, which winds through Montana’s Glacier National Park, is without question one of the world’s most scenic drives: 80 kilometres of cliff-hanging, narrow mountain highway over Logan Pass, more than 2,200 metres above sea level. Built in 1933, and a designated U.S. National Historic Landmark and Civil Engineering Landmark, the road is narrow and twisty, cut like a shelf above stupendous chasms and overhung with glowering rock faces. It’s not a drive for the faint of heart, particularly as a 10-year upgrade is underway that requires heavy construction machinery on the road and sections of single-lane traffic.

Luckily, the park has stepped up its on-site transit: small, free shuttle buses now run every 15 to 30 minutes. Park at any of 17 stops along the road, including Logan Pass, then step on and off the shuttles as often as desired to spend the day exploring. We start this roadtrip in Creston, B.C., then loop through the Idaho panhandle into Montana’s Flathead country and on to the start of Going-to-the-Sun Road at West Glacier. This high and daring route then descends to the plains for an easy drive north to Cardston, Alberta. Along the way: a car safari in a Bison refuge and a century-old Catholic mission.

Leg One
Creston to Charlo
Approx. 270 km

From Creston on B.C.’s Hwy. 3, follow the Kootenay River south across the border at Rykerts/Porthill. Continue into Idaho on Hwys. 1 and 95, then pick up Hwy. 2 heading southeast to Moyie Springs. History lovers will want to detour south to Bonners Ferry. The compact, mostly red-brick town played a significant role in the Kootenay Gold Rush, marking a strategic crossing of the Kootenai* River via the Wildhorse Trail to the gold rush camps around B.C.’s Fort Steele. Later, it became a steamboat port.

Hwy. 2 follows the Kootenai River southwest into Montana (Mountain Time, so set watches forward) and the little settlement of Troy – at 500 metres above sea level, it’s the lowest town in Montana. The route strikes south along Hwy. 56, through the Cabinet Mountains and Kootenai National Forest, to the Clark Fork of the Flathead River. Lewis and Clark explored this area, but a quick look at a map shows this was also David Thompson country: a town, river, falls, pass, forest and string of lakes are all named after the explorer. Turn south and follow the river along Hwy. 200 to the settlement of Thompson Falls and the site of Thompson’s 1809 Saleesh House, one of the first trading posts in Montana. Only a few artifacts remain, on display in the Old Jail Museum. Try the Black Bear Hotel for a coffee, then continue east along the narrow, mountain-rimmed valley. Near Plains, the road suddenly emerges from the forest onto grass-covered hills. Continue to Dixon, former site of the large First Nations encampment where Thompson traded for furs.

Here, take Hwy. 212 north to the National Bison Range, a huge sweep of mountain grassland set aside in 1908 to support some of the last wild bison in the west. Stop at the visitor centre for information and a map of Red Sleep Mountain Drive, a 30-km gravel road through the big-game preserve where several hundred bison roam free, along with deer, pronghorn antelope, elk, bighorn sheep, black bear and many species of birds. Motorists are advised to stay near their cars, except at designated areas, and to be prepared for steep grades. The view east over the valley town of St. Ignatius to the blue shoulders of the Mission Mountains beyond is spectacular (cost of this self-guided wildlife safari: a mere $5 per vehicle; visitor centre open 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., gates open 7 a.m. until dusk; allow at least an hour; http://www.fws.gov/bisonrange).

From the bison range, continue north on Hwy. 212, then cut east on Dublin Gulch Road to Hwy. 93. A few kilometres south lies St. Ignatius’s historic mission church, established by the Jesuits in 1854 and famous for 58 striking murals painted by the mission cook, Brother Joseph Carignano. The current building, of local red-clay brick, dates from the 1890s, and even some earlier buildings remain. Open 9 a.m. to 7 p.m.

The Mission Valley south of Flathead Lake (named for the Flathead First Nation) is flat and extensive. Once the floor of enormous glacial Lake Missoula (as big as lakes Superior and Erie combined), the valley is the result of flooding when the glaciers melted some 10,000 years ago. Hwy. 93 leads north through the valley between the Mission and Salish mountains, and there are two wetlands reserves (Ninepipe and Pablo) on the flats. Luckily there’s a good place to stay nearby – a boon to early-morning birders. Good sleeps and eats: Ninepipes Lodge, on Hwy. 93 near Charlo, features a dining room that overlooks an on-reserve lake (406-644-2588). Right next door: Ninepipes Museum of Early Montana (open 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.), with extensive displays of native memorabilia and a well-stocked gift shop (http://www.ninepipes.org).

Leg Two
Charlo to Carston
Approx. 300 km

Continue north on Hwy. 93 to Flathead Lake and then drive along the less populated east shore road, Hwy. 35, still heading north. (Hwys. 93 and 35 join at the south end of Flathead Lake.) The lake is Montana’s largest – more than 50 km long and 15 wide, it shimmers like a mirage in the summer sun. At its northeast corner, wedged between the Flathead and Swan rivers, the resort town of Bigfork is well supplied with amenities, including 25 restaurants, 50 shops, 13 art galleries and a thriving summer playhouse. North of Bigfork, you’ll find yourself on Hwy. 206, then Hwy. 2, heading through Creston (Montana) and the town of Hungry Horse to West Glacier, where the mountain adventure begins. Good sleeps: If you have an extra day, book in overnight at West Glacier (the refurbished 1910 Belton Chalet has splendid ambience, good food and even a resident ghost; http://www.beltonchalet.com) or the heritage Lake McDonald Lodge (406-862-8190). Then take the shuttle bus, all the way over the mountains and back again, stopping to hike and enjoy the views. Park permits can be picked up at the visitor centre in nearby Apgar or at the park gates – no one can drive the road or hike in the park without one. (Seven-day vehicle pass, $25; annual, $35; shuttle bus is free.) Another option: a guided Red Jammer bus tour in a flamboyant open-top 1930s vehicle (reconditioned, of course, and burning propane). For most park accommodations, activities, tours (and Red Jammers): http://www.glacierparkinc.com.

If driving Going-to-the-Sun Road in your own vehicle, it’s an easy 15 km through the forest alongside scenic Lake McDonald to start. (Call in at the historic lodge for coffee and to walk the one-km Trail of the Cedars – giant trees more than 600 years old – or the longer trail to Avalanche Lake.) Just when you think “This is easy!” the road steepens, dives through a tunnel and turns to gravel, then snakes precariously above McDonald Creek under sheer Glacier Wall and swings around the infamous hairpin bend (good view of Heaven’s Peak) and under the Weeping Wall up to the divide. The visitor centre at Logan Pass is often full on summer weekends, but if you can, stop and stroll the Backbone of the World (the park’s Blackfoot name) along a boardwalk under the towering peaks. Mountain goats can often be seen here in the alpine meadows, and kids love to play in the snow that seldom melts entirely around the pass area. From here, it is an inspiring swoop down the dry side of the mountains and around Siyeh Bend and the shoulders of Going-to-the-Sun Mountain to Jackson Glacier Overlook, a must-stop. Beyond, the road drops to glacial-green St. Mary Lake, where tiny Wild Goose Island provides a photographic focus. At Rising Sun picnic area, roadtrippers pass through the alpine and into the bunchgrass of the plains. Lake boat tours here and at St. Mary allow for an alternative mountain perspective.

At the eastern end of St. Mary Lake, the townsite of the same name is road’s end, with a visitor centre, other park services and the upscale St. Mary Lodge & Resort (the newest offerings include wood-floor tipis with private bath houses). The Glacier Park experience does not end here, however. At Babb, a little way north on Hwy. 89, a road goes northwest along Lake Sherburne through huge fields of wildflowers to Many Glacier. At road’s end (about 20 km from the highway), Swiftcurrent Lake provides stunning views of glacier-hung peaks and start-off points to many spectacular hikes, including de rigueur Grinnell Glacier and Iceberg Lake. Best sleeps: The spectacularly situated Many Glacier Hotel, with boat rides and horseback riding (406-892-2525). When ready to return home, head back to Babb and drive north, keeping Montana’s distinctive Chief Mountain on your left horizon. From the Canadian border at Carway, Cardston is just a hop away. Good eats: Cobblestone Manor (403-653-2701). Also, the Park Café – a homey place with a screen door, melamine tables and chrome bar stools; excellent breakfasts and healthy lunches and dinners, but the real star here is the pie (a dozen flavours to choose from, including huckleberry, made with local berries).

Note: There are height, length and width restrictions on vehicles driving Going-to-the-Sun Road, and no gas stations en route. The Glacier Visitor Guide (free) has good info (http://www.nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit).

Since modern Antarctic tourism began in 1969, the number of tourists to the region has grown from a few hundred to more than 30,000 each year. No matter what your reasons are for visiting the Antarctic, there’s potential environmental impact. Is it possible to travel responsibly to the Antartic? Click on the audio icon above to listen to Westworld’s interview with professor Marianne Douglas, director of the Canadian Circumpolar Institute at the University of Alberta.

President Obama wants to amend the Antarctic Treaty, limiting the size of cruise ships and the number of visitors travelling to the Antarctic. Do you agree with Obama? How do you feel about travel to this part of the world?

Attention eco-conscious travellers: a growing number of hybrid taxis are currently operating on Edmonton and Calgary streets thanks to a pilot program launched last year by Climate Change Central. Compared to conventional cabs, these hybrids reduce fuel consumption by 58 per cent on average — a savings of $8,696 per 100,000 kilometres. What’s it like to be shuttled around in a hybrid? Drivers report that passengers are enthusiastic about riding in a gas-electric Toyota Prius, Camry and Ford Escape. Most are also surprised by how roomy the vehicles are. To hail one of these eco-shuttles, call Alberta Co-op Taxi Line, Associated Cabs, Mayfair Taxi and Checker Cabs.

Plunging real estate values are allowing many Canadian renters to breathe a big fat sigh of relief. That’s because, prior to the recent price collapse triggered by the U.S. sub-prime crisis, those who had hoped to buy at some point in their lives were forced to sit on the sidelines, agonizing, as their dreams of home ownership seemingly evaporated in the face of skyrocketing home values.
Not anymore. Real estate prices are down across the country and interest rates are at an all-time low. So is now the time to buy?
It depends on your situation, says Randy Coutts, credit manager for Calgary’s Bridgewater Bank. First, he says, “renting offers advantages, including a great deal of flexibility. If you’re not sure you’ll be living in a particular city for any length of time, for example, then you don’t have to worry about fluctuations in the real estate market or the headaches and costs of selling.” And renting is a lot less expensive than being a homeowner. Renters don’t have to come up with down payments (a minimum five per cent these days), insurance costs are lower due to insuring contents-only as opposed to contents and structure, and there are no property taxes or maintenance costs. Plus, with fewer homes now selling, an increasing number of properties already on the market are likely to wind up offered as rentals – driving rental suite availability up and prices down.
However, there has been – and always will be – one big knock when it comes to renting. The money paid in rent is gone forever. Owning a home, on the other hand, allows buyers to build equity and enjoy a place they can call their own while remodelling it to suit personal preferences. And while home prices may now be on the way down, in the long term, says Coutts, real estate has proven to be a good investment. The economy may be reeling at the moment, he notes, but eventually it will recover. When it does, home prices will stabilize and the price pendulum will start swinging the other way again.

Five Tips for Buyers
You’re a first-time buyer ready to take the plunge? Keep in mind:
• On a monthly basis, it typically costs more to buy than rent a home of equal value. In addition to a mortgage, homeowners must factor in property taxes, ongoing maintenance, legal fees (such as closing costs) and higher insurance premiums. And with down payments of less than 20 per cent, mortgage insurance is required.
• It’s important to set aside a nest egg for emergencies – the lack of which is behind many of the foreclosures currently taking place in North America. A temporary loss of income or the need for a new furnace shouldn’t sink the ship.
• Those buying condos also have monthly condo fees to pay. Potentially, monies to cover assess-ments for repairs and upgrades are also needed. Buyers are strongly advised to carefully examine strata council minutes for indications of upcoming expenditures.
• A home inspection is strongly recommended prior to buying; it’s the best $400 a prospective homeowner can ever spend.
• The importance of shopping around for the best mortgage rates and terms. (Obvious, but sometimes overlooked.)
• A final cautionary math note: mortgage sellers frequently use mortgage calculators to illustrate the advantages of buying over renting. But, as noted, such calculations frequently omit many relevant costs – and almost never emphasize the need to have contingency funds set aside for emergencies.

We Canadians are getting used to the media telling us that the sub-prime mortgage issue causing so much havoc south of the border can’t happen here. But is it true? Maybe. Despite the fact that Canadian banks are typically more assiduous at vetting borrowers’ income and asset statements, and the fact that the mortgage default rate in Canada is a manageable 0.33 per cent, declining house prices and mounting job losses could drive this number into the one- to two-per-cent range. “That may not sound like much, but for the banks it would be a concern,” says Bridgewater’s Randy Coutts. As for Canadians, it could lead to increased credit restrictions and a further drop in both consumer spending and house prices.

Just over 50 per cent of Canadians are single, according to Statistics Canada. But rather than staying home and bewailing the state of their lonely planet status come vacation time, singles are travelling – either on their own as genuine free birds or with like-minded groups of so-called “solo travellers” (as the travel industry now identifies this fast-growing niche market).

While there are no statistics to quantify the trend in this country, the U.S. Travel Industry Association notes that those who live alone in America accounted for 21.8 per cent of all travellers in 2006 (a third travelled for business, the remainder for pleasure). In the U.K., market-research firm Mintel reveals that 15.4 million Britons holidayed alone in 2006, up from 9.6 million a decade earlier. And in Canada, companies such as G.A.P. Adventures have been catering to solo travellers and their preference for adventure travel for more than 30 years, with such bookings comprising as much as 40 per cent of its client base.

The good news in all this: the travel industry no longer routinely treats single travellers as second-class citizens – the proverbial fifth wheel assigned the spare seat at the back of the bus on tours packed with couples. True, the “single supplement” on hotel and cruise ship accommodations – which are sold typically on a double-occupancy basis – remains commonplace. But increasing numbers of singles-savvy operators are now offering lower supplements or waiving them altogether.

The latest research also shows that it is women – particularly retired baby boomers with the means, time and desire to travel – who are increasingly driving the solo travel market. But they aren’t necessarily single. Many are travelling without their partners and are doing so within the security of a group experience – given that independent travel can have
its downside.

“Cost, loneliness and safety are the three issues I address most often,” says Diane Redfern, founder of Connecting: Solo Travel Network. In addition to delivering tips and trip info to several thousand North Amer-ican subscribers, Redfern matches singles with other solo travellers for room shares and alerts members to the many singles-only group holiday packages available. Other options among many for flocking together: Canada’s Singles Travel Club (singles travelclub.ca) and the Alberta-based Gutsy Women Travel.  Membership in Hostelling International (hihostels.com) also makes sense if funds are tight (and there’s nowhere better to meet fellow travellers of all ages).

As for true solo travel, it’s definitely a one-way ticket to unexpected life experiences. “You’re never alone in a world this crowded,” laughs William Jans, the photographer whose solo treks in Tibet, South America and Burma are the basis for stunning multimedia events across western Canada. “I’ve made some incredible, lifelong friends travelling solo, which has allowed me to be totally spontaneous and get much closer to the essence of a place than I could manage with a group.”

Indie travellers like Jans take the usual precautions regarding up-to-date passports, visas, financial resources and medical insurance. It’s also wise to stay in routine touch via phone and email with contacts back home (not so difficult given the surge of Internet cafés in even the most remote locales) and to hold tight to the number for Foreign Affairs Canada’s emergency hotline (which takes collect calls 24/7 at 613-996-8885). But such cautionary steps, notes Jans, are amply rewarded. As Chris Winstanley, 65, a retired teacher who departs western Canada annually for extended solo overseas travels by bus and train, puts it: “I feel like a little kid discovering life all over again. I start out booking my first two or three nights, but then I just let circumstances dictate where I’m headed next.”

Reading List
• Lea Lane’s Solo Traveler: Tales & Tips for Great Trips (Fodor’s, 2005; $21)
• Eleanor Berman’s Traveling Solo: Advice & Ideas for More than 250 Great Vacations (Globe Pequot, 2008; $17.95)
• Teresa Williamson’s Fly Solo: The 50 Best Places on Earth for a Girl to Travel Alone (Perigee, 2007; $15.95)

Contrary to popular belief, the hole in the ozone was not first discovered above Australia. Scientists in the Antarctic were the first to record the thinning of the ozone.  Click on the audio icon above to listen to Marianne Douglas, director of the Canadian Circumpolar Institute, explain how the hole developed and why we can’t ignore global linkages.

Related Links
Who is monitoring tourism in the Antarctic?
http://www.ama.ab.ca/westworld/index.php?/articles/antarctica_tourism_in_the_south_pole

Award-winning writer Daniel Wood travels to the Antarctic
http://www.ama.ab.ca/westworld/?/articles/antarctica_the_last_continent

Back Roads is the harrowing survival story and autobiography of burnt-out Vancouver journalist Ted Ferguson, who in the early 1980s moved his family to the northern Alberta outback. Here, the usual “roughin’ it” hardships – finding a cheap place to live, surviving blizzards and worrying about how to feed a family – unfold, adventures that lead Ferguson on a path of self-discovery that results in renewed appreciation for his wife and son and the natural world. Even more intriguing: the captivating cast of quirky locals who befriend these urban transplants. (NeWest Press, 2008; $22.95)

In just over a year, Edmonton Bon Ton Bakery owner Hilton Dinner has given away more than 8,000 reusable bags. This spring, he will also approach city council for support of an even larger-scale campaign to encourage the use of cloth bags — so that reusing becomes a social norm. As Dinner sees it: “Edmonton should be known as the city that supports people supporting the environment.”

Pollination equals agriculture — it’s as simple as that. Yet two years after bees began disappearing across North America, Colony Collapse Disorder is still a worrisome topic. To help: donate to the Canadian Bee Research Fund at http://www.honeycouncil.ca (click on “News”) and, this spring, set up butterfly, ladybug and bee houses in your backyard.
Calgary’s Wild Bird Store: 403-640-2632

The popularity of today’s slow movement isn’t just about food. A host of industries are embracing the philosophy of buying eco-friendly and local, including the design field. In Alberta, one of the first to capitalize on the trend amongst the latter is Edmonton-based IZM, where owners Shane Pawluk and Jerad Mack have eschewed mass production and the disposable culture it creates. The pair’s furniture line of clean-lined beds and dining room tables and chairs is “designed and built to be passed down” — not to end up in landfills. Carved from wood harvested at regulated tree farms in North America, each piece is hand-stained with all-natural products, while leftover wood is crafted into eco-friendly wrist cuffs that double as coffee sleeves. 
780-452-1600; http://www.izm.ca

Stretching 1.6 kilometres across Lethbridge’s Old Man River Valley, the High Level Bridge is one of the longest rail spans in the world – and this year, the iconic bridge is turning 100. Which means, as with all great milestones, there’ll be one helluva party to kick off the Historic Lethbridge Festival. Partygoers can view The Mighty Bridge exhibit at the Galt Museum & Archives, indulge in a CPR-themed feast and sample menus from local restaurants and cafes. And as no celebration is complete without music, students from the University of Lethbridge will perform a concert featuring popular, classical and jazz selections. May 2 to May 9. 
1-866-320-3898; http://www.historiclethbridge.org

Since opening 12 years ago in Pigeon Lake, the Eco Café has earned a dedicated following for its signature dish — game-meat pie prepared with duck, pork and elk. But what keeps the foodies flocking back is chef and co-owner Tim Wood’s commitment to Alberta ingredients. The menu reads like an agri-tour of the province: organic beef from Onoway; sweet peppers, cucumbers and tomatoes grown in Lacombe; free-range chickens raised in Bluffton. That focus also avoids “one of the biggest environmental issues in the food industry” — CO2 emissions from food transportation. Meanwhile, to manage kitchen waste and packaging, the restaurant uses cornstarch-based takeout containers and its garbage bins have been replaced with composters. As for helping sustain community spirit, patrons can sing the praises of the café every second Thursday during open-mic night. Wood promises to buy dinner for anyone brave enough to belt out a tune.
780-586-2627; http://www.villageatpigeonlake.com

The 1,900-hectare Ann and Sandy Cross Conservation Area, just southwest of Calgary, promotes habitat preservation with programs aimed primarily at youth. Its aspen forest and prairie grasslands shelter 300-plus plant and wildlife species, including North America’s highest concentration of red-tailed hawks. Hikes by appointment only.
http://www.crossconservation.org; 403-931-1042

Raptor rescue in the Alberta prairies was almost non-existent prior to 1982, which is when Colin Weir and Wendy Slaytor co-founded the first volunteer wildlife rescue centre in the province – the Alberta Birds of Prey Foundation. In the 27 years since, the facility has rehabilitated some 200 injured raptors annually (most after they’ve fallen from nests or been hit by cars) before releasing them back into the wild. Others, including a golden eagle gunshot survivor named Spirit, remain on site due to the nature of their injuries and are used in outreach programs at local schools; a few have even had cameos in the acclaimed 2005 Spielberg miniseries Into the West. As well, the non-profit’s captive breeding program donates offspring to wildlife relief projects in other areas of the province, and every spring, bird lovers can witness the birth, growth and release of such captivating-but-tough-to-view-in-the-wild species as the burrowing owl. “Because we’re a working conservation centre, you also get to see everything we do throughout the day, whether it’s feeding the chicks or treating an injured adult raptor,” says Weir. Mouse, anyone?
http://www.burrowingowl.com

Life insurance can be a difficult subject. Still, it’s important to ensure that loved ones are taken care of when the unthinkable happens. To prepare for such discussions, AMA life insurance advisor Yves Beauchesne has some recommendations.

WW: When should an individual purchase life insurance?
YB: The best time is when you are healthy. Trying to purchase life insurance after receiving unsettling news from your doctor leaves you with very few options. Also, the younger a person is, the lower the monthly payments – especially for policies where the monthly payment is guaranteed to remain the same for the lifetime of the policy.
WW: Do adults who have no dependants need life insurance?
YB: Yes! Some of the most common examples are funeral expenses, the desire to leave an inheritance for children, money to pay the capital gains tax on a farm property so it can be passed to a family member at current market value and business partners who want to make sure money will be available for a buy/sell agreement in the event of a death.
WW: How does an individual determine the amount of life insurance they need?
YB: By considering financial obligations. Most people, for example, want their mortgage, business loans and children’s education covered, and to leave sufficient funds for any dependants to maintain their current lifestyle.
WW: What is the difference between term-life and whole-life insurance?
YB: Term-life insurance is coverage for a specific amount of time. Initially it’s cheaper than whole-life insurance, but over time the price will increase. Whole-life insurance is designed to be there for the policy holder’s entire life and the payments are guaranteed to remain the same. A person must decide why they are purchasing life insurance and how long they need to keep it in place. 

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.
–The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

All through the night I can feel the storm building: the hollow boom of big waves striking steel, the hull’s shudder, the sluicing of water outside the portholes, the wind fluttering in the ship’s antennae, the propellers momentarily airborne as we plunge down into a new trough, the ship’s sideward half-roll and then . . . another boom. And the sequence repeats. More than 1,000 kilometres south of Cape Horn, bound for Antarctica and caught in a mid-ocean gale, I find consolation in the scopolamine patches that keep my inner ear sedated and the knowledge that real adventure – not the simulated kind of theme parks and rum-fuelled Jolly Roger cruises – comes at a price. 

Mid-morning I join some of the other passengers on the bridge of the 117-metre Russian cruise ship Akademik Sergey Vavilov to survey the stormy seascape. The ocean is grey and tumultuous, its wind-scoured waves beaded with spindrift and ragged foam.  The first mate stands by the radar screen. The captain keeps his eyes on the horizon. A pair of albatross skim beyond the bow. “Iceberg,” the captain says in accented English, and nods. In the mist, a tabular white shape looms far to starboard. I’m pleased. Antarctica is near. I’m well aware – as is, I’m certain, the captain – that we’re not far from where the 154-passenger cruise ship MS Explorer struck ice in late 2007, and sank.

To cross the notorious Drake Passage south of Cape Horn, particularly in a storm, and to arrive at Antarctica’s mountainous coast is – as the great myths of humankind reiterate – to pass through tribulation in order to acquire insight. A number of brave souls have, I know, thrown themselves against this forbidding land, faced hardship and, for their efforts, left a legacy of some of the most heroic and tragic stories ever told. The names on the ship’s navigation charts hint at the challenges: Cape Longing, Exasperation Inlet, Cape Disappointment; a litany of Antarctic suffering. In fact, just to the east of here lies Elephant Island, where, in 1916, British explorer Ernest Shackleton and his crew were stranded during an epic 20-month escape from the wreck of their icebound ship Endurance. Ahead, far beyond the distant snow-covered summits, explorer Robert Scott, returning from the South Pole in 1912, wrote this final entry in his journal: “Outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift . . . we are getting weaker . . . and the end cannot be far.” After trekking for four months, he and his companions starved to death a few kilometres short of their next – and final – food cache.

Beyond the famous stories of hardship that animate this place, there is also, I’m learning, evidence of the anonymous sealers and whalers whose outposts still stand amid the bleached bones of their victims. The Vavilov inches its way through a narrow cleft in the vertical walls of the ocean-filled volcanic caldera of Deception Island, anchors offshore, and the ship’s Zodiacs are deployed to ferry expedition members ashore at desolate Whalers’ Bay. Fresh snow dusts the cliffs that encircle the one-kilometre-wide harbour. Lining the black-sand beach are three dilapidated buildings tilting at odd angles, the victims, I’m informed, of a powerful 1969 volcanic eruption that sent mudflows through the once-larger settlement.

For most of the 19th century, sealers operated here. By the time the killing stopped, an estimated three million fur seals had died and most subantarctic seal species had been virtually exterminated. Millions of penguins, too, were killed for food. Then, more than a century ago, whalers came and utilized this site – and others along the Antarctic Peninsula – to reduce millions of whales, including 330,000 blue whales, to lamp oil. The island’s massive cast-iron storage tanks and the boilers where the whales were rendered are now rusting: gigantic tombstones, in a way, for the animals that were processed here. The only inhabitants of Whalers’ Bay today are chinstrap penguins that strut the beach, oblivious to the two-legged newcomers, and a dozen fur seals that occupy the whalers’ now-derelict homes and bark threateningly at intruders.

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In the days that follow on this 10-day adventure expedition, my shipboard companions and I are often reminded that the series of 20th century moratoriums imposed on the killing of Antarctic seals, whales and penguins have produced an enormous increase in the region’s once-decimated wildlife. Animals are everywhere. We run ashore amid icebergs onto the cobbled and ammonia-scented beach of Cuverville Island to be greeted by 20,000 noisy gentoo penguins that wander aimlessly, like characters in an absurdist play. The birds parade back and forth, tuxedo-clad sentinels protecting a favoured guano-streaked boulder. They quarrel, they bat each other with stubby wings, they squawk, they poop for emphasis.  Others tug at my bootlaces or stare up with beady eyes, then move onward in a sort of swaying, nebbish-like Charlie Chaplin shamble. It’s impossible not to grin. In the cold, autumnal Antarctic wind, what I take at first as snow is, I realize, the airborne feathers of thousands of these moulting penguins, which crowd the island’s shoreline awaiting the time when new feathers appear and they can return to the sea.

It is, however, during the twice-daily Zodiac and kayak transits from ship to shore that the whales approach and the miraculous occurs. Just off Cuverville Island in Gerlache Strait, with the peaks of the Antarctic Peninsula nearby, the boats are drawn to fins, flukes and steamy exhalations that mark the daily appearance of a pod of whales.

Where once humpbacks numbered in the hundreds in Antarctica, today some 25,000 inhabit the Southern Ocean, eating shrimp-like krill and, when polar adventurers are nearby, investigating the presence of intruders with a curiosity that is nothing short of astonishing. The 20-metre-long creatures poke their massive heads up, metres from the side of the kayaks, and stare. Downwind, I smell fishy whale breath. Others swim full-speed toward the Zodiacs, until collisions appear certain. Passengers brace, swearing aloud, then laugh in relief as monstrous black backs slide beneath the hulls of the craft, centimetres from calamity. The whales lift their huge flukes and fins, rolling and diving amid the boat flotilla – never once touching the vessels – as cameras click. It’s pandemonium. The ocean churns with playful 30-tonne whales and tiny manoeuvring boats. This goes on for an hour, until clouds descend over the summits and sleet begins to fall.

It has been almost 200 years since the outer islands of the Antarctic Peninsula were first sighted and a century of sealing and whaling began. Millions of animals died during a century of hunting. By the early 20th century, a series of famous explorers – Ernest Shackleton, Roald Amundsen and Robert Scott – had fought their way across the snow-covered 14-million-square-kilometre continent in their attempts to reach the South Pole (Amundsen won the race in 1911). In a place with an annual mean temperature of -51°C, with katabatic winds that gust to 200 km per hour and blizzards that last days, the continent has also taken many human lives.

But by the 1950s, with the age of hunting and polar exploration ending, a new age of Antarctic scientific investigation was underway, one that continues – at the 12 or so operational research stations on the continent – to this day. Most of these bases are focused on wildlife studies, ozone-hole research, marine and glacial hydrology or the consequences of polar warming. Their task is to act, in a way, as the proverbial “canary in the coal mine” – alerting authorities elsewhere to evidence of the environmental dangers that lie ahead.

An afternoon spent at Galindez Island’s Vernadsky Station – the research facility that first reported the ozone hole decades ago – makes the issues apparent. Outside a cluster of boardwalk-linked, one-storey buildings, a collection of signpost arrows serves as a reminder of the site’s remoteness – Tokyo: 16,411 km; Odessa: 15,010 km; London: 14,081 km. Inside, amid a warren of scientific equipment and claustrophobic living quarters, 13 Ukrainian researchers pass their year’s solitude monitoring Antarctica’s atmospheric conditions. The young crew have the consolation of maintaining the southernmost bar in the world, where accoutrements include a colourful collection of 50 or so donated bras – including an elephantine specimen labelled 102 DDDD – and an endless supply of vodka manufactured by the station’s talented diesel engineer.

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When I ask, “Are there any women at the station?” one of the men rolls his eyes and replies morosely, “Big problem. Thirteen men, no women. Very unlucky.” In fact, the scientists’ interest during the Vavilov visit is focused primarily – and not surprisingly – on the women who are part of the ship’s crew. Once the serious talk of climate change is dispensed with, vodka flows, boisterous Slavic folk songs are sung, flirtations pursued and the chores of lonely Antarctic research abandoned for the day.

Beyond the walls of the station, however, the news is not good. Since the base was established in 1947, the mean annual temperature at the site has risen 2.5°C. In the bay in the distance, the Trooz Glacier issues thunderous explosions every few minutes as slabs of ice calve into the sea. And, the scientists say, the rate of melting across the entire West Antarctic region is increasing exponentially – almost doubling in the past decade. Huge ice shelves are breaking off the continent and drifting away. Even more ominous, the Southern Ocean is also warming, and the bio-systems dependent on cold water – including krill – are threatened. As the krill go, so go the whales and seals. So go the penguins, too. In time, so go the albatross, as well.

But most days, the immediacy of events and the uniqueness of the landscape overwhelm the intrusion of foreboding thoughts. Ashore, amid pack ice at Neko Harbour, for instance, our group is attending to the comic struttings of thousands of gentoo penguins when a leopard seal lunges ashore, teeth bared, just a few metres distant. Expedition guides shout, “Get back! Get back!” as the seal grabs a juvenile penguin. The bird, however, pulls loose and escapes into the surf. A few minutes later, with a dozen others aboard our Zodiac, I watch as the seal reappears underwater and the ocean’s surface erupts with fleeing penguins that carom across the water like skipped stones. Still later, we watch as the seal again surfaces, playing now with its latest flayed and bloody victim.

This little tragedy is interrupted by a thunderous explosion, and heads turn in time to catch a massive, 200-metre-wide piece of blue-grey ice fall from the face of the Deville Glacier. It produces a stadium-sized splash. People look at each other, jaws agape, and gasp: “Did you see that!” Then all the nearby icebergs begin dancing – as a miniature tsunami sweeps the bay. We drift for a while, together and separate in our thoughts, a little boatful of toque-topped adventurers in an iceberg-filled sea. The moment settles into silence, and we’re gradually embraced by cold. 

It is easy to feel the tug of existentialism amid such an unforgiving world. Like a prophet journeying through the desert, the Antarctic traveller is forced to reflect on the big things. Passengers stand by the ship’s railing in the evening with a faraway, thousand-mile stare; or sit silently amid the penguins, self-amused, and allow themselves to be pecked by the curious birds.

I sit alone one day under a grey sky on a windswept knoll on Peterman Island, amid bare granite and a seemingly endless, iceberg- studded sea. Except for the wind, all is silent, motionless, and it feels as if I’m stranded on a cruel and colourless planet. But this, too, is the Earth, I remind myself. And here connects to there, even if there is 14,000 kilo- metres away.

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I begin to view Antarctica in a different, less benign light. As the shipboard naturalists keep repeating, and as the evidence clearly demonstrates, a region that for eons has cooled the Earth, propelled its southern ocean currents, shaped a hemisphere’s weather and benefitted its multitudinous sea creatures is – and this realization lies beyond most people’s experience – melting. Current projections suggest, in fact, that the melting of the West Antarctic ice sheet, now underway, could – within the next century – raise ocean levels worldwide by five to 10 metres. Were that to happen, scores of major coastal cites and several entire countries would be inundated and more than a billion people displaced.

The Vavilov turns northward at Collins Bay, where gargantuan rivers of ice descend from the continent’s interior and flow into the sea. Icebergs of every shape and size drift past. Penguins ride the smaller ones like troupes of itinerant headwaiters. The wind has shredded the clouds, and slanting evening sunlight illuminates the panorama of nearby ice and, beyond, the 2,500-metre ridges of the continent’s coastal islands. Cameras click. People crowd the railing, trying, I suspect, to hold on to the ephemeral sense of wonder that such a strange place produces. But soon, there are the first ocean swells as the ship leaves the Antarctic archipelago behind and enters Drake Passage.

By morning, there are only waves and a pair of wandering albatross. The birds trail the ship, wingtips centimetres from the ocean’s surface, riding the wind and the sea’s undulations. Watching them, I try to recall Samuel