A visit to high river may mean a detour off Hwy. 2 between Calgary and Nanton, but the town offers a perfect excuse to get out and stretch your legs. In the 1990s a local society commissioned a group of artists to paint murals on downtown buildings. The result: 16 works offering insight into the town’s fascinating history.

Subjects range from polo (pictured above) — a sport popular in the area until the First World War — to W.O. Mitchell, who lived in High River for more than 20 years and is buried in the local cemetery. A walking map with explanations of the murals is available at the visitor information centre in Sheppard Family Park, at the town museum or online.

Inside Passages

Speeding along asphalt and gravel all day can exhaust even the most avid roadtripper. Why not slow down and float for a while? Alberta Transportation operates seven river ferries throughout the province from spring to mid-November. The brief boat-trips offer a welcome, waterborne reprieve from the road if you happen to be touring nearby. 
• Bleriot Ferry:  When traipsing through the Drumheller region on the Dinosaur Trail (Hwy. 838), head past Horsethief Canyon to the Bleriot Ferry. The short ride crosses Red Deer River.
• Klondyke Ferry:  Start the day at the Barrhead Museum learning about the pioneering history of the area’s settlers. Then take Hwy. 769 north via Vega to the Klondyke Ferry crossing. The short ride across the Athabasca River deposits travellers minutes from the Fort Assiniboine Sandhills Wildland Provincial Park, a popular quadding destination. Take Hwy. 661 to the Fort Assiniboine Friendship Museum.
• Crowfoot Ferry:  About a 20-minute drive from Blackfoot Crossing Historical Park Interpretive Centre (the site of a historic peace-treaty signing in 1877), the Crowfoot Ferry crosses Bow River. 
• Finnegan Ferry:  With the town of Brooks about a 45-minute drive south, and Drumheller the same distance to the north, Finnegan Ferry is one of the more remote crossings. However, for those who do make the trek, the small town of Gem welcomes visitors on the south side of the river.  Take Hwy. 862 to get there.
• LaCrete Ferry:  About 70 km southwest of the Mennonite community of La Crete, passengers can hop aboard LaCrete Ferry and cross the Peace River. Overnight at the recently expanded LaCrete Ferry Campground. 
• Shaftesbury Ferry:  Explore Peace River’s missionary past along Shaftesbury Trail (Hwy. 684), stopping at St. Augustine Catholic mission and the cairn of Scottish explorer Sir Alexander Mackenzie. When you get to Bricks Hill, take Hwy. 740 to the ferry landing, where you can board the Shaftesbury Ferry to cross the Peace River.
• Rosevear Ferry:  A 15-minute drive outside of Edson, the Rosevear Ferry crossing attracts its fair share of tourists from around the world. Many on their way to Jasper National Park make a detour to cross McLeod River.

Contact Alberta Transportation for more information.

Vintage Vroom

When antique car collector Ron Carey donated his $10-million collection to Heritage Park Historical Village 10 years ago, the Calgary museum had very little room to house it. Today, the donation, which includes such gems as a 1931 Cord L-29, is on glistening display in the museum’s newly improved “Gasoline Alley.” The 75,000-square-foot space is part of a recent renovation that doubled the park’s size to 51 hectares.

On the main floor, visitors get an up-close look at a Carey’s collection of restored vehicles, gas pumps, road signs and other “petroliania,” including the flashy orange Cord L-29 and a baby blue 1932 Auburn, each valued at half a million. A growing number of gas pumps – 77 at last count – contend for the largest collection in the world.

Along with the makeover of Gasoline Alley, the renos added a town square, brewery and replica Canadian Pacific Railway railway station. If you haven’t been to the village since grade school, it’s time to plan a field trip.  –Tracy Hyatt
Heritage Park Historical Village, Calgary; http://www.heritagepark.ca, 403-268-8500

Polka Dot Your Calendar

Grab your dancing shoes and practise your four-step count. October 22-23 marks Medicine Hat’s 15th annual Polka Fest. The dancing runs Friday from 7 to 11 p.m. and Saturday from 2 to 11 p.m at the German-Canadian Harmony Club in Redcliff, just outside Medicine Hat. Saturday’s event includes “a big meal,” says organizer Ernie Hiddle. (Expect a smorg with bratwurst and cabbage rolls.) The dance isn’t a competition, but as Hiddle says, “Most of the dancers tend to know how to polka already.” This year’s music will be provided by local bands the Country Squires and the Rhythm Tones. - Kristine Kowalchuk
403-527-5933

Words to Chew On

Back at the Ranche

You have to admire the audacity of Pat and Connie O’Connor. At a time when over- styled modern restaurants are the norm, the husband-and-wife duo, founders and owners of Canadian Rocky Mountain Resorts, offer a step back in time at the Ranche. Located in beautiful Fish Creek Provincial Park, in a ranch house built in 1896, the restaurant has long been a Calgary brunch favourite. Although meat is a menu mainstay, dishes sidestep the usual breakfast sausage in favour of smoked elk ham, beef tenderloin and prosciutto ham sourced from local producers and Canadian Rocky Mountain Resorts’ own game farm. And, proving meatless dishes too can be bountiful and beautiful, the Ranche serves up banana bread French toast with warm bumbleberry compote, whipped cream and organic maple syrup. If ever there was a good reason to visit Fish Creek Provincial Park, the Ranche is it. –Tracy Hyatt
Fish Creek Provincial Park, Calgary, 403-225-3939, http://www.crmr.com

Period Pieces

Many people care about preserving history — only a few do something about it. Ray Boyer is one of the latter. In 1993, he and a group of former classmates, concerned that their childhood schoolhouse, languishing in disrepair on a local farm, would burn down or be vandalized, applied for a grant and permit to move the circa 1919 structure to Kleskun Hill Park, 20 kilometres northeast of Grande Prairie.

The grant came through in 1997. After they’d moved and fixed the schoolhouse, Boyer says, someone told him: “You’d better start a museum.” So he did. Today, Kleskun Hill Park is the site of nine historic buildings gathered from surrounding areas, including the schoolhouse; a gas station; Manning House, built in 1914; Turner Barn, built in 1929; and a circa 1947 Roman Catholic church (pictured above). There are also wagon ruts dating back to 1911. (Every year when the snow melts, water runs through the ruts, preserving them, says Boyer.)

If you decide to visit, the surrounding park is also worth a stroll: it contains rare-for-the-area badlands with wild cacti and dinosaur fossils. - Kristine Kowalchuk
Tours run Saturdays and Sundays, or by appointment. Call Ray Boyer at 780-539-0874

E-Ville On Wheels

As anyone who saw 2009’S Whip It starring Ellen Page knows, roller derby’s all about attitude. But it’s also a high-speed contact sport geared to spectators.

“This is a real sport, with rules and penalties, and it’s one of the only sports in the world that’s dominated by women,” says E-Ville Roller Derby organizer Wyanita Fath, a.k.a. Peaches. • Played in the Edmonton Sports Dome, the derby began four years ago. Games now draw hundreds of spectators. Theatrics abound: players adopt tough-girl alter egos with cheeky nicknames and outfits to match – E-Ville’s roster includes the likes of “Dee Vicious,” “part pitbull, part vixen” and “Tigra Banks, America’s own top throttle.”

And they get even tougher on the track. Two teams of five players whiz around a 72-metre circuit, with “blockers” and “pivots” working to help their “jammer” break away from the pack. Points are scored for each opposing team member the lead jammer laps. To stop the opposing team’s jammer, players can block using body parts above the mid-thigh, except forearms, elbows, hands and head — like a body-check in hockey.

E-Ville’s season runs September to June, kicking off this September 25. Check the website for player bios, tickets and other upcoming events.
e-villederby.com

Book Review

Imperial Ink

In 2005, Cécile and Sandy Mactaggart donated their
private collection of more than 700 historic Chinese textiles, paintings and scrolls to the University of Alberta, with the aim of creating a world-class museum in Edmonton. While the museum is yet to be realized, the University of Alberta has held several exhibits to profile portions of the collection – one selection so stunning it merited a book: Emblems of Empire: Selections from the Mactaggart Art Collection by John E. Vollmer and Jacqueline Simcox (University of Alberta Press and University of Alberta Museums, 2009).

Focusing on items from the Quing Dynasty (1644 to 1911), Emblems of Empire offers a fascinating read on the importance of sericulture (moth cultivation and silk production) and the complex symbolism of dress in Chinese history. Accompanied by helpful maps and timelines, the book is generously illustrated with photos of more than 70 artifacts: military badges of winged tigers, saddle blankets bearing dragons with scales of seed pearls and throne cushion-covers of peacock-feather-wrapped, silk-thread chrysanthemums. Also of note is Cécile Mactaggart’s passionate introduction, which tells the story of the couple’s foray into collecting Chinese art. - Kristine Kowalchuk

Inside Passages

Albertan Graffitti

A visit to high river may mean a detour off Hwy. 2 between Calgary and Nanton, but the town offers a perfect excuse to get out and stretch your legs. In the 1990s a local society commissioned a group of artists to paint murals on downtown buildings. The result: 16 works offering insight into the town’s fascinating history.

Subjects range from polo (pictured left) — a sport popular in the area until the First World War — to W.O. Mitchell, who lived in High River for more than 20 years and is buried in the local cemetery. A walking map with explanations of the murals is available at the visitor information centre in Sheppard Family Park, at the town museum or online: highriver.ca/uploads/pdfs/Tourism/Mural_brochure.pdf. - Kristine Kowalchuk

High River Tourist Information Centre: 877-603-3101

Decades ago consumers were more likely to be sold on a car’s luxury features than its safety features. But today, safety is chic, and car companies are wooing buyers with a growing cache of advanced safety technologies. 

Rick Lang, manager of novice operations for AMA driver education, says many new technologies can help prevent collisions, though he cautions: “The majority of collisions result from inattention to what is going on and over-confidence in the driver or car’s abilities.”

With that in mind, here is a roundup of some of the newest features. Some may have you itching to take home a car from the 2011 lineup – and others you may want to leave in the lot.

Electronic stability control
Tailor-made for Albertans driving on icy roads, electronic stability control (ESC) is a step up from traction control, which has long prevented drivers from making a bad skid worse. Some studies have found ESC reduces crashes by a third — when it detects a lapse in steering control, it applies the brakes to individual wheels to correct a skid and reduces engine power. In September 2011, thanks to a new Transport Canada requirement, ESC will become a mandatory feature in most passenger cars, multi-purpose vehicles, trucks and buses.

Night vision
For anyone who’s ever wanted to be James Bond, BMW offers a taste: night vision. Using thermal imaging, the car detects and displays on an LCD screen any heat-emitting objects -— joggers, cyclists, wildlife — up to 300 metres ahead of the car, well beyond the reach of headlights. But even with the technology’s help, you have to be travelling at a speed that gives you time to react, so leave Bond’s driving style in the garage.

Adaptive cruise control
When motoring down the highway in cruise control, it can be dangerously easy to creep up on the bumper of the car in front of you. With radar cruise control, sensors adjust your speed to keep you a set distance behind other vehicles. You’ll find it in some Acura and Audi models, but the capabilities vary: more advanced models can use the vehicle’s navigation system to control speed in turns.

Lane departure warning systems
This technology was first developed for commercial trucks to prevent drowsy long-haul drivers from veering off the road. Now available in consumer vehicles, the system will beep, vibrate or flash if your vehicle starts to leave the lane. Keep in mind that since the sensors rely on a camera to detect lane markings, mud or snow may decrease their effectiveness.

Telematics
These networked dashboard computing systems (General Motors’ OnStar is one example) can provide GPS navigation support, automatically connect to an operator in the event of a crash, enable external control of a stolen vehicle or even unlock your doors remotely. They can also read emails aloud and check your stock quotes, which, says Lang, can be a problem. These are cognitive tasks, which compete in your brain with the most important task: driving.

Self-parking systems
As Lang says, “If you can’t parallel park, should you really be driving?” But for those days when you just don’t want to, you might appreciate a self-parking system. First introduced by Toyota (in some Prius models) and its ritzy cousin, Lexus, early self-park systems could parallel park a vehicle without driver assistance. Now some can also reverse-park, and the systems are available in more makes and models, including Lincoln and Mercury.

Blind Spot Assist
In a hurry to make a lane change, you skimp on your shoulder check and nearly drive into the compact on your left. Blind-spot assist can help prevent the blaring horns from other drivers, or worse, a collision — with flashing lights in the side-view mirrors that escalate to a vibrating steering wheel if you persist. The technology is widely available in everything from Jeep Cherokees to Range Rovers, but if your base-model pick doesn’t include it, properly positioned mirrors will greatly reduce blind spots. Says Lang, “No computer system is more reliable than your eyesight.”

Enhance your skill behind the wheel and learn about the latest advances in driver safety with AMA’s Driver Education Programs.

1-800-642-3810; AMADriverEducation.ca

Travellers with a taste for foreign intrigue have begun to blaze new flight paths as they beat a retreat from the long Canadian winter. While snowbirds still migrate to pool-and-patio hotspots across the U.S. sunbelt, increasing numbers are sending postcards home from more exotic locales. In fact, Statistics Canada reports that when a so-called “long-stay vacation” (three weeks or more) is involved, the majority of us head for beaches, towns and resort areas in distant time zones rather than old-school haunts like Palm Springs or Fort Lauderdale.

“Travellers have become much more adventurous,” says Elaine LeJambe, AMA travel product manager. “Many have been to Arizona, Mexico and Hawaii a few times or more. Now we’re hungry for destinations where we can truly experience a different culture and lifestyle. It’s remarkable how affordable a long-stay vacation can be in places like Australia, New Zealand and Portugal, even with airfares and car rentals factored in.”

LeJambe and Shelley Stevens, travel product developer for AMA, are launching a new menu of south European and Australasian long-stay packages – featuring apartment-style accommodation with furniture and kitchens – this fall. How about skipping the worst of the Albertan winter while nesting on Rarotonga, one of the south Pacific’s idyllic Cook Islands? At the beachfront Sunset Resort, travellers can spend their weeks snorkelling and kayaking amid tropical fish, playing golf and attending Maori cultural events. Another attractive option: sitting back and enjoying subtropical weather, exotic birds and surf culture in Australia’s Gold Coast region, near Brisbane. More exotic still: renting an apartment at the Vila Senhora da Rocha, a long-stay complex on southern Portugal’s sun-drenched Algarve coastline.

The best part? Long-stay travel can be enjoyed by anyone, anywhere, and is limited in duration only by border regulations (check Foreign Affairs Canada’s website at voyage.gc.ca for details on visas, emergency contacts, health issues and money matters). Still, LeJambe notes, most Canadians with the time and finances to spend extended periods overseas are retirement-age boomers. And while there are plenty of intrepid travellers in this demographic who are keen to wander the dusty backroads of Turkey or explore hillside temples in Vietnam, most desire a holiday in a more familiar environment.

This explains why Australia, New Zealand and southern Europe lead the pack among overseas destinations that attract homegrowns interested in something other than the usual U.S. or Caribbean getaways. Down Under, the accents may be different and the subtropical air more humid, but everyone speaks English and it’s easy to sink into the rhythms of life in a culture not markedly different from our own (substituting cricket and rugby for hockey, of course). The Mediterranean region, meanwhile, has sun, beaches and historic interest aplenty, along with some of the cheapest prices in Europe (particularly Spain, which the travel pros at Thomas Cook recently rated the least expensive nation on the continent).

“The cost of living can be pretty reasonable,” notes Stevens. “You can rent an apartment for $314 a week in the Algarve that’s close to the sea, golf and vineyards. Or you can spend more for a little more luxury. The exchange rates on the euro are pretty favourable at the moment.” AMA agents can also arrange car rentals, though some travellers prefer using public transportation and getting to know the locals. Europeans enjoy fantastic train service, and long-stayers with visas can travel freely within the Schengen Area (which covers all of continental western Europe, save Switzerland).

One highly recommended expenditure: travel health insurance. “We strongly advise it any time our clients leave the province,” says LeJambe, “and all the more so when you head overseas. It’s essential.” So is the sunblock, stack of beach novels and keen desire to experience local life the long-stay way. Just try not to sound too smug when posting the Facebook evidence for friends and relatives back home in the deep freeze.

If a brightly coloured clown on a unicycle pedalled circles around you while you chatted on a cellphone, would you see him? If you answered, “Of course!” think again. A study conducted last year at Western Washington University recreated this same scenario and found that among participants who were on cellphones, walking with friends, walking alone or listening to music, only 25 per cent of the cellphone talkers noticed Bobo – other participants eclipsed them by more than 50 per cent.

The results of this seemingly silly study have real-life consequences. Related research on the effects of cellphone use on the road shows that people who chat, even hands-free, while driving are four times more likely to crash, and their driving can be as erratic as someone impaired by alcohol. Drivers who send text messages while behind the wheel are 23 times more likely to be involved in a collision or near-collision.

The bottom line: cellphones and other distractions inside our vehicles cause an alarming number of us to miss hazards on the road. Drivers engaged in phone conversations experience a phenomenon known as “inattentional blindness,” which hinders the ability to effectively monitor surroundings, seek and identify potential hazards and respond to unexpected situations. Consequently, they can miss twice as many traffic signals as non-distracted drivers – and take longer to react to those they do detect. 

According to the U.S. National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, about 25 per cent of all crashes involve some form of driver distraction – and that number is rising thanks to our increased reliance on technological devices. In Alberta alone, driver distraction is associated with more than 100 deaths and 5,000 injuries from nearly 40,000 collisions each year.

In response to this disturbing trend, eight of 10 Canadian provinces have made hand-held cellphone use while driving illegal. And the Alberta government, which has yet to pass its own distracted driving legislation, is now proposing to take distracted driving laws even further. In addition to a ban on the hand-held use of cellphones, Bill 16, the Traffic Safety (Distracted Driving) Amendment Act, proposes fines for other distracting activities, such as reading, writing and personal grooming while navigating through traffic. It also puts restrictions on drivers using other electronic devices such as laptop computers, GPS devices and hand-held videogames, making it the most comprehensive legislation of its type in Canada. Hands-free cellphone use, emergency calls on hand-held phones to 911 and communication over CB radios for commercial or search-and-rescue purposes would still be permitted.

The bill, currently awaiting further legislative debate, aims to keep drivers’ eyes on the road and hands on the wheel – with a fine of $172 for those who don’t. It would complement the current “driving without due care and attention” law, which carries a fine of $402 and six demerit points. Offenders could face additional charges if distractions lead to other violations, such as running a red light or making unsafe lane changes.
“The goal with Bill 16 was to have it be practical, effective and enforceable, and with the proposed legislation we believe it strikes the right balance,” says Alberta Transportation Minister Luke Ouellette. “It gives law enforcement some discretion to take action on unsafe driving behaviours in a reasonable manner.

“We seem to treat our vehicles like a second living room, or a mobile office,” Ouellette adds. “That has to change. You can’t multitask and drive at the same time; it’s too dangerous.”

The proposed law would give Alberta police a new instrument in their enforcement toolbox. “Our officers have seen an increase in drivers focusing on secondary tasks while driving.” says Inspector Greg Cooper of the Calgary Police Service’s traffic section. “Talking and texting on cellphones has increased over the last number of years. People aren’t focusing on the primary task, which is the safe operation of their motor vehicle.”

The Alberta Motor Association regularly lobbies for government action on road safety issues and has been working with government officials, regulators, community leaders and stakeholders to implement changes to the current laws. So it comes as no surprise that in 2009, the Alberta government invited input from AMA and other organizations to help draft effective distracted driving legislation.

“This bill is a significant step,” says Don Szarko, AMA director of advocacy and community services. “It provides a much-needed tool for enforcement and sends a stronger message on the serious nature of driving while distracted.”

But AMA wants to take the legislation a step further. In addition to the provisions already included in Bill 16, the organization is proposing that the ban on hand-held cellphone use be extended to hands-free devices as well. “The research is clear: hands-free cellphones are not risk-free. The conversation itself is the distraction,” explains Scott Wilson, senior policy analyst at AMA. “We believe there needs to be a broader approach to distracted driving legislation.”

“Driving well is much more difficult than most drivers realize,” Wilson says. “It’s a complex activity in a highly regulated environment that takes place in a fairly risky setting. Most of us travel the same route without incident over and over again, and so we begin to think it’s not that hazardous. It’s easy to ‘check out’ and do other things.” But, he adds, “it only takes one time to miss a hazard, and your life – and perhaps someone else’s – can be forever changed.”

The myriad of road distractions is particularly troublesome for young drivers. Not only are they less experienced on the road, but they’ve also grown up in a digitized world where technology has become an ingrained component of daily activities. As a result, teenagers are far more likely than older drivers to text, fiddle with GPS systems or chat hands-free while driving – which is why AMA argues for a full ban on cellphone use for those in the Graduated Drivers’ Licensing (GDL) program.

AMA members seem to agree. Research conducted over the past decade shows members overwhelmingly support stronger laws to deal with distracted driving. An April 2010 survey, for example, revealed 76 per cent of Albertans support legislation governing hand-held cellphone usage by drivers, and six out of 10 favour laws to regulate the use of hands-free devices as well.

So why isn’t hands-free cellphone use covered under Bill 16? Because, says Ouellette, it’s too difficult to identify drivers using hands-free devices. “Our goal was to create a law that is enforceable, and our law enforcement partners expressed concerns around the
enforceability of a hands-free ban,” he says.

“Other provinces have been grappling with the broader definition of distraction – the end result being that most Canadian legislation is more focused on hand-held cellphones, which fails to deal with the host of other driving distractions,” Szarko notes. “The Alberta approach is more comprehensive and, as a result, could have greater impact in reducing crash risk. We’re encouraging the government to consider including hands-free phones as part of the proposed legislation when they return to debate Bill 16 this fall.”

Some jurisdictions have included demerits as an additional penalty for distracted driving, and to discourage repeat offenders – Saskatchewan, for example, with four demerits and B.C. with three. But Alberta’s proposed law does not, and this has been criticized by some who say the legislation doesn’t go far enough.

Ouellette says the proposed $172 fine is “a reasonable penalty for the offence. It will reinforce the message to drivers to avoid distractions and stay focused on the primary task of driving.” Drivers who engage in more serious or risky behaviours could still be charged with “driving carelessly” under the Traffic Safety Act, he adds, with a penalty of six demerit points and a $402 fine.

Cooper notes the current $402 fine with six demerit points for driving without due care and attention is reasonable for somebody who is involved in a more serious incident of distracted driving. But the majority of the motoring public, he says, just needs an occasional reminder like a fine. “The education component that is afforded helps get the message out and helps change driver behaviour, which is what we are hopeful to do,” he says.

AMA agrees but believes the issue of demerits for distracted driving violations warrants further evaluation. “Demerits are aimed at the people who are likely going to re-offend. The majority of the driving population is law-abiding and focused on the driving task,” Wilson says. “But for those who aren’t, demerits reinforce the expectation not to engage in such behaviour.  If they continue to engage in the behaviour, the accumulation of demerits has the potential to affect their ability to hold a driver’s licence.”

So the next time you’re tempted to talk or text from the driver’s seat, consider these potential penalties – not to mention the risks. After all, missing a clown is one thing; but when it comes to navigating potentially dangerous roadways, would you rather give up your cellphone or your life?

As a leading advocate in traffic safety, AMA represents the interests of its members and the motoring public to industry and government. To learn more, visit AMAAdvocacy.ca.

Heads Up!

Distracted Driving Laws Across Canada

• British Columbia: Banned hand-held devices and texting January 1, 2010. Fines of $167 and three demerit points for texting or email use.
• Saskatchewan: Banned hand-held devices and texting January 1, 2010. Fines of $280, plus four demerit points.
• Manitoba: Recently finalized legislation banning hand-held devices and texting, with fines of $190.80 and up; went into effect July 15, 2010.
• Ontario: Banned hand-held devices and texting October 26, 2009, with tickets issued starting February 1, 2010. Fines of $155. 
• Quebec: Banned hand-held devices April 1, 2008. Fines of $80 to $115, plus three demerit points.
• New Brunswick: Currently drafting legislation.
• Nova Scotia: Banned hand-held devices and texting April 1, 2008. Fine of $164.50 for the first offence, and up to $337 for subsequent offences.
• Newfoundland/Labrador: Banned hand-held devices April 1, 2003. Fines of $100 to $400, plus up to four demerit points.
• Prince Edward Island: Banned hand-held devices January 23, 2010. Fines of $250 to $400 and three demerit points.
• Yukon Territory: Considering legislation.

Tacos de chorizo con papa y salsa verde

Served on its own, this is a filling dish but it is often plated with refried beans and/or rice.

Ingredients
½ lb tomatillos, husks removed
1 bunch of cilantro, chopped
2 jalapeño or Serrano peppers, seeds removed to taste
Salt to taste
1 medium white onion, chopped
½ lb sliced baby potatoes
½ lb chorizo or longaniza sausage, casing removed
Oil

To make green salsa
Blend tomatillos, cilantro, peppers, ½ onion and salt until desired consistency.

To make taco filling
Cook ½ onion and potato in a skillet with oil until potatoes are soft.  Add chorizo sausage and green salsa. Simmer until salsa turns light green and sausage is cooked
Serve with queso fresco, crema and tortillas

Watch the video to learn how to make this recipe

Sylvia and Dan Hartley drove their 1987 BMW for more than 20 Alberta winters. “We had it serviced regularly and winterized early in the fall,” says Sylvia. They stuck to a maintenance schedule and got on repairs early. And they never suffered a winter breakdown.  It’s one thing to have to dig out your garden tools from under the white stuff. It’s another altogether to be caught unprepared to drive on slippery streets. This year when the snow starts and the temperature plummets, be like the Hartleys. Have your winter tires on, th eright oil in your engine, your fluids topped up and your gas tank at half-full or better. Whether you do it yourself, or take your vehicle to an auto shop for winterizing, you’ll be able to congratulate yourself on your foresight and hit the roads with confidence.

Plugged In
Your vehicle’s block heater, if it has one, plugs into a standard outlet and warms your engine to ease cold-weather starting. Winterizing your vehicle at a repair facility includes a test to ensure your block heater is working. If you prefer to DIY, you can pick up a Plug Alive block heater tester at any AMA location – about $15 for members. The tester may not work on some models if the ambient temperature is above -18 C. Check your owner’s manual to be sure.

See Clearly Now
Although winter wiper blades are more expensive, they’re designed specifically to handle snow on the windshield. Get the most out of yours by removing snow and ice manually before turning on the wipers. Ensure your windshield washer reservoir has winter-grade washer fluid in it. And those blades take a beating, so replace them every year.

An Oily Truth
The single most important vehicle maintenance rule is this: change your oil as often as is specified in your owner’s manual. Beyond its role as a lubricant for moving parts in your engine, oil cleans out the nasties: bits of carbon, silica and dirt that accumulate as you drive. But the engine-oil aisle has more options than the shampoo section in a drugstore – how do you choose? Start by learning to read the labels (see inset to right).

Coolant Comfort
Your engine burns air and fuel; heat is the byproduct. Coolant, also known as anti-freeze, prevents your engine from overheating and prevents freezing when your vehicle isn’t running. “It’s very important to stick to the manufacturer’s guidelines because these products do vary widely,” says Randy Loyk, manager of AMA automotive technical services in Edmonton. For example, some vehicles’ guidelines dictate changing the coolant every 100,000 kilometres, while for older ones it might be 30,000. Others might advise a yearly change-out.

Tired of Winter
Should you spend the bucks on winter tires? “It depends,” says Loyk. “Yes, winter tires are safer in bad weather. And we certainly recommend them, especially if you live in a rural area and you can afford them.” Winter wheels have softer rubber than all-season tires, so they grip better in the cold.

Otherwise, consider high-quality all-season radials and treat them right. A good start is learning how to read your tires. Uneven wear may mean it’s time for a wheel alignment or an adjustment of your tire inflation. Also – look at the side of the tire. In addition to the product and manufacturer’s names, there’s practically a book written there (see inset to right).

Perfect Timing
“Most vehicles with four-cylinder engines have rubber timing belts,” says Loyk. “These need to be replaced about every 100,000 km.” Make note of when your timing belt was replaced and keep a record of this, and all other maintenance, in your glovebox with your owner’s manual. If a timing belt snaps, valves can come into contact with pistons, causing expensive damage. “And you can’t tell by looking at it when it’s going to go,” Loyk says. “You may be on borrowed time.

Lighten Up
Before the snow flies, be sure to check your headlights and brake lights. Try your driving lights, fog lights (if you have them) and high beams. Then get someone to confirm your brake lights are working. Check regularly and replace burned-out bulbs promptly. The last thing you want is a second light failing before you’ve replaced the first.

A Little Spark
Most people take that little box for granted until they need a boost at 40-below. “Most batteries have a finite life span and should be checked every three to five years in Alberta,” says Loyk.

If you’re shopping for a new battery, look for the cold cranking amps (CCA) rating, an industry-standard measure that refers to the number of amps your battery can supply your engine for 30 seconds at ‑18°C before its voltage starts to drop. Higher-CCA batteries cost more, but they’ll perform better in cold weather.

Best to Prepare for the Worst
One of the best ways to hit the road winter-ready is to heed your mother’s advice and dress properly. You can make it between your heated garage and your office in dress shoes and a sweater, but what if something goes wrong on the road? If you’re dressed for winter weather, you’ll be safer, especially at night or for rural travel.

You’ll also need a first aid kit. You can buy a pre-made one or assemble your own. “We have two first aid kits,” says AMA member service manager Karen Graham. “The larger one – which is about $30 for members – is great for a car or RV. It has a first aid booklet, gauze, bandages, scissors, tweezers and other first aid items.”

A first aid kit should be part of a larger vehicle safety kit. What you put in that kit depends on the season, and whether you’re sticking to city streets or driving in rural areas. Make it part of your fall routine to check your kit. Replenish used supplies and change the batteries in your flashlight. Replace summer’s sunscreen and bug spray with a fleece blanket for winter.

Keyed In
Consider keeping an extra key in your wallet. Losing a regular car key is hassle enough – new technology can make it worse. “It can cost between $80 and $300 to reprogram a computerized chip key,” Loyk says. You might even have to send away to an Asian or European manufacturer for a replacement.

Idle Time
It’s a no-brainer: don’t leave your vehicle running unattended in the winter. The discomfort of a cold car is nothing compared to what you’ll feel if your vehicle gets stolen. Worse still is the danger of carbon monoxide poisoning. “Never let your car warm up in an attached garage,” says Loyk. “Not even with the door open.” The gas could spread into the house. He advises anyone with an attached garage to install a carbon monoxide detector and keep vehicle remote-start fobs away from children.

How to read a bottle of motor oil:
The real thing: Synthetic, or non-petroleum, oils stay more fluid in colder temperatures than standard petroleum-based oils, so they’re great for winter start-up (though they cost more).
SAE it’s so: The mark of the Society of Automotive Engineers, which rates oils for their viscosity, or relative runniness.

Thick & thin: Multigrade oils feature a “W,” for “winter,” flanked by two numbers. The lower the first number, the more fluid the oil and the more easily the engine will turn over in the cold. The second number means the oil coats and protects the engine as well as a thicker, 40-grade oil.

AMA Members Save More
AMA carries a full range of top-quality CAA-branded batteries with a 36-month free replacement warranty. Call 1-800-CAA-HELP for more information or visit AMA’s website to find a CAA Battery Service event near you.

Tune up your car at these businesses and save (some conditions apply): 
• 10% on all oil changes and related services, in addition to any valid coupon offers, at Mr. Lube. 
• 7% on retail-priced parts and accessories at NAPA Auto Parts. 
• 15% on regular-price parts and installation at Calgary Muffler. 
• 10% on regular-priced parts and labour at Groat Road Auto Service in Edmonton.

Discount does not apply to dealer parts, batteries or tires.
• 10% on parts and labour at Sherlock’s Automotive Repair in Edmonton.
• 10% on parts at Vic’s Service Ltd. in Wainwright.

It’s early morning at the Mayan ruins of Uxmal on Mexico’s Yucatán peninsula, and chef Patricia Quintana and I are the only people in sight. From our vantage point high on the steps of the crumbling Palacio del Gobernador, we see massive grey stone structures with fantastically carved serpents and masks all around us. There is nothing an ancient Mayan wouldn’t have recognized – except for us, that is.

“You see,” says Quintana as we make our way down the steep, uneven stones, “before the tour buses arrive, you can almost feel what it would have been like for the Mayans before the conquistadors.”

Quintana, the chef and co-owner of Izote, one of the hottest restaurants in Mexico City, is passionate about tracing Mexican cuisine back to its pre-Columbian roots. She’s especially fascinated by the Yucatán, where she’s made dozens of trips over the past quarter-century to research her many cookbooks. Yucatán cuisine is distinctive partly because the region was geographically isolated from the rest of the country for centuries, Quintana explains as we head toward the market in the capital of Mérida, on the northwestern side of the peninsula. Our driver speeds along the Paseo de Montejo – a broad avenue lined with faded colonial mansions in varying states of restoration. This part of Mérida, just outside the centre of the city, is architecturally reminiscent of Havana: the Yucatán peninsula juts into the Caribbean Sea, so Mérida is actually closer to Cuba than it is to Mexico City.

The Spanish influences on the cuisine are strong – the conquistadors arrived in the 16th century – but so are those of the Mayans, whom the Spanish were never quite able to obliterate, despite their bloody efforts. Northern Europeans have left their legacy too, particularly the Dutch: Holland was an active trading partner in the 19th century, when Mérida was the centre for the production of henequen, a fibre traditionally used for making rope.

“The corn, the chocolate and the honey, the venison and wild turkey, squash, cucumbers, chilies and tomatoes are from the Mayans,” Quintana says. “The pork and Seville oranges come from Spain, and the Edam cheese from the Dutch.”

Edam? It sounds strange, but as we enter the dim, narrow lanes of the huge covered market, I see balls of Edam and Gouda everywhere, piled into pyramids next to dozens of bins of earth-toned recados, the ubiquitous herb-and-spice pastes. Quintana stops in front of the tubs of recados. “Each one of these is for a different dish, and people buy a few cents’ worth to use that day,” she says.

I lean over to catch a whiff of a ruddy paste made of annatto and other spices. The scent, musky, sharp and very intense, is completely different from the nutty, grassy odour of the greenish one next to it, made of pumpkin seeds, or the peppery aroma of the brown paste behind it. “The dark one is a spice paste made of cloves, black peppercorns and other spices and tastes of earth and fruit,” Quintana explains, raising three manicured fingers to her lips as if she were tasting it. “It’s for pavo en escabeche-spice-rubbed turkey. There’s a touch of vinegar in the sauce and a lot of onions and garlic. When I make it, I serve it with a roasted green-chili sauce and warm, soft tortillas.”

This passion for cooking developed at an early age. The daughter of cattle ranchers, Quintana grew up in Mexico City and spent summers in Veracruz running barefoot through the houses of the workers, who would always give her a little treat – a sliver of pork, a nibble of tortilla, a ripe piece of fruit.

“I wanted to be like them,” she confides. “I couldn’t, of course, but I could learn their recipes, which define the essence of a person.” So, with every gift of food, she began asking, “How do you make this?” And she would stay and watch the women cook every morning, moving from one house to the next to learn something new.

Watching Quintana manoeuvre quickly from stall to stall in the market, it’s easy to imagine her as a little girl, inquisitive and earnest. Even as an adult, her efforts are rewarded with morsels of food. By asking an older Mayan woman wearing a hipil (a traditional white embroidered dress) about her roasting method, she talks her way into tastes of cochinita pibil, the pit-roasted pig marinated in sour Seville orange juice, garlic and that intense-smelling red recado made from annatto seeds.

“Before the Spanish introduced pigs,” Quintana says as we eat the tender shreds of pork with pink pickled onions, “the Mayans pit-roasted venison with a similar recado. At Izote, I sometimes use the same paste for ribs.”

This snack whets our appetite, but it’s only 11:30, too early for lunch. So instead we head back to the Paseo de Montejo, and go to Dulcería y Sorbetería Colón, a sorbet shop and café where hordes of schoolchildren usually congregate in the afternoon. We pick five flavours of sorbet – nance (similar to a yellow plum), saramullo (a tropical fruit that tastes like honeydew) and a fantastic sweet corn – as well as the house specialty meringue. The puffy pyramids are soft inside but have crunchy brown tops. We also share a few rich, nut-coloured shortbread cookies called polvorones, which are made with toasted flour and brown butter.

Afterward, we walk around the 16th-century Plaza Grande, Mérida’s central square, where visitors come to see the colonial Spanish cathedral, the Casa de Montejo (a faded stately mansion converted to a bank) and a museum of contemporary Yucatán art. Snaking our way through the alleys behind the plaza, we end up at La Prosperidad, which specializes in botanas (little snacks), with a thatched roof and a band playing the greatest hits of Mexican pop. Occasionally, a diner gets up and sings, swaying arm in arm with the bandleader, a jeans-clad crooner in a Panama hat. Quintana orders us a round of micheladas, a tangy mix of lime juice, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco and good, dark, Yucatán beer. “It will bring your appetite back,” she promises me.

A good thing, since the botanas that come out are irresistible; they include papadzules, hard-cooked eggs wrapped in corn tortillas with pumpkin-seed sauce and sopa de lima, a chicken-tortilla soup that’s flavoured with a fragrant local variety of sour lime. We eat all of it with xnipek, the ubiquitous table sauce of habanero chilies, scallions, citrus juices and cilantro. Xnipek translates to “dog’s nose” – it’s so spicy, one’s nose starts to run after eating it.

By the time we leave La Prosperidad, it’s started to rain, so we decide to head back to our hotel, the Hacienda Xcanatún, about 20 minutes outside the city. After drying off in my room, I meet Quintana at the hacienda’s bar and order the house cocktail, an icy margarita-like concoction made with the local anise-and-honey liqueur called xtabentún. A few minutes later, Cristina Baker joins us. Baker and her husband, Jorge Ruz, bought the 18th-century hacienda eight years ago and spent five years restoring the property, creating 18 suites, each with its own terrace, while keeping many of the traditional stone buildings intact. (In Mayan, xcanatún means “tall stone house.”) Once part of a henequen-producing estate, the hacienda was abandoned in the 1950s or ’60s after the introduction of synthetics for ropemaking reduced the demand for henequen. Many such estates throughout the Yucatán have been bought by young entrepreneurs and turned into small hotels and restaurants.

As we discuss our plans for the next day, Quintana says she must try the queso relleno, a stuffed cheese rind that’s a Yucatán delicacy. “Queso relleno is really the hollowed-out Edam cheese,” Baker tells us. “The soft part of the cheese, the centre, was scooped out by the patrón, the boss. The servants got the rind, which they stuffed and steamed.”

Baker says Reyna Gallegos, a friend’s Mayan cook, makes a fantastic queso relleno and she arranges for her to cook with Quintana the next afternoon. So in the morning, Quintana and I head to Izamal, a colonial town built on top of the ruins of a Mayan city that was dedicated to the sun god, Kinich-Kakmó. After the Spanish invaded, they used the stones from the temples to build an ochre-hued cathedral. If you look at the floor, you can see a carved maze-like pattern, a hallmark of Mayan design. Around town, hulking Mayan ruins still stand, pyramids of grey punctuating the green landscape.

For lunch, Baker recommends the restaurant Kinich, which has a traditional oval-shaped Mayan hut in the back garden. There’s a pleasant shaded garden, but we choose to stay inside, where two Mayan women are making tortillas over an open fire.

“You can see the irregular pieces of corn in the masa – you know this is stone-ground by hand,” Quintana says. These tortillas, which taste of fresh toasted corn, smoky from the fire, are steamy and wonderful; they’re delicious fried and served with the vinegary turkey en escabeche.
When we return to Hacienda Xcanatún, Gallegos is already in the kitchen, an apron tied over the elaborately embroidered hipil she made herself. Her Spanish, tinged with a musical Yucatán accent and riddled with Mayan words, is hard for me to understand. But it’s easy to follow her deft hands as, over the next two hours, she scrubs and trims the cheese rind to leave only the thinnest shell, then fills it with a near-black mixture of ground beef, raisins, olives, almonds and spices that have been fried together until nearly caramelized. The stuffed cheese rind, wrapped in cheesecloth and banana leaves, is then steamed until the insides turn molten and runny. The patróns didn’t know what they were missing.

Before we eat, Gallegos stoops over the food she’s prepared and pauses to recite a prayer in her low Yucatán patois. Half in Spanish and half in Mayan, her blessing – over the Dutch cheese – is fitting for a cuisine and a region that, over the centuries, have evolved into their own compelling hybrid of so many cultures. 

Melissa Clark is the author of 29 cookbooks, the latest entitled In the Kitchen With a Good Appetite.

A rhino foraging for twigs, an elephant retreating into the trees and a pair of pond-bathing hippos. Not bad for a 20-minute drive. Amazing sights, really, for us city slickers who’ve just bumped across a 44-hectare savannah — home to a who’s who of real African wildlife — in the backseat of an open-sided safari vehicle. Still, as I step off the truck, I find myself craving more thrills — the kind that make one scream, gasp or pine for a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

I’ve come to the right place. On this, my second visit to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida, I know a heart-pumping, handrail-gripping experience is never more than a theme park away. Spanning some 104 square kilometres (about the size of Paris), the entertainment complex regularly rolls out new and revamped attractions, parades, shows, restaurants and resorts, all of which make for a varied day at the happiest place on earth. But somehow I always gravitate to the more goosebump-inducing among them. So although my husband Dan and I — a.k.a. kids in adult clothing — are here to check out the latest in each of the resort’s theme parks (Animal Kingdom, Magic Kingdom, Hollywood Studios and Epcot), we’ve got our tickets to ride too.

Creature Crawl: The Animal Kingdom
Leaving the pachyderms behind at Kilimanjaro Safaris, we move on to other sites in the Animal Kingdom. The pathway to the animated show, It’s Tough to be a Bug!, winds down and around the 14-storey Tree of Life — its lined bark and lush foliage so realistic-looking I almost forget it’s made of plastic and concrete. Tucking into a 430-seat theatre inside the root structure of the tree, we don 3D bug-eye glasses. Soon, an acid-spewing termite, fume-projecting stinkbug and quill-shooting tarantula have everyone ducking and squealing in their seats. All good fun, but I’m ready to ride.

We emerge into daylight, only to return to darkness for Dinosaur, an indoor ride in the park’s Dinoland, USA, section. Boarding a 12-person “time rover” vehicle, we motor through a gloomy primeval jungle harbouring hungry animatronic dinosaurs that lurk around every corner. Alas, the turbulent three-minute trip to save the world’s last iguanodon from extinction is over too soon. Just as each creature stomps into view, the ride lurches forward, and we’ve barely glimpsed our predator.

But we get more than an eyeful at Expedition Everest, which literally takes things up a notch. Looming over the Asia section, the 60-metre-tall snow-capped peak is the tallest of Disney’s 18 mountain attractions worldwide. Everest designers travelled to Nepal for inspiration, incorporating stacked stones, rammed-earth blocks and carved images of the ape-like yeti – legendary keeper of the mountain – into the Himalayan village at the base of the ride. Here, backpacks hang from posts. Strings of tattered prayer flags flutter in the breeze. A train whisks us up, up and up a narrow track for an encompassing view of the park before making a sharp left into an icy cavern. Here, the track suddenly ends, its shredded remains extending into thin air. The train pauses; we gasp. The train rolls backwards into the dark depths of the mountain; we scream. For a few seconds, we spy a silhouette of the yeti ripping up track. Then it’s all darkness again, as we twist, turn and drop back down the mountain, g-forces pushing stomachs to the backs of seats. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Lights, Camera, Traction: Hollywood Studios
A clutch of teens and twentysomethings is fidgeting outside the back door to the American Idol Experience, where any visitor 14 or older can audition to take to the stage. The day’s best performer walks away with a Dream Ticket, good for a front-of-the-line audition for American Idol the TV show (like Aaron Kelly, a 17-year-old country-pop singer from Pennsylvania, who advanced to the show’s Top Five this year.) Inside the 1,000-seat replica theatre, 113 video screens and 105 speakers make sure the audience doesn’t miss a beat or a blooper. We’ll have the final say by voting, via armrest keypads, for our favourite performers. But not before the judges (Disney staff) weigh in. During our show, a plump 27-year-old schoolteacher from Philadelphia belts out her rendition of Disney’s Reflection. “You sing from your heart and your liver and your spleen. Good job,” gushes a blonde female judge in a shiny pink ensemble. A male judge in a grey suit counters, à la Simon Cowell: “Your students must suspect that if they misbehave, you might start singing to them.”

Next up: hitting targets over at Toy Story Mania, where four-person trams take guests through a midway lined with game booths. Movie characters – Woody, Buzz Lightyear and friends – beckon and cheer from screens, as balls, hoops and other objects seemingly fly straight out of our spring-loaded shooters, thanks to 3D glasses. Animated darts pierce balloons with satisfying pops in the newest challenge, starring the blue triceratops Trixie from Toy Story 3. It’s a blast, but all that trigger action has stirred the ride demon within.

We head in the direction of screams. “Ghosts” are everywhere, as visitors pull on white plastic ponchos in the heavy rain now pelting the park. This scene sets the mood for our trip into “the fifth dimension” at the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. Greeted by pale-faced, stoic hotel clerks, we’re escorted across a cobweb-lined hotel lobby and into a dark freight elevator. Ghostly images of lost hotel guests fade in and out before we drop – aaaaaaahhh! – 13 storeys down a shaft. That flying-out-of-our-seats feeling isn’t just freefall: ride mechanics pull the car down for an even quicker plunge.

Hearts pumping and legs wobbly, we decide to keep the ride buzz going with a spin on the Rock ’n’ Roller Coaster Starring Aerosmith, just next door. During the pre-show, lead singer Steve Tyler and the band are about to leave a recording studio and invite us (via a large screen) to their concert. To get there on time, we hop into a 24-passenger super-stretch limo for a zippy night ride through the Hollywood Hills. Unlike most coasters, which start slow, this one hits 97 kilometres an hour in 2.8 seconds (like a supersonic jet launching from the deck of an aircraft carrier). And it rocks. Specially recorded Aerosmith soundtracks (Love in an Elevator becomes Love in a Roller Coaster) blast through high-powered speakers in each seat. Some 1,020 metres of indoor track later, including two rollover loops and a corkscrew, we shakily disembark.

Giggles and Galaxies:

The Magic Kingdom
We take a break from the fast lane and duck into a comedy club called Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor, based on the 2001 movie, Monsters Inc. On a big centre screen, one-eyed, green-skinned “monster of ceremonies” Mike Wazowski (one of the lead characters in the movie) is collecting laughs to power the city of Monstropolis. Seated at rows of long tables, audience members are singled out on a side screen to represent other movie characters (Sulley, Boo, Randall et al.). The camera zooms from person to person as the MC works them into his narrative. Gravel-voiced Roz, the dreaded dispatcher in the film, appears from time to time, enduring such quips as “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get away from Roz.”

It’s fun and funny, but I emerge looking for fast and scary. Across the way, Space Mountain is calling my name. An oldie but a goodie, the idea for a roller-coaster ride through the universe was conceived by Walt Disney in the early 1960s to tap into the space age. Housed in a 55-metre-tall ribbed white dome (a small skyscraper could fit inside), it opened in 1975 and has been launching passengers into a neon-lit, star-and-meteor-laden cosmos ever since. Though it was the world’s first computer-controlled coaster, Space Mountain today delivers a nostalgic kick akin to watching a Star Trek rerun. The top speed is 45 km/h, but thanks to spatial-lighting effects (bands of light going off and on in a sequence along the track), it feels like we’re going much faster in our six-person shuttle.

Spying and Flying: Epcot
Back on earth, we find ourselves strolling along a lakeside walkway in Epcot. Opened in 1982 to celebrate innovation and discovery, the park’s newest experience is the Kim Possible World Showcase Adventure, based on the Disney Channel’s Kim Possible animated spy series. Not familiar with the show, we don’t sign up, but we do spot a few people with Kimmunicators, high-tech spy gadgets disguised as cellphones. This isn’t a stationary game; players follow clues through the park’s World Showcase international pavilions, completing one mission at a time to save the planet – from setting off German cuckoo clocks to uncovering a secret Japanese message on a boulder.

We duck into the United Kingdom pavilion for fish and chips, and then France for éclairs. But my ride beast is hungry again, so it’s over to Epcot’s Future World section for a bird’s-eye view of California. We’re still in Florida, but inside the theatre at the Soarin’ attraction, it’s all about the Golden State. Clicking into rows of ski-lift-type chairs, we’re hoisted 12 metres up into a screen dome. Feet dangling, stomach jittery, I grip the handles as the seats tilt in synch with high-definition Omnimax film footage. Wind in our hair, we “fly” along a winding river, over an orange grove (sniff . . . a citrus scent fills the air), rocky coastline (sniff . . . ocean scent) and mountaintop. When fireworks explode across the screen, the chairs shake.

Back outside, the sun is setting. The day, and my time here, is coming to a close. And that’s OK, because I’m spent. But wait . . . what’s that round, grey building with a track wrapped around it? A quick flip through a brochure, and I learn it’s Test Track, an automotive-proving site that whisks passengers (strapped into test vehicles) up hills, around hairpin corners and along a straightaway at up to 105 km/h. Suddenly feeling recharged, I head for the track. After all, a true ride freak never calls it quits.

Disney Down the Tracks

• 2011: Setting sail for the Caribbean in January 2011, the new Disney Dream cruise ship will house the world’s first shipboard “water coaster,” the AquaDuck. Technological innovations will figure large, from wall-mounted LCD screens to an interactive kids’ play floor. In other cruise news, Disney Cruise Line is offering Alaska sailings for the first time — departing from Vancouver aboard the Disney Wonder in summer 2011.
• 2011: A 3D version of the popular Star Tours attraction, a ride based on the Star Wars film franchise, launches at Disney World’s Hollywood Studios.
• 2012: Disney World’s Art of Animation Resort will house 1,120 family suites themed after The Lion King, Cars and Finding Nemo, as well as 864 themed rooms in The Little Mermaid wings.
• 2013: The expansion of Disney World’s Fantasyland will see this section of the Magic Kingdom nearly double in size. Guests will enjoy a new ride based on The Little Mermaid, as well as close encounters with Disney princesses, such as meeting Cinderella face to face in her country chateau. —S.H.

Tracey Zipp, AMA Travel Specialist

Walt Disney World, Florida

You never have a shortage of options with Disney vacations, which is why I’ve been to Walt Disney World five times, and on the Disney Cruise Line twice. My favourite hotel whenI’m there is the Disney Coronado Springs because it’s quiet, family-friendly and close to Disney’s Animal Kingdom Park. To get around, it’s best to take the bus or the monorail from your hotel to the parks — but don’t wait until the end of the night to come back if you want to avoid lineups. You can save about 30 per cent by buying a Disney Dining Plan, which gives you a daily meal package. There’s something for every palate among the 100 restaurants available through the plans, but I enjoy the colonial-style Liberty Tree Tavern for the family dining experience -— and, of course, the food. You should plan to be at Disney World for at least a week, which gives you a couple days for each park. Downtime in the resort’s two water parks is also a great idea. If I had to pick the one thing I’ve enjoyed most, it would be getting married on the Disney Cruise Line. Disney’s Fairy Tale Weddings truly make you feel like a princess. They take care of everything — you just choose the package you want, and a wedding planner meets you the day you board the ship to make sure everything goes according to plan. l

Need help planning and booking a trip to Walt Disney World? Call 1-888-989-8423 to speak with Tracey Zipp, or visit your local AMA centre.

(slideshow photos by Tracy Hyatt)
Rule number one when visiting Smoky Lake in October: embrace pumpkins, or at least Alberta’s most serious celebration of the gourds – the Great White North Pumpkin Fair and Weigh-Off. Every October dozens of pumpkin growers from across Western Canada, and a few hundred spectators, pack the Smoky Lake Agricultural Complex to witness the weighing. Serious contenders will tip the scales at more than 225 kilograms.

After the weigh-in, the real party starts. This year’s celebrations, starting October 1, include an old-time threshing bee, a pumpkin and squash auction, beer gardens, a pork roast, a pumpkin drop and a dance.

Yes, this rural town embraces its agrarian roots in the fall, but Smoky Lake is a year-round destination with a variety of attractions, especially for outdoor enthusiasts. Cyclists, quadders, cross-country skiers, horseback riders and snowmobilers can pick up the historic Iron Horse Trail – a former fur-trading route – from downtown Smoky Lake. Other history lessons can be learned from onion-domed Eastern Orthodox churches, built in the late 1800s by Ukrainian homesteaders.

No trip to a farming community is complete without taking home some local produce. Every Saturday from 10 a.m. to noon, local growers sell produce, dairy, meats, baked goods and Ukrainian food at the agricultural complex. Bring your own bags and a healthy appetite.

The Hideaway

Bliss out at Bonne Nuit Bed and Breakfast hidden away from the tourist legions on a quiet side street. Owners Ernie and Bérangère Brousseau share their impeccable country-style home with everyone from city slickers to oil-and-gas executives. Each of the four guest rooms evokes a storybook feel, with antique-style quilts and wood furniture. In the evening, relax on one of the two patios with a hot cup of tea and watch a stunning sunset. Add an irresistible breakfast spread (that starts with the scent of home-baked croissants wafting through the air at 7 a.m.) and you’ll see why some guests never want to leave ( 780-656-3528).

The Inside Track

Glorious greens: Fresh fall produce and homemade jellies at Linda’s Market Garden (780-656-2401; ). Beaten path: Hikers, cyclists, horseback riders, ATVers and snowmobilers share the Iron Horse Trail, a 300 km backcountry route that passes through Smoky Lake (780-645-2913). Sweet tooth: Fresh-baked pumpkin cinnamon buns at Old Fashioned Bread Bakery, owned by the daughter of Ernie and Bérangère Brousseau (780-656-3780).  Amazing grace: Saturday evening mass at the Byzantine-style Roman Catholic church, Our Lady of Atonement, a designated historical site.

Jaunt: Taos High Road
Distance: Approx. 250 km
Fuel: 1 tank
Duration: 2 days
Prime Time: End of September
Tunes: Grammy award-winning Totemic Flute Chants, recorded by Johnny Whitehorse (a.k.a. Robert Mirabal, who hails from Taos); Silver Wave Records

Spain’s conquistadores named the peaks that stand proud to the east of New Mexico’s Rio Grande the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the Blood of Christ, because at sunset they flame a dark and foreboding crimson. Spanish settlers would eventually build a New Mexico colony in the shadow of this ancient range. And more than 400 years later, the colonial influence remains strikingly evident alongside the adobe pueblos of a still-vibrant indigenous culture.

One of the most celebrated scenic byways in New Mexico is the idyllic, meandering hill-country route from the historic state capital of Santa Fe to the art town of Taos, a landscape dotted with old villages, colonial churches and native pueblos that seems to inspire the creative urge. Nowhere else in North America is there such a concentration of artistic talent: the foothills are dense with galleries and studios, many of them open year-round. This drive is best during the last gentle days of September, when the aspens are aflame, the High Road Art Tour takes place and Taos Pueblo celebrates San Geronimo Feast Day. The return trip to Sante Fe can be made on the “low road,” Hwy. 68, through the Rio Grande Valley. (High Road Art Tour maps, with thumbnails of artists’ studios, are available at Santa Fe and Taos visitor centres, hotels and art stores; also at HighRoadNewMexico.com).

Santa Fe is a captivating place to wander: large enough to be cosmopolitan and small enough for leisurely on-foot exploration of its Spanish colonial prettiness, museums and art galleries. Stay at least a few days to enjoy it all. Good eats: El Farol, on gallery-strewn Canyon Road, is Santa Fe’s oldest bar and cantina, with great tapas, and flamenco dancing on Saturdays (elfarolsf.com). Good sleeps: Hotel Plaza Real (hhandr.com).

The High Road to Taos stretch of this roadtrip begins with an easy drive north from Santa Fe on Hwy. 84, for 25 km – to the junction at Pojoaque (Po-wa-key), where Hwy. 502 shoots off west to Los Alamos. (Yes, the place where scientists hatched the atom bomb.) A little farther, Hwy. 503 heads east toward the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Turn here, then pause at Nambe to photograph its earth-coloured adobe church aglow in the morning light before continuing north through the pine-sprinkled hills toward Chimayó (turn left on County Road 98). Follow the signs to the 200-year-old El Santuario de Chimayó. Built on ground sacred to the Tewa tribe, the adobe church is beautiful inside and out, and the earth of the sanctuary’s floor is said to have miraculous healing properties.

To visit tiny Chimayó, turn left at the Hwy. 76 intersection and head for the Plaza del Cerro, the last of the old fortified Spanish plazas in the southwest. Here, Galeria Ortega houses a sumptuous selection of local arts and crafts, including the weavings of the Ortega and Trujillo families, plus New Mexican foods, books and music (galeriaortegainc.com).

From Chimayó, double back on Hwy. 76, then loop west on County Road 80 to Cordova and its Flying Dog Studios (photography), Castillo Gallery (metal and wood sculpture) and the old church of San Antonio. Next stop: Truchas (“trout” in Spanish), for another interesting church: Nuestra Señora del Rosario, built in 1805. The highway veers east of this tiny town, so keep an eye out. Several studios are also open here year-round, including the Ghost Pony Gallery (oils and mixed media), eRic Luplow’s eL Gallery & Studio (folk art and surrealism) and the Pierre and Claudia Gallery in the Old Dance Hall. Good eats: vegetarian quesadillas at the Truchas Service Center.

Next, backtrack to Hwy. 76. Just past the intersection, stop to inspect the High Road Market Place (highroadnewmexico.com), an artists’ co-operative. Just a short distance farther (on Road 73) is Ojo Sarco Pottery, then it’s back on the High Road through farmland and forest to Las Trampas, where one of the loveliest of the area’s old adobe churches – San José de Gracia – has recently been restored. A Spanish colonial masterpiece built and decorated in 1766, the National Historic Landmark is still lit only by candlelight. To explore the interior, call ahead: 505-531-4360.

From Trampas the road leads through the small town of Chamisal (Spanish for the rabbitbrush that blooms brilliant yellow in September) to Hwy. 75. The High Road turns right at the intersection and heads to Peñasco and its galleries, including Walking Woman (acrylics and watercolours); Art for the Heart (folk and fibre arts) and Sandra Holzman (silk clothing). Good eats: the brightly painted Sugar Nymphs Bistro (575-587-0311); El Peñasquena Café at the village store (575-587-2221). Don’t miss: the Travelers’ Service Station, for snacks; this roadside highlight is straight out of the 1950s.

From Peñasco, follow Hwy. 75 – which meets Hwy. 518 going north – to Rancho de Taos and the iconic 1772 adobe mission church of San Francisco de Asis, made famous by Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings and Ansel Adams’ photographs, and open to the public Monday to Saturday. Tours of O’Keeffe’s house and studio in Abiquiu, northwest of Taos, are so popular that reservations are required (505-685-4539).

Day One’s destination, the art colony and Spanish colonial gem of Taos, is just six km farther north, with enough highlights to keep art lovers entranced for days. Good eats: Hotel La Fonda’s Butterfly Bar and Joseph’s Table; the Apple Tree Restaurant, in an old adobe house with an apple-tree-shaded patio, one block from the town plaza (575-758-1900). Good sleeps: the Hotel La Fonda, right on the shady plaza, is furnished in colonial splendour and offers an artistic extra: the “Forbidden Art Collection” of English writer D.H. Lawrence, who lived in New Mexico for two years.

After a morning stroll around the plaza or a longer tour of local historical sites (taos
vacationguide.com/visitor-info-center), head out to Taos Pueblo, a few km north. A World Heritage Site and National Historic Landmark, Taos Pueblo is the oldest continuously inhabited community in the U.S. The dwellings in this ancient, walled village – believed to be at least 1,000 years old – are still owned and occupied by the Tewa tribe. Visitors are charged $10, plus $6 per camera. (Restrictions on photography and conduct are outlined in the pamphlet distributed at the entrance (575-758-1028; taospueblo.com). 

With its mountain backdrop, the pueblo is a visual feast, both in colour and form. Square adobe houses, replastered annually, are stacked in tiers around a huge, dusty plaza with a historic church and trickling creek. Visitors are free to ramble throughout the village, but stay clear of well-signed ceremonial kivas. Many of the houses have been converted into tiny shops, with art and crafts for sale. The pueblo is famous for its leatherwork, particularly drums and moccasins. There is no electricity, indoor running water or plumbing, as the Pueblo has chosen not to modernize. Baking takes place in wood-burning outdoor adobe ovens, or hornos, which the Spanish introduced; pole racks along one side of the plaza are still used for drying wild game and the corn, beans and squash that are traditional Tewa fare. (Try the fry bread sprinkled with honey, or a bowl of posole – a spicy pork-and-corn stew.) During festivals and on feast days, the plaza is vibrant with costumed dancers and processions; the Feast of San Geronimo is held yearly September 29 and 30; visitors welcome.

To return to Santa Fe, drive Hwy. 68 south (known as the Taos Low Road), past the old railway town of Embudo and several more indigenous pueblos, most with visitor centres and all easily reached from the highway. Ohkay Owingeh, known as San Juan, is noted for its redware pottery and weaving. The pueblos of Santa Clara, San Ildefonso and Tesuque also have unique pottery styles, and some offer tours of prehistoric dwellings. In sprawling Española, browse through “The Original Chimayó Trading Post,” relocated from Chimayó in the 1930s to the highway here (505-753-9414). The trading post is a registered cultural landmark, and an Old West atmosphere pervades its cluttered mounds of treasure – mostly southwest native pottery, silver and rugs, and Spanish Colonial household items.

Continue west through the Rio Grande Valley, back to Santa Fe. Along the highway, there is art of another kind: roadside farm stands display the festive colours of the fall harvest – pumpkins, tomatoes, water-melons, corn of many shades and strings (ristras) of blazing-red chili peppers.

Stay at the Santa Fe Courtyard by Marriott for $152 per room, per night, based on double occupancy and including tax. 1-866-667-4777; AMATravel.ca

Frankfurt was long considered a “B” city: banking, book fairs – a bit boring. Yet this German air and rail hub of 680,000 has recently tasted change that’s as refreshing as apple wine, the city’s crisp signature beverage. Without abandoning their historical strengths of geld und geist (money and mind), Frankfurters are finding cosmopolitan ways to blend new and old, just as a Mercedes-Benz navigates medieval cobblestone streets beneath Europe’s most towering skyline.

Driving isn’t mandatory. Recently ex--panded pedestrian-only zones, such as the teeming Zeil district, lure car-free shoppers into the downtown core. The futuristic glass-walled MyZeil shopping centre is a people-watching mecca, gracefully overlooking rows of young sycamore trees. Some developments spawn whimsical comparisons: cylindrical Westhafen Tower, with its architecturally dazzling glass exterior, is likened by locals to a gerippte, a glass of (yes) apple wine. And speaking of good taste, even the notorious red-light district is seeing some gentrification as boutique hotels sprout near the main train station. Traditional half-timbered houses, many destroyed in the Second World War, are being rebuilt next to the Römerberg, Frankfurt’s medieval central square.

Meanwhile, non-traditional taste treats abound in downtown Frankfurt, whose population today is 30 per cent foreign. Persian sweets are sold alongside mouth-watering bratwurst and specialty cheeses at the indoor Kleinmarkthalle. The new Iimori chain of Japanese bakeries dishes up macaroons infused with green tea in a German café setting.

And indeed, Frankfurt’s gone green. Parkland bordering the Main River was expanded before soccer’s 2006 World Cup, and even the most cynical Frankfurter can’t deny the lyrical feel of the grass-fringed bike paths and flocks of placid geese.

It doesn’t take a visit to the Main Tower skyscraper to see Frankfurt is flourishing in A-list style. If they could, venerated homegrown names like Goethe and the Rothschilds would surely toast that ... with apple wine, of course. 

Insider’s Guide
The Go Spots
• On the south side of the Main River, the Museumsufer embankment features 10 of the city’s best museums. Classic European art, German architecture and Orthodox icons are showcased in restored garden villas.
• The winding streets of the Sachsenhausen district teem with traditional apple-wine restaurants and uproarious rock clubs.
• Foodies flock to Fressgass (“munch street”), whose numerous eateries offer sushi, sausages and Grüne Sosse (a cream-and-herbs Frankfurt specialty).

Trendy Vittles
• Clued-in professionals and hipsters haunt cozy joints on underrated Bergerstrasse; for instance, Ginko, with its mango-carrot salads and virgin cocktails served on polished wood tables. (Phone: 069 491202);
• Adjacent to the 425-year-old stock exchange and easy to spot with its titular bronze statues, the stylish Bull and Bear dishes up schnitzel, Thai curry and pizza at economical prices. (Phone: 069 13388733);
• Even traditional German dishes like potato dumplings with liver sausage and sauerkraut benefit from locally sourced ingredients and modern presentation at minimalist Exenberger, on the edge of Sachsenhausen. 069 63390790;
Best Crash Zones
• Dubbed Frankfurt’s first “design hotel,” The Pure offers blinding-white decor and a bamboo-laden patio with outdoor movie screenings, steps away from the train station.(Phone: 069 7104570);
• Sleek rooms with copies of Playboy, and a spa where patrons recline in bathtubs full of glass beads, embody the slightly scandalous vibe at the boutique-style Romers (Phone: 069 2713420).

The gingerbread houses on the Ile d’Orleans in the St. Lawrence River, just five kilometres or so outside Quebec City, appear to be maintained by a pack of happy elves who do all their work at night. Despite the fact that in my time on the island I’ve never seen anyone mowing a lawn, carrying out trash or hosing down the lawn furniture, the houses are impeccably groomed, standing at attention like Labradors, waiting patiently for their owners to lavish them with a visit. 

No wonder that in summer, this tiny island (190 sq km, with a population of 7,000) bursts at the seams with tourists and owners of summer homes, here to pick berries, play in the water and scamper over familiar terrain comfortably worn down by generations of pleasure seekers. The assiduous local tourist board has slapped the place with enough signage to lead a blind man around, and travellers are enthusiastically directed to the island’s main draw: its multitude of artisan food and cassis producers, cidermakers, apple growers, fish smokers, cheesemakers, chocolatiers, jam producers, bakers and vintners.

Mid-week in October, however, the island, relieved of its most pressing hosting responsibilities, enjoys a relaxed emptiness, a shopworn quiet. Yellow leaves hang tentatively from the thick branches of maple trees and farmers have turned their hay bales into spiders or snowmen and propped autumnally attired scarecrows against lamp posts. Local bakery La Boulange, a favourite lunch spot, is replete with islanders exercising their social graces by greeting everyone in the room with a varied spectrum of formality. And at one table four women sit: the head of the local coalition of artisans, the head of the island’s newspaper, the head of the genealogy house and another responsible for tourism on the island – discussing business over pesto pizzas and buttery apple pastries.

My first morning on the Ile d’Orleans, I wandered into a tchotchke shop and browsed the offerings: woollen mittens, painted plates and a small art gallery upstairs. The CD collection gave me pause, and I purchased a Felix Leclerc compilation called Temps de Bonheur to see what all the fuss was about.

I had just popped the Leclerc CD into the stereo of my rental car when the phone rang – one of the islanders calling about lunch. I turned the volume down immediately, but not before the first milliseconds of “Moi Mes Souliers” drifted through the speakers. The island caller, who probably absorbed Leclerc’s entire oeuvre while still in utero (Leclerc lived on the island for many years), noticed immediately. “Are you listening to Felix Leclerc?” he asked. Busted! I was officially an île cliché.

He doesn’t technically belong to the island’s illustrious descendants, but Felix Leclerc has been adopted by the islanders as prodigal son. Raised in a logging camp in Quebec, the musician rose to fame in France and Canada on the basis of his evocatively wiggling eyebrows and poetic, soulful warbles. After spending the last few decades of his life on the Ile d’Orleans, he is survived by a wife and daughter who manage the Felix Leclerc museum near its mainland bridge.

The museum is quite well done, all streaming sunlight and blond wood, with a poignant, life-sized diorama of Leclerc’s office, complete with records, a typewriter, coffee cup stains, Camus paperbacks and an encyclopedia set. Downstairs is a little cabaret space set up with café tables. Here a Leclerc fan who moved to the island eight years ago to run the museum plays a 20-minute video about the singer’s life that I watched alone. In summertime, the cabaret space bustles, welcoming artists from all over the world.

The island’s indigenous music, though less polished, is an equally joyous melee of rhythmic accordion, violin and piano notes accompanied by lyrics hearkening back to earlier, more agricultural times. What it lacks in rigorous Irish “tonesmanship” or French rhythmic gravity, it makes up for in spades with raw emotion. In fact, the locals’ speech is peppered with a buoyancy that resembles song. “Bon matin!” I am greeted alertly, ringingly, every time I come across a good-humoured islander as I circumnavigate the island’s main road: the Chemin Royal. Twenty km long, it is immortalized in song by Leclerc himself and bisected by three roads that offer a short crossing, all but one closed in winter.

The centre of the island is a golf course surrounded by farmland, leaving most of the island’s homes linked by the Chemin Royal loop – their shingled roofs curving with an elegant camber, squatting atop plain walls accented by windows outlined with bright red or green piping. This type of accessorizing makes them look like faces: one comical, another coquettish, with heavy-lidded eyes. Some are clapboard, others stucco, and frequently they feature decorative touches such as porthole windows, gables or elaborately moulded gutters. Front porches are graced with rocking chairs and hanging plants. Folks with good values live in these houses; I can tell.

If yards are occasionally studded with the type of ornament that might annoy neighbours with twee or conservative tastes (big anchors half-stuck in the turf, tacky stone lions guarding an entrance), this eclectic decor nonetheless coheres, making the island seem a place where homeowners invest in their surroundings. Newer homes are a studied kind of quaint, imitating the effortless charm of the older ones. But the two generations meld successfully, giving a heterogeneous, yet harmonious, feel to the local architecture. And somehow this evokes twinkly, Christmassy feelings, even in summer.

Having inched my way over three days toward the northeast corner of the island, I stop at La Maison de Nos Aïeux. The genealogy museum recently expanded to accommodate an increasing trickle of those who come to trace their histories back to the original 300 or so families who settled long, narrow, water-fronting parcels of land on the island some 300 years ago. Annie Latour, the museum’s curator, takes a key out of a drawer and turns on the interactive displays: well-made, short oral-history videos of settlers’ descendants talking about their lives on the island. The room is full of attractively arrayed butter churns and baptism gowns and a lit-up 3D model of the island’s topography. From this perspective, it’s easy to visualize Ile d’Orleans’ agricultural inheritance: boat-building, berries and carrots in the north, apples and grapes to the south, and in the section known as St. François toward the western end, what one Quebecoise fittingly called “le village de la vichyssoise,” excellent leeks and potatoes.

Admittedly, there’s always something perturbing about people capable of surviving winters on the land and milking cows by hand being displaced by weekenders desirous of a picturesque stomping ground. Then again, that’s precisely what the Quebecois (islanders, weekenders and tourists) value about Ile d’Orleans: its proximity to both a figurative and literal past. The headstones in the island’s cemeteries echo the names signposted on its carrot farms and mailboxes and alongside its apple orchards. These, in turn, recall the names in the genealogy books in the Maison de Nos Aieux: Pouliot, Blouin, Turcotte, Dallaire, Noreau. Indeed, Ile d’Orleans is the self-appointed capital of a province obsessed with historiography – the past and one’s place in it. Small wonder so many seek the meaning of their story here.

Oddly, or perhaps not, only about half the island’s food producers, restaurateurs and innkeepers are native to the place. As such, the island plays at an über-authentic heritage that’s only halfway real. One forgives such details, however, because the intentions are good and there’s enough authenticity scattered about to make up for what isn’t. After all, it must be recognized that “outsiders” have added greatly to the island’s successful commercialization, regardless of whether or not the old-timers find this gradual shift as charming as the tourists do.

Surprisingly, despite the island’s longstanding history of growing excellent produce, and the fact that its agricultural bounty is such a draw for travellers, most of the restaurants don’t make a special effort to cook with local ingredients. A few notable exceptions include Le Canard Huppé and Le Moulin de St. Laurent, which valorize local produce grown in the island’s legendary soil. So does the best place to eat on the island, Ferme au Goût d’Autrefois, which also happens to be the newest foodie enclave. The restaurant uses only its own farm-grown ingredients – goose meat, organic vegetables – to dish up frankly outstanding, totally unique meals.

Other notable stops include Poissonnerie Jos Paquet, a little fisherman’s shop that specializes in smoked fish; and Cassis Monna et Filles, a blackcurrant farm that has developed a fine line of aperitifs and ports. There are also innumerable orchards canning their own lovely jams, chutneys and jellies, each with farm shops filled with charming gift ideas and tempting tasting samples.

In one such shop, I inadvertently spotted a sign posted on the wall meant to school its employees in good manners. “Smile,” it said. “Say the magic words: Hello! Welcome! Can I help you? Be tolerant: people from other places may not hold the same views and customs at you. Smile more!!” The messages are symptomatic of the island’s co-existing worlds: one that faces out toward the tourists, smiling boldly, the other looking in on itself, full of its own mythologies and history.

Whichever world you find, though (if you’re lucky, you’ll witness both), there’s no doubt that Ile d’Orleans is an extremely charming place to spend a couple of days. Its proximity to Quebec City floods its orchards with eager apple pickers on autumn weekends, and the vineyards and cassis plantations bulge with tipsy enthusiasts. Yet I found it most atmospheric once the battalions had retreated, my only company the dolled-up hay scarecrows, clean-picked apple trees and gruff, winded locals with their ghosts of an illustrious history.

Ile d’Orientation
Wheeled wander: Cycling is a wonderful and easy way to see the island. Be aware there is no dedicated bike path and the roads are narrow, though neither is an issue for confident cyclists. Whether on or off a bike, three days should be sufficient to experience all the highlights.

Must-stops: The Felix Leclerc museum, Poissonnerie Jos Paquet, La Boulange, La Maison de Nos Aïeux.
Bonsoir: Bunker down at La Goéliche, situated in Ste. Pétronille on the island’s westernmost protuberance, with views of Quebec City (as the crow flies, only a few kilometres west but in spirit much farther away). My room had a balcony, a flick-on fake fireplace and a bathtub from which I could watch the sun set over the river. Two other highly rated recommendations: Dans les Bras de Morphée, perched on a hill; and Oasis de Rêves, down a maple-lined alley and fronting the river up close.
Take it to go: How to get all those edible goodies home? The best way is via bus or post. For details contact Cassis Monna et Filles (418-828-2525)and Domaine Steinbach(418-828-0000). 

The legendary Bobby “Blue” Bland opened for Van Morrison at the Edmonton Folk Festival Wednesday night. Photo credit: Tracy Hyatt

It was easily the most anticipated performance in Edmonton Folk Festival history and without a doubt the icon did not disappoint. Wednesday’s night’s performance was Van Morrison de rigueur. His instantly recognizable voice sounded the same as graying fans remember it on the radio, seemingly indestructible to age. Every single note he strummed on his guitar, panged on the piano, blew into the saxophone and drew out of his blues harp was perfect.

Known to often deny fans his hits, Morrison’s 90-minute show seamlessly weaved his thick book of classics with new pieces.  Two songs into the set, fans were on their feet dancing to “Brown Eyed Girl,” followed by a standing ovation for “Moondance.” As the sun set in the hazy sky, Morrison played “Into the Mystic,” again bringing the candle-waving crowd to its feet.

Outfitted in a black suit, black hat and shades, the symbolism was not lost. The recluse denied photographs during his show and did not address the crowd.  What he did do is show the crowd why he’s the real deal and the perfect appetizer to kick off the five-day festival.

Hello bonjour
Hello (informal) salut
How are you? comment ça va?
I am fine, thanks très bien, merci
Thank you merci
Please s’il vous plaît
Thank you very much merci beaucoup
Yes oui
No non
Goodbye au revoir
Good morning bon matin
Good evening bonsoir
Excuse me excusez-moi
I don’t speak French je ne parle pas français
Do you speak English? parlez-vous anglais?
Pleased to meet you plaisir de faire votre connaissance

I am je suis
he is il est
she is elle est
it is c’est
we are nous sommes
you are (formal) vous êtes
you are (informal) tu es

My name is… je m’appelle
This is my wife voici ma femme
This is my husband voici mon mari
This is my son voici mon fils
This is my daughter voici ma fille
This is my (male) friend voici mon ami
This is my (female) friend voici mon amie
Where is ... Où est...?
…a bank? une banque?
…a restaurant? un restauran?t
…a museum? un musée?
… a cinema? un cinéma?
… a department store?… un grand magazin?
… a train station? la gare?
… a grocery store? ...une épicerie?

I have j’ai
he has il a
she has elle a
we have nous avons
you have (formal) Vous avez
you have (informal) tu as
I am hungry j’ai faim
We are thirsty nous avons soif
Do you have? est-que vous avez?
… fruit? des fruits?
… bread? du pain?
… milk? du lait?
… butter? du beurre?
… beer? de la bière?

I am Canadian (a male) je suis Canadien
I am Canadian (a female) je suis Canadienne

Numbers 1 - 20
1 un
2 deux
3 trois
4 quatre
5 cinq
6 six
7 sept
8 huit
9 neuf
10 dix
11 onze
12 douze
13 treize
14 quatorze
15 quinze
16 seize
17 dix-sept
18 dix-huit
19 dix-neuf
20 vingt
50 cinquante
100 cent

Young Minds, Old Bones

One sunny day approximately 70 million years ago, a young albertosaurus wandering along a riverbed in the Badlands met with an untimely end. Solving the mystery of what calamities might have befallen him and other dinosaurs that lived in this rich paleontological area has enthralled scientists since Joseph Burr Tyrrell’s first dino-bones discovery in 1884. Now, thanks to the day program at the Royal Tyrrell Museum in Drumheller, these puzzles can enthrall your kids, too. 

The Dig Experience program (June 26 to August 31) takes participants aged 10 and up on a hike to a re-created quarry. There, they’ll excavate through layers of sandstone to discover three casts made from the original fossils of two plant-eating and one meat-eating dinosaur – maybe even an albertosaurus.

Participants use real paleontological tools, such as dental picks and awls, and with the help of the science educators, learn how to read the rocks and the position of the fossils to re-create possible scenarios for how each dino met its demise. Think of it as a G-rated Jurassic Park meets CSI.  –Lindsey Norris
403-823-7707; tyrrellmuseum.alberta.ca
AMA members save 10% on regular admission at the Royal Tyrrell Museum.

White-knuckle Boating

he scenic Athabasca River is already well known for its vistas and wildlife. But one stretch near Whitecourt carries a very different claim to fame — that of a top-tier jet boat racecourse. This length of river is one of only four international courses (the others being in New Zealand, Mexico and the United States) approved to host the World Jet Marathon, which sees approximately 70 boaters a year tear down the water at speeds of 130 kilometres an hour. Participating countries alternate hosting years, making 2011 Whitecourt’s turn. Catch a preview of the wet-and-wild event this summer at Whitecourt’s Annual Jet Boat Races, August 7 and 8. —L.N. 
780-778-1465

Fiddle-dee-jamboree

Before there was Hockey Night in Canada or Canadian Idol, there were fiddlers, storytellers and folk musicians. And in the late 1880s, music was more than entertainment. For those who lived at the Victoria Settlement, a former Methodist mission turned trading post, 10 kilometres south of Smoky Lake, music was a way for its population of Metis, missionaries, European fur traders and Ukrainian settlers to connect.

To commemorate this musical past, the settlement hosts an annual jamboree. This year’s festivities take place July 4 with performances by folk musicians and dancers. There will also be tasty demonstrations of how oatcakes and candy were cooked over a wood stove. Afterwards, visitors can explore the clerk’s quarters, in which the Hudson’s Bay Company conducted its trading business.

Interpretative staff will be on hand to explain how the settlement grew from a small mission to an important trading and cultural hub. So even though the site was abandoned in the 1920s, this annual jamboree lets the settlement come alive again with the sights — and sounds — of its heyday. –L.N.
780-656-2333
AMA members save up to 25% on regular admission at Victoria Settlement.

Home Front Revisited

Lougheed House, the graceful sandstone mansion built for Canadian senator James Lougheed in 1891, is usually a reminder of more genteel times, when visiting British royalty took tea in its garden. But the Calgary home has a feistier past than its pristine Victorian decor might suggest.  This year’s “Ride Through Time” event on July 24 gives a glimpse into a facet of Lougheed House that is more camouflage than crinoline.  • During the Second World War, the home served as barracks for the Canadian Women’s Army Corps and its basement became a Red Cross blood-donor clinic. To re-create this wartime experience, Lougheed House, along with its tour guides, will be decked out in full military regalia. In the garden, for example, visitors will find a training course and historic fire engines. Indoors, historic dishes will be on the menu at the restaurant. And though the atmosphere will be authentic WWII, there’s no need to ration to get in on the action – admission to the event is absolutely free. –L.N.
403-244-6333; lougheedhouse.com
AMA members save 10% on regular-priced gift-shop merchandise.

Book Review

Prairie Culinary
Former restaurateur Julianna Mimande (co-founder of Bacon), graphic designer Gabe Wong and photographer Zach Ayotte are the creators of We Eat Together (Poplar and Pine Press, 2009; $40). Part cookbook, part travelogue, the book offers more than 50 simple recipes ranging from condiments (brown-beer mustard) to savoury suppers (braised leek sausages in red wine). But in keeping with the collaborators’ close-to-the-land philosophy, the focus is really on helping readers appreciate the origins of their food. “There is no comparison between knowing where your food comes from and actually seeing and walking through the farms where your food is grown,” writes Mimande.
Edmontonians will likely recognize some of the featured local producers, such as Irvings Farm Fresh, Lola Canola Honey and The Jam Lady, from the 104th Street City Market. The cookbook honours these vendors, as well as farmers, livestock and land in a series of beautifully composed photographs. We Eat Together will inspire cooks of every level to take a culinary tour of Alberta, right from their own kitchens. –Tracy Hyatt
weeattogether.ca

Words to Chew On

Chez What?
There’s discreet, and then there’s the Radway Royale. Owners Pete and Ursula Roberts “haven’t done a speck of advertising” since opening the hotel and restaurant 80 kilometres northeast of Edmonton in late 2007 – they don’t even have a sign over the door. But when the food is this good, word gets around, and that’s especially true of this year’s Growth Alberta award winner for business excellence.

Pete, who previously managed a lodge in Alaska, and Ursula, a former caterer in Portland, Oregon, wondered at times if they were crazy for buying a dilapidated hotel in a town so far off the beaten path. But there was no arguing with the deal they got on real estate.  “Then the restaurant focus just sort of happened,” says Pete of the daily updated menu, featuring entrees garnished with fresh herbs and edible flowers from the garden, along with delectable homemade desserts, in the vanilla-bean-with-ginger crème brûlée vein. The place is officially a bar, not a restaurant (meaning no minors), so the couple are also attentive to their drink menu, offering creative cocktails such as rhubarb martinis.

And, as for getting a sign: because of the number of confused first-timers who call in from the parking lot on their cellphones, Pete says he has considered putting one up – though he wants it to read, “Yes, this is the place.”
–Kristine Kowalchuk
780-736-3855

Interview

Cone Heads
Long before the 100-Mile Diet made it a virtue to eat local, southern Albertans were already planning their roadtrips around a visit to MacKay’s Ice Cream in Cochrane. Jim MacKay began making ice cream in 1948 to attract travellers to his general store. By the 1970s, his frozen treats had grown so popular that he began selling them exclusively. When he died in 1983, MacKay’s daughters — then 25-year-old Rhona and 23-year-old Robyn — decided to pick up the scoop. But because their father had never written down the recipe, the sisters’ initial foray into the ice-cream business gave new meaning to the words “made from scratch.” Westworld spoke with Rhona MacKay about two generations of churning out summer’s top treat. —Lindsey Norris

WW: When your father passed away, did you consider selling the business?
RM: It never occurred to us because we had grown up with it. At the time, we both worked in the business (I worked in manufacturing and Robyn in retail), and I was quite passionate about making it my career. Also, it wasn’t ours to sell; it was our mom’s and we were her employees. But eventually we bought her out so she could retire.

WW: What was your biggest hurdle?
RM: Even though we didn’t have the recipe, we knew how the ice cream should look and taste. Yet, when we first started, something wasn’t right. So we phoned a health inspector to investigate — which was pretty much unheard of — but it did have a great outcome: There is a legal limit of fat in ice cream, and the ingredients from our dairy were below the limit. He had the dairy bring it back up.

WW: And then you went to ice cream school?
RM: We went to the universities of Guelph and Pennsylvania and took their ice-cream courses, which are both two weeks. We created our own formula and we feel we’ve improved on the original recipe. Dad’s had 15 or 16 per cent milk fat and we upped it to 17 per cent. It’s the high milk-fat content and low air content that makes our products
so creamy.

WW: Do you also sell wholesale?
RM: Yes, we make specialty flavours for restaurants, such as chai tea and masala. We even made Jäger Bomb, a Jägermeister-themed flavour, for Flame Central, a sports bar in Calgary.

WW: How has the ice cream business changed over time?
RM: Globalization is affecting the market. A lot of people are relocating to Canada and wanting their cultural favourites, so we now make flavours that include avocado, mango and young coconut.

WW: Which flavour is the most popular?
RM: We carry 52 flavours in our retail shop and have 200 flavours in our recipe book, but vanilla is still the most popular, by far.

403-932-2455; mackaysicecream.com

A chilly Tuesday night in November isn’t anyone’s idea of prime festival time in Edmonton, but you couldn’t tell that to the crowd squeezed into the warm, candle-lit confines of the Yardbird Suite to see the Jeff Hendrick Quartet. The weeklong Yardbird Jazz Festival is in full swing with a roster of Canadian artists, but the occasion isn’t enough to forego the venue’s traditional Tuesday night jam session and its $5 admission for players and spectators alike.

The silhouette of bebop icon Charlie “Bird” Parker that used to cover the west wall was effaced a few rounds of renovations ago, but images of Alberta jazz royalty still preside, from portraits of living legends like Tommy Banks, the bandleader-turned-senator for whom the street that runs past the Yardbird was rechristened, to those of bygone masters like pianist Bill Emes. Further immortalized outside is Kansas City transplant Clarence “Big” Miller, with a disconcertingly large bronze cast of his head, his features clenched in the throes of song.

On stage, alto sax man Hendrick, clad in expensive-looking denims with a gold cross glittering against his black T-shirt, leads his band through a set of fluid bass grooves, rock backbeats and smooth R&B vocals – not necessarily what you’d expect walking through the door of one of Canada’s foremost jazz venues. But the Yardbird Suite has fostered an all-embracing approach to the many faces of jazz since its founding in 1957.
Patrons and performers are quick to tell you that the volunteer-run Yardbird is unique in the annals of Canadian jazz, but its longevity speaks just as much to the fact that the appetite for this kind of music in Alberta has always been powerful. In spite of a bumpy patch at the start of this century, when the province’s flagship jazz festivals almost called it curtains for good, today Alberta’s jazz scene is as lively as ever, with new artists continually breaking in and multi-day, multi-venue festivals cropping up outside jazz’s natural constituency in Calgary and Edmonton.

As for when jazz made its incursion into the province’s cultural scene, you could argue it’s been around almost as long as Alberta itself. In 2003, I interviewed a saxophone player named Frank Sklove shortly before he passed away at the age of 91. Sklove started out playing clarinet in the Edmonton Journal Newsboys Band in 1923; by 1928, he was a full-fledged jazzman. He took me to the study of his seniors’ condo to see a time-stained photograph from that year taken on a sunny July day in Camrose. In it, the bespectacled young Sklove stood out as the sole white musician among Ernest Braxton’s Georgia Minstrels, with whom he had toured the province.

Sklove continued to play professionally through most of his life, from the big-band era where he sat in with swing icons like Tommy Dorsey before packed dance floors in posh mountain-lodge ballrooms, and through subsequent decades as leader and sideman with smaller ensembles that performed jazz versions of popular songs. He told me that, when he finally parted – on doctor’s orders – with the beloved Selmer Mark VI saxophone he’d played for 35 years, it knew “Harlem Nocture” by heart.

And if there were one seminal figure who exemplified the provincial passion for jazz, it would have to be Tommy Banks. Born and raised in Calgary, Banks moved to Edmonton in the 1950s and quickly established himself as a pianist, composer and conductor. But more than that, Banks was a community builder, touring his bands in and outside the province, hosting international talent, even taking to radio and TV with his passion for the music through the 1960s and ’70s. Banks’s band alumni, such as sax player P.J. Perry and vocalist Big Miller, went on to solo prominence, paving the way for other Alberta artists.

In 1980, the Alberta government, flush with resource royalties and keen to find a cultural outlet for the province’s 75th birthday, decided to fund jazz festivals in Calgary and Edmonton (which became the Calgary Jazz Festival and Jazz City International Jazz Festival, respectively). By then, the public already had a taste for the sophisticated sounds that had evolved from ragtime and Dixieland, blues and gospel at the turn of the 20th century into what some people called “America’s classical music.” And Alberta’s big cities finally had the financial wherewithal to deliver.

Kent Sangster, executive director and producer of the current Edmonton International Jazz Festival, recalls seeing heroes like “saxophone colossus” Sonny Rollins, Ornette Coleman and Miles Davis at early installments of Jazz City. “In 1980, never mind subsequent years, there were more headlining jazz artists at Jazz City than you could imagine at even the biggest festival,” says Sangster.

For the province’s musicians, the festivals constituted an unmatched opportunity to stand on the same stage as the artists who shaped the genre. Award-winning Edmonton-based drummer and bandleader Sandro Dominelli says such experiences were invaluable to his own development: “It can be pretty nerve-wracking opening for world-class talent, but sometimes it takes experiences like that to move you to a new level in your playing.”
Even so, stacking the lineup with top-tier marquee artists could only last for so long. In Alberta, the oil-boom decadence of the ’80s gave way to the provincial budgetary cuts of the ’90s, and by 2006, afflicted by dwindling corporate sponsorship and government funding, declining sales and mounting debt, Alberta’s two big-city jazz festivals had folded.

Fortunately, the contingent of fans, musicians and venue owners that supported jazz year-round stepped in. In 2005, with just six weeks before the curtain went up, the Edmonton Jazz Society, a volunteer organization that operates the Yardbird Suite, organized a locally oriented festival.

Sangster, who sat on the board at the time, found himself called to take on an organizational role in getting the new festival off the ground. He and a team of volunteers mounted the first installment of the Yardbird Jazz Festival, which became the Edmonton International Jazz Festival in 2007, and also splintered off (under the Yardbird moniker) as a single-venue November event. For its part in 2006, C-Jazz, the Edmonton Jazz Society’s counterpart in Calgary, which had already started its own fest, seamlessly assumed control of the Calgary Jazz Festival.
Today’s Edmonton International Jazz Festival is a 10-day, multi-venue event featuring more than 300 players, of which half are from Edmonton and the other half come from all over the world. Sangster emphasizes that the music isn’t as impenetrable as Louis Armstrong’s famous proclamation (“if you have to ask what jazz is, you’ll never know”) would suggest. Instead, the festival’s motto is “There is a jazz for everyone,” and promises that you’ll find your zone somewhere between Chick Corea and Kid Koala in this year’s lineup of performers.

Calgary Jazz Festival executive director Patrick Maiani, meanwhile, says his city’s event started in 1980 as “a few local guys who got Princess Island for the weekend and said ‘we’re having a festival, who wants to play?’” So when C-Jazz rescued the top-heavy former Calgary Jazz Festival, a renewed emphasis was placed on “that original idea. Paying attention to the little guys” – and he means the audience as well as the performers.
The weeklong festival is designed to be accessible, with two days of free music at Olympic Plaza and five days along Steven Avenue. All of the festival’s 12 venues are downtown and within walking distance of one another, making it easy for pass-holders to hop between shows.

Outside the major centres, jazz festivals with a local orientation have also arisen to reflect the abundance of musical talent in the province. But Lyle Rebbeck, who has helmed 12 of the 14 installments of the Medicine Hat Jazz Festival, asserts that Alberta’s big festivals played a formative role in ensuring a new generation of artists would be available for current festival rosters.

In Sylvan Lake, a town that once boasted three operating dancehalls with swing bands performing seven nights a week, the Jazz at the Lake festival kicked off eight years ago. The festival was the brainchild of vocalist Cheryl Fisher and sax player Eric Allison. The couple, who divide their time between Sylvan and Fort Lauderdale, started out with a budget of $5,000 and have since grown it tenfold. The four-day festival combines headlining shows, a swing dance party, a kids’ concert and a Sunday jazz pub crawl, among other events. Of the 20 performances, all but four are free.

Outside the festival calendar, Jazz carries on year-round in Alberta with hundreds of bands of both the professional and “community” variety. “Most people don’t know that there is a huge undercurrent of jazz performance in the whole province,” says Doug Zimmerman. The insurance agent-cum-trumpet player performs a dozen gigs a year in the Edmonton area as part of the River City Big Band. The community jazz group is probably best known for the Second World War-themed multimedia show it plays every Remembrance Day in Sherwood Park, narrated by playwright and arts reviewer Colin MacLean, and featuring music of the ’30s, ’40s and ’50s.

But despite the outfit’s semi-professional status, Zimmerman (who has played with Tommy Banks’s band and is a casual with the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra), says its players are of distinguished jazz pedigree – people like trumpeter Allan Gilliland, former composer-in-residence for the ESO. Then there’s Glen Acorn, the sax player in
his mid-80s who, as Zimmerman puts it, “played this music the first time” alongside the likes of Paul Perry (P.J.’s father) in the Sylvan Lake dancehalls.

What’s also unique about members of River City is that they act as mentors to junior and senior high school band students, who sit in on the elder players’ rehearsals. Much like classical music, jazz demands intensive study, practice and apprenticeship. And that’s one reason Grant MacEwan University is about to launch a program that will be one of a kind in Western Canada. The Edmonton post-secondary institution already has a two-year music diploma program that incorporates jazz as a field of study, but as of 2011 it will also offer a Bachelor of Music in Jazz and Contemporary Popular Music. This academic degree is expected to attract some of the best and brightest young talents in Canada.
One such young artist is Calgary-based bass player and composer Rubim de Toledo, who graduated from the MacEwan program and also received much of his education onstage at festivals, opening for the likes of soul legend Al Green and former Sting sideman Branford Marsalis. De Toledo, who now instructs others in the music-performance diploma program at Mount Royal University in Calgary, says those shows don’t just look good on a resumé, they put his music out before people who might not have heard him otherwise.

Of Brazilian descent, de Toledo came to prominence playing in Latin-inflected acts like Maracujah – a group whose musical chops were complemented by boy-band good looks and clothing sponsorships. These bands’ emphasis on percussion, group vocals and high-energy stage presence turned their shows into raging dance parties. More recently, his work has tended toward straight-ahead jazz or compositions that have an almost classical formalism and sophistication. As he points out, a festival gig in a soft-seater means not having to compete with clinking glasses and conversations at the back of the bar.
Back in Edmonton, Sangster is looking forward to a time when he can shift his focus back to music full-time – his most recent recording with the Obsessions Octet, a band that combines a traditional jazz quartet with string quartet, was nominated for a Juno Award. But in the meantime he has a festival to run, and a torrent of submissions from worthy jazz artists from across the province and around the world that require his attention.

Alberta Jazz Festivals at a Glance

• Calgary Jazz Festival - Cancelled
June 21 – 27, 2010
Sounds: Chick Corea, Poncho Sanchez, The Budos Band, Toshi Reagon, James Farm, Cedar Walton, Ben E. King, Sandro Dominelli Trio
calgaryjazz.com

• Edmonton International Jazz Festival
June 24 – July 4, 2010
Sounds: John Pizzarelli, Nikki Yanofsky, Black Pioneer Heritage Singers, Terry Clarke Trio, Ola Onabule, Rubim de Toledo Quintet
edmontonjazz.com

• Medicine Hat Jazz Festival
June 21 – 27, 2010
Sounds: Andy McKee, Cedar Walton, Wil Campa, Ranee Lee, Ryan Cohan, Nobuki
Takamen, Sandro Dominelli
medicinehatjazzfest.com

• Sylvan Lake “Jazz at the Lake” Festival
August 19 – 22, 2010
Sounds: Emilie-Claire Barlow, Edmonton Jazz Orchestra, Johnny Summers, Dixieland Jazz Band
jazzatthelake.com

• Yardbird Jazz Festival (Edmonton)
November 2010, dates and lineup TBA
Recent sounds: Kirk MacDonald Quartet, Joel Miller/Jim Head Quartet, Ralf Buschmeyer Quartet
yardbirdsuite.com

Bernie and Ann Johnston suffer from incurable wanderlust. The only downside to travelling the world? Expenses. Still, the Johnstons have discovered a solution that enables them to pursue their travels without paying an arm and a leg: house swapping. After 11 years of home exchanges, the couple are veterans, and, says Bernie, “We’ve had lovely experiences with no problems the entire time.”

The principle behind home exchanges is simple: “You stay in my house; I stay in yours.” Various organizations (most of which are online) act as go-betweens, posting listings and providing a safe means of communication between participants. No money changes hands, but each homeowner pays an annual fee to the linking organization. (Shorter or longer memberships are available and priced accordingly.) Once that’s covered, members can take part in as many home swaps as they want.

The first concern that most people have is security. Bernie, a retired RCMP officer, says, “People are so security-conscious that it defeats them – they just don’t want to let a stranger into their house.” But, in fact, one linking agency, HomeExchange.com, reports that, in its 14 years of business, and after tens of thousands of exchanges, it has never had a report of theft or vandalism. Common sense dictates that valuable items, such as jewelry and family treasures, be put away. And although most insurance companies regard home exchangers as “guests within the home” (and thereby covered by insurance), it’s wise to double-check your own policy. Often, cars are swapped as well; most car insurance provides coverage for swappers, but again, check before you swap.

Bernie has always found that, because of the considerable back-and-forth exchange before the swap, “the owners know each other’s personalities pretty well.” Once initial contact is made via the Internet, the owners exchange emails and phone calls, asking each other questions, coordinating vacation times and discussing myriad “how-to” details on everything from booting up home computers to operating the washing machine. Sometimes, homeowners arrange to care for each other’s pets and plants. It’s also a good idea to provide lists of friends to contact in case of emergency, or simply as an entrée into the community. Exchangers can even set up an agreement of rules or use one of the boilerplate agreements provided by the linking agency.

Finding home exchanges that accommodate larger families may be more difficult – which is where villa rentals come in. Richard and Barbara Wafer planned a vacation to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary and wanted to bring along the whole family. To get everybody in one place, the couple decided to rent a villa. Working through an agency, they found one in Portugal’s Algarve area – a huge residence with seven double bedrooms, each with its own ensuite. The dining room sat 16, the swimming pool was Olympic-sized and tennis courts were just a short walk away. As the pièce de résistance, a local caterer prepared a four-course gourmet dinner for the celebration in the villa kitchen. For both accommodation and meal, the outlay was considerably less than what it would have been at a hotel, and the experience much more memorable.

Before starting your search for a home exchange or villa rental, it’s important to first list all of the amenities you need for the kind of vacation you want. Will you be spending most of the time sightseeing (you’ll need a car) or just relaxing (a pool would be nice)? Will you be cooking most of the time? If you need to keep in touch with home, is there access to high-speed Internet? Elaine LeJambe, AMA manager of Product Development, adds another bit of advice: “Read your contract carefully to ensure there are no hidden charges. For example, sometimes there’s a substantial damage deposit,” she cautions. “However, most people who have booked villa experiences love them and we get rave reviews.”

So as the cost of flights and accommodation increases, creative solutions like home swaps and villa rentals can keep the love of travel alive and the budget low. 

Home-swap Links
• HomeLink Canada,
604-987-3262; homelink.ca
• Global Home Exchange,
250-756-6177; 4homex.com
• International Home Exchange Network,
386-238-3633; ihen.com

Jaunt: New Orleans to Cajun Country and back
Distance: 817 km
Fuel: 1 1/2 tanks
Duration: 2 days
Prime Time: Winter, when it’s balmy in comparison to your neck of the woods!
Tunes: Undisputed king of the zydeco Clifton Chenier’s 1975 Bogalusa Boogie, which Chenier and his band recorded entirely in one day, or modern Cajun quintet the Red Stick Ramblers’ 2007 record, Made in the Shade.

Even if New Orleans hasn’t fully recovered from Hurricane Katrina, its soulful, bold spirit endures. The whole area is slowly rehabilitating with new residents, architecture and ideas.

The countryside to the west, known as Cajun Country, is used to the extreme weather that batters its coast every year. It’s part and parcel of this unique region with a southern twang and French influence. Ultimately, there’s not a storm that could quell Cajun Country’s disposition for good food, great music and easy livin’.

Leg One: New Orleans to Lafayette (approx. 250 km)

Head west out of New Orleans on Airline Highway (US-61), which flanks the airport to the south. The strip-mall clutter is soon left behind as you climb onto Interstate 310 by way of a stilted on-ramp that soars dramatically before setting you gently down on a swampland road, silhouetted to the left and right by the spooky skeletons of cypress trees. The grey beards they appear to be wearing are Spanish moss. About 16 kilometres west of the airport, you’ll cross the Mississippi River at Luling, then merge onto U.S. Hwy. 90, the main artery that bisects Cajun Country.

Stock up on satsumas and other local fruit at a roadside stand and drive on through the small towns of Boutte and Paradis – New Orleans’s last-gasp exurbs.

Rurality takes over in the parishes (tiny counties) of St. Charles and Lafourche, as you dart across narrow bridges over the ponds connecting Lac des Allemands with Lake Salvador. For lunch, stop at one of the handful of roadside catfish shacks; the fish in these parts is legendary. Around Raceland, a mere 20 km from the lake, the landscape changes dramatically. Now, instead of open water, you’re surrounded by maples, oaks and sweet gum trees. Another 20 minutes past Houma, the road climbs above water again, this time onto elevated concrete columns from which you might spot a few egrets and alligators pottering around in the swamp below.

If you like the melancholy feel of rusted industrial landscapes, spend some time exploring the ports at Amelia and Morgan City, and the dredged canals that allow big ships and equipment to service oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. Many poor Cajun families entered the middle class on the back of the 20th-century oil boom. In the ’80s, however, when cheaper sources were discovered, the area drifted back into an economic somnolence that is only kept from total desertion by the continued presence of offshore rigs.

Once past the Atchafalaya River, west of Morgan City, you’ll enter a flatness so vast that the earth’s curve seems mythical. The grasses dwarfing your vehicle (depending on the season of your visit) are in fact sugarcane; the harvest occurs from September to December. During this period, truck-drawn wagons haul the cane to the processing facility as quickly as possible because, as soon as it’s cut, it begins to lose its sugar content. During the harvest, farmers purge the fields of excess leaves and the caramel smell of burning cane fills the air. The moisture-rich roots and stalks, however, remain intact.

One worthy stop, less than an hour from Lafayette, is in the small town of Jeanerette; just make a left on Main Street and follow it until you come to LeJeune’s, the oldest bakery in Louisiana (337-276-5690). When the red light outside is on, it means there’s a freshly baked batch of one of the only two baked goods LeJeune’s produces: crusty French bread made with a little bit of lard, for extra crackle, and the gingerbread logs known to locals as “stage planks.”

Keep going straight and, just out of town, you’ll rejoin Louisiana Hwy. 182 and cruise into New Iberia 15 km later. The highway turns into a beautiful, surprisingly affluent-looking road lined with ancient live oaks and the kind of porches that practically demand a mint julep. This is New Iberia’s Main Street, and eventually it leads to Shadows-on-the-Teche, an antebellum plantation house (think Tara) preserved by the National Trust (337-369-6446; shadows ontheteche.org). It’s now surrounded by private homes whose gardens you can spy across the canal from Shadows’ own diligently landscaped grounds. After a stroll outdoors, wander inside for a guided tour of the plantation house, restored to its original 19th-century splendour.

Make a left on Louisiana Hwy. 14 and another left on Hwy. 329 to head for Avery Island, where Tabasco sauce has been made since it was invented by Edmund McIlhenny in 1868. Although the recipe itself is a secret, the company alleges it still uses the founder’s original formula. Today, as many as 700,000 bottles a day are filled with the hot sauce and packaged in the Avery Island factory, which is open to visitors (1-888-222-7261).
Even more worthwhile are the island’s Jungle Gardens, a 170-hectare expanse of subtropical plants (Japanese camellias, Egyptian papyrus, azaleas) and animals (white-tailed deer, alligators, herons). The refuge was initially set up by McIlhenny for egrets en-- dangered by the fin de siècle affinity for long, white plumes in women’s hats. He started with eight birds, but today thousands return each spring as part of their migration.

Good eats: On the way back to US-90, hit up the Guiding Star restaurant just outside New Iberia for crawfish and crabs boiled in Tabasco-spiced water (337-365-9113), or the Boiling Point, which specializes in soft-shell crab, fried crawfish and thin-cut onion rings (337-365-7596). For a few more options, drive the final 25 clicks to Lafayette for Charley G’s famous crab cakes (337-981-0108), Préjean’s fried oysters or fried crawfish tails (337- 896-3247), or Mulate’s grilled catfish topped with crawfish etouffée (337-332-4648). The latter two restaurants have live Cajun bands playing nearly every night of the week. Good sleeps: Indulge in the oversized bathtubs at the Juliet Hotel, on Jefferson St. (337-261-2225). Local colour: Be sure to catch some music: Grant Street (337-237-8513) and the Blue Moon saloon (1-877-766-2583) are two good options, but the local weeklies, the Times and the Independent, have all the listings.

Leg Two: Lafayette to New Orleans (approx. 566 km)

Head southeast on Jefferson St. and make a left on Pinhook Road, driving the three clicks to T-Coon’s for breakfast (337-233-0422). Try anything on biscuits; they’re so buttery it almost hurts. If you’re feeling especially indulgent, pick up some hot beignets to go. Head to Kaliste Saloom Road, make a right at Broussard Rd., then jog left onto Louisiana Hwy. 167. At Abbeville, springtime is prime crawfish season. Look for Cajun Claws Crawfish on Charity St. (337-893-9437). Otherwise, use the bypass and make a right onto Louisiana Hwy. 14, the Jean Lafitte Scenic Byway, which goes through flat miles of agricultural land where locals on porches are liable to give a slow wave as you drive by, kicking up dust.

At Lake Arthur, stop for a stroll on the boardwalk. The historic downtown is well preserved, as are the heritage homes built around the lake. A turnoff 22 km after
Lake Arthur takes you into the Lacassine National Wildlife Refuge, some 13,000 hectares of marsh populated by nutria, alligator, mink and geese. It’s a popular spot for fishing, hunting, hiking, wildlife observation and boating. Continue on through Hayes, Bell City and, finally, Holmwood. Once there, take a left onto Hwy. 27 and head south to the Gulf of Mexico.

Leave Hwy. 27 behind to travel east on Hwy. 82 through the tiny coastal towns of Oak Grove and Grand Chenier, and through the Rockefeller Wildlife Refuge, where you can sport fish, cast-net shrimp and crab in season. Continue on through the cattle, rice, crawfish and, yes, alligator farms (the latter are still harvested for their meat and valuable skins) of Forked Island and Esther.

Back in Abbeville, retrace your steps for 26 km until making a left onto Hwy. 3073 on the outskirts of Lafayette’s Ambassador Caffery Parkway. The ugly suburban quality of this road is worth it for the final destination: the Best Stop in Scott, Louisiana (337-233-5805). Follow signs for Hwy. 93 until you arrive. The supermarket is legendary for its boudin (sausage), cracklin’ (fried pig skin), tasso (smoked pork) and all manner of other Louisiana specialty meats. Try the fried boudin balls, which are particularly delicious.

There are two options for getting back to New Orleans: you can retrace your path on Hwy. 90, the scenic option you took into Cajun Country, or you can jet east on Interstate 10, which should put you back in New Orleans in two and a half hours. 

When we go on vacation, most of us know to cancel the news-paper and ensure that the house has a lived-in look. We do it so thieves don’t think they can plunder at their leisure while we’re snapping photos in Seville or gawking at the Grand Canyon. However, the Internet has provided would-be burglars a new tool for tracking our whereabouts and planning their nefarious deeds. These days it’s estimated that 40 per cent of travellers post their plans on social-networking sites such as Facebook, Twitter and MySpace, or via personal blogs. Bad idea.

“At the risk of stating the obvious, telling strangers about your travel plans on your social-media page is the modern equivalent of hanging a sign in your window that says, ‘Out of town for two weeks,’” states Diane Lennie, administration manager for AMA Insurance.

According to Statistics Canada, there were 23,000 break and enters in Alberta in 2008, of which about 60 per cent were residential. And while statistical data on how many homes have been robbed as a result of “over sharing” is impossible to correlate (burglars don’t usually leave a “Thanks for the tweet, twit” calling card), Lennie warns that thieves are constantly on the lookout for unoccupied premises so they can work undisturbed. “Hardening the target,” she says, must include denying them information about your whereabouts.

The new rules to travel by include being more circumspect about the amount of site-specific information you provide on the web and steering clear of “friending” people you don’t know. In particular, avoid mention of the dates you will be out of town, and resist the temptation to post trip photos until after you get home. Finally, delete any public “wall” messages from friends that allude to your trip while you’re away.

Of course, traditional holiday burglar-proofing staples shouldn’t be forgotten, either. Remember to cancel the newspapers and mail; lock all doors and windows (don’t forget attached garages); use timers and motion-sensor lights; and have a trusted individual check the home regularly. Leave an extra key with this person and ask him or her to keep the property clear of debris, including junk mail.

Before the Storm
A robbery isn’t the only thing that can spoil a vacation homecoming. Alberta is infamous for its severe weather, and many a vacationer has come home to find their castle whipsawed by wind, flooded or frozen. Insurance adjustors have seen it all, including homes that have had the roofing shingles torn off in a windstorm, only to have the rain pour in afterwards.

Again, ask a friend or neighbour to visit the property regularly. If you can’t prove you had someone checking in, your home may not be covered by your insurance plan. This individual should be especially vigilant during times of inclement weather or rapid snowmelt.

During these wet periods, take defensive measures. Adequate drainage is crucial, so keep floor drains clear and consider installing a sump pump. It’s also a good idea to install backflow valves or plugs for drains, toilets and other sewer connections to prevent outside water from entering through these conduits. Furnaces, hot water heaters and electrical panels should be elevated, and high-value possessions, including important documents and photographs, should be stored where water can’t get at them. If possible, avoid finishing areas of the home where flooding is most likely to occur.

Finally, it’s a good idea to turn off the water valve for any outside taps when vacationing to avoid water theft and soggy vandalism (yes, it happens). The precautions you take pre-trip will translate into a worry-free, relaxing getaway – and isn’t that what vacations are all about?

AMA provides home insurance so you’re protected whether on vacation or not. Members receive competitive rates and exclusive savings of up to 40% on AMA home insurance, including 10% on home and 10% on auto insurance, with our auto-and-home multi-policy discount. For more information about home, renter, condo or mobile-home insurance, or for a quote, stop by a service centre, call 1-800-615-5897 or visit AMAInsurance.ca

Reliance Protectron’s security systems include 24-hour monitoring to protect against intrusion, fire and other threats. AMA members can earn 50 CAA Dollars on services. protectron.com/ama

Do you have questions about insurance or money management?
Send them to Westworld – for a response in an upcoming issue – at

How a year can change things! In early 2009, the Canadian Bankers Association reported 70 per cent of national households paid off their credit- card balances monthly. However, by the second quarter, delinquency rates – accounts 30 days past due – had shot up 23 per cent. Then last September, as stats showed an alarming 85 per cent of Canadians who reported debt also carried outstanding credit-card balances, the federal government stepped in with new regulations designed to address this trend. Some came into effect in January; the remainder will be enacted in September.

The new rules are a good thing, says Peter O’Neill, chief operating officer for Bridgewater Bank, a Canadian chartered bank and wholly owned subsidiary of the Alberta Motor Association. “Regulations help level the playing field among lenders and provide transparency to the consumer,” he says. “From a practical perspective, the more informed a borrower is, the less likely he or she is to enter into a difficult financial situation.”

With that in mind, here’s a summary of the changes being applied to your card.

Credit Limit
Prior to the new legislation, credit-card companies had the power to increase their customers’ maximum credit limits without notification. But since January, issuers may only raise cardholders’ limits after obtaining written approval; any verbal agreements must be followed up with a statement confirming the customer’s authorization. The benefit to you? Removing automatic increases means less temptation to match rising debt with rising limits. But should you require an increase, you may still request it of your issuer.

Grace Period
Part of the “interest-free period,” the grace period is the time between the statement date and the payment due date. The length of both periods varies, depending on the credit-card issuer. In the past, some companies gave a 17- to 26-day “grace period” of no interest due after a new purchase. Others gave none at all. Most added the condition that the grace period only applied if the balance owing was paid in full. Now, all companies must give consumers a minimum of 21 days before the interest rate applies on new purchases, provided they pay the previous balance in full by the due date.

Long-range Forecast
Out of sight, out of mind: paying on credit once offered the opportunity to blissfully ignore rising debt, so long as the monthly minimum payment was met. But that’s about to change — for the better. As of September, statements will include the eye-opening reality of exactly how long it would take to pay off your current balance if you only make the minimum each month. So when your statement shows it will take a jaw-dropping 10 years to pay off $1,000 on a card with an 18-per-cent interest rate, you may think twice before paying in plastic for that must-have item you could really live without.

Rate and Fee disclosure
Ask Canadians what the annual interest rate is on the card they use most, and a third won’t know, reports the Financial Consumer Agency of Canada (FCAC). And close to half aren’t aware of other important credit-card charges, such as the fact that interest always applies to cash advances, even if paid in full by the due date, or that currency conversion fees are often added to transactions priced in U.S. dollars. The new legislation aims to put a magnifying glass on the fine print by requiring all credit-card applications and agreements to feature an info box that clearly summarizes the details of interest rates, annual fees and charges for common transactions. Best of all, the wording must be translated from accountant-ese into consumer-friendly language.

Comparison shopping
Now that you can successfully decode your statement, it’s a good idea to review the terms of your current cards and see how they stack up against other options. A good starting point is FCAC’s comprehensive chart (fcac-acfc.gc.ca/eng/consumers/itools/CreditCards), which shows, for example, that interest rates range from 9.9 per cent to 14.9 per cent on low-rate cards, while retail plastic packs a wallop at 28.8 per cent to 29.9 per cent.

Take Note: While the new regulations make it easier to understand credit-card terms and policies, the onus remains on cardholders to do their home-work. Match the improvements by turning a laissez-faire approach to your statements into careful scrutiny. After all, as the lenders and regulators agree, self-education is the one way to make these changes pay off for you.

Learn more about AMA’s MasterCard with no annual fee and unlimited CAA Dollars earnings equal to 1% of the eligible net retail purchases. AMARewards.ca/AMAMasterCard

A century is more than enough time to exonerate Reverend R. Murray Webb-Peploe and carpenter Charlie Schack for the architectural curiosity they bestowed upon the good Anglicans of Millarville in 1896. The reverend had arrived only two years earlier, after leaving his native England to reinvent himself as a rancher in the hopes that life in the Alberta foothills would improve his feeble health. Once settled, he wasted no time tending to his spiritual health, designating a swath of his land for a new Anglican parish. His insistence, however, that the structure’s spruce logs be arranged vertically, rather than in the typical horizontal fashion, raised the eyebrows of longtime residents, who feared such a design wouldn’t hold up against the area’s fierce winds. Schack proposed they go ahead with the unconventional plan, but that no money change hands until the church had proven it could stand strong for three months. Needless to say, the carpenter got paid. Today, Christ Church remains upright, eye-to-eye with the Rocky Mountain peaks that salute it from the west. 

Last winter, I learned something that would be obvious to any veteran home-owner: You only know your house by living in it. 

So when a snowy night in December produced one of the coldest temperatures in Edmonton history, I called a carpenter friend for a quick how-to on winterizing my newly purchased 50-year-old bungalow. His first tip: you should have done it back in the fall.

I had – sort of. I did remember the need to shut off the water supply to the backyard tap. Yet when I shone a flashlight into the basement ceiling space where I expected to find the valve, I saw nothing. I took my carpenter friend’s casual response to this as confirmation of the inevitable: “Sure,” he said, “I guess the pipes could freeze.”

And then they would burst, I extrapolated. After entertaining alarming visions of my basement as a cistern, I began looking for someone to blame – which led me to the report our home inspector had given us. Despite notes on seemingly every aspect of the house, there was no mention of the deficiency. Instead, I found a clause relieving him of inspecting hidden items, such as pipes in the ceiling.

This omission was due in part to the fact that anyone, trained or not, can examine a home in Alberta. The province’s home-inspection industry, comprising roughly 350 inspectors, isn’t regulated – but that could soon change. The Alberta government is currently considering the implementation of licensing, a move that would standardize inspectors’ qualifications and add a new layer of consumer protection. In the meantime, it’s still up to buyers to inform themselves about their informant and thus ensure that intelligence, so vital to making the decision of a lifetime, is built on a solid foundation of fact.

Before buying, my wife and I selected from five home-inspector brochures provided by our realtor and independently hired one whom friends had used. Following his three-hour inspection, the former civil engineer conducted a tour of the home’s bad grading, improper attic ventilation, out-of-date electrical breakers and other structural quirks – none of them enough to prevent an overall passing grade. We’re still thankful for his thoroughness. But, even so, the issue of the missing shutoff valve struck me as a downside to the process.

Like any industry, Canada’s home inspection business has had its troubles, one of the highest-profile examples of which played out last November before the Supreme Court of B.C. Following the faulty inspection of a $1.1-million North Vancouver home, the court ruled that the inspector’s negligence led to $193,000 worth of necessary repairs going unnoticed. Having purchased the property on the professional’s advice, the new owners sought damages to cover their costs – and the inspector was forced to foot the bill.

It’s no surprise, then, that Doug MacDonald, president of the Alberta chapter of the Canadian Association of Home and Property Inspectors (CAHPI), chooses his words carefully when asked about what is required of home inspectors.

MacDonald, owner of the Red Deer location of Pillar to Post Inc., a franchised inspection company, says the purpose of an inspection is to “reduce the risk of buying a house, to give buyers a professional opinion of the home’s condition.”

In an effort to legitimize the profession in the absence of government legislation and licensing, CAHPI “regulates” by registering inspectors. It admits members based on completion of courses covering topics such as home structure and systems integrity, communication and professionalism, and safety. The class time is followed by a series of exams and peer-reviewed test inspections. That way, says MacDonald, “if you hire one of our inspectors, you know you’re not just getting somebody off the street.”

By protecting the industry, MacDonald believes CAHPI also protects the consumer: “You’re basing the most money you’re ever going to spend in your life on someone who comes for two or three hours to look at a house and give you his or her opinion.”

That said, an inspection is never completely exhaustive. Inspectors aren’t, for example, required to investigate a concealed system or identify environmental hazards. And even among the elements included in the check, some things inevitably go overlooked. “Will we find everything all the time? No, we won’t,” says MacDonald. “Is there going to be the odd mistake even if there is regulation? Yes, there’s going to be, because we’re human. You can’t take the human factor out of it.” Hence, the existence of inspectors’ errors and omissions insurance.  “A home inspectors’ review of a property is usually a condition the buyer will put on the offer to purchase to protect themselves,” says Melinda Mantello, manager, AMA Financial Mortgage Solutions. “Of course, people don’t have to get an inspection at all,” she says. “A consumer’s decision of whether or not to use a home inspector is a personal one.”

As part of its contribution towards laying the groundwork for regulation, CAHPI served on a working group that put forward a list of recommendations to Service Alberta, the ministry responsible for regulating a variety of industries, from prepaid contractors to payday loan shops. Between May and the end of June 2009, the ministry amassed public and industry input into whether home inspectors should be licensed, possible industry standards, insurance requirements and other matters that the government will factor into its conclusion, which is likely to come before the end of 2010.

“Generally, home inspectors in Alberta do a great job and we don’t actually hear too many complaints,” says Cam Traynor, Service Alberta communications director. “But in those rare instances where there is a negligent inspection, it could cost a homeowner hundreds of thousands of dollars. That’s why we’re considering regulation. But where that leads, we don’t know at this point.”

When the B.C. government announced regulation of the industry in January 2009 – the first province to do so – the move led to mandatory licensing that, in theory, will hold all inspectors to the same standards of conduct and performance. While that could happen in Alberta, for now consumers must protect their own interests and investments.

On its website, the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation (CMHC) puts it this way: “Once you buy a home, you’re on your own to maintain it, repair it, anticipate problems and pay the bills. This is why it’s best to know as much as you can about potential problems before you make the commitment to buy.”

Though it recommends consumers inform themselves as much as possible before a purchase, CMHC doesn’t endorse a particular inspector or association. Instead, it recommends that any inquiry into the quality of a home inspector focus on the number of homes inspected, on membership in associations like CAHPI and on references. If an inspector offers to double as repair contractor or to view a property after daylight hours when problems could go unnoticed, look for someone else.

When all was said and done, our inspection did result in a significant discovery that we, as first time homeowners, would never have noticed: outdated electrical breakers. However, after our inspector identified them, our realtor presented the seller with three options: replace them, deduct the cost of the repair from the purchase price or find a new buyer. The sellers chose the first option, meaning our $500 inspection had already paid for itself by way of a brand-new breaker box – a fix far more costly and complicated than the $10, half-hour job required to install a shutoff valve on the pipe leading to the backyard tap. 

Whether you’re buying your first home, transferring your existing mortgage or checking out rental or recreational properties, AMA Financial has the right mortgage to fit your needs. 1-866-850-6116; AMAFinancial.ca

3…2…1…STOP!
Re: Analyze This (February 2010)
The article on Intersection Safety Devices describes the operation and benefits very well. I wonder, though, could intersection safety be enhanced further? The advance flashing amber is a good addition, but a green digital countdown timer might further assist drivers. I would welcome knowing the time left on the green light, especially considering Alberta’s varied weather and road conditions. Any thoughts on this? 
–Vic Sopkiw, via email

Note from Scott Wilson, senior policy analyst, Advocacy and Community Services, Alberta Motor Association: Pedestrian countdown devices have been embraced in terms of best practices across Canada and the U.S. These devices are intended to inform pedestrians of how much time they have left to complete their crossing, but, as your letter suggests, they can also be useful to drivers. Still, one should not entirely depend on the countdown in all circumstances as it is customized for pedestrians, not for drivers.

Improving road-user behaviour at or near intersections will continue to require a combination of strategies. These include, but are not limited to, engineering improvements such as countdown timers or even changes in how vehicles are built; education aimed at drivers, both new and experienced; regulation; and consistent and appropriate enforcement.

Diamond-Studded Slipup
Re: Roadtrip (April 2010)
Judy must have been asleep on her journey to the Crowsnest Pass when she stated that Marv’s Classic Soda Shop was in Longview, Alberta. It is actually in Black Diamond, only a couple of doors from the Black Diamond Bakery. 
–Dennis Campbell, posted on Westworld online

Note from the editors: We received a number of letters in response to this blooper. Marv’s is, in fact, in Black Diamond and we regret the confusion since no one should be diverted from sampling this classic ’50s diner’s famous Marvello carbonated ice cream and peanut-butter-topped McGoo burger. 

What Cost Safety?
Re: Analyze This (April 2010)
I’m a retired collision-repair technician with some thoughts on the new devices attached to modern vehicles mentioned in “Wheels of Progress.”

Most are great assists, but many lead to problems when they get some miles on them. Plus, as drivers come to rely on these devices, they often abandon good manual driving practices. Take those blinding “high intensity lights” used on some vehicles. They are uncomfortable for oncoming drivers and trouble for their owners when they burn out, since a replacement can cost hundreds of dollars. The same holds true for OEM back-up aids. Each sensor costs hundreds, and there are typically four on each rear bumper system.

I also see danger when drivers become too dependent on devices such as rear-view cameras. They too can fail to perform, and if drivers come to rely on this gadget to the point that they fail to shoulder-check, they could well back over the neighbours’ garbage can (or worse).

AMA’s Scott Wilson got it right when he stated, “The human behind the wheel still has to make the right decisions.” Unfortunately, when faced with the high cost of repairing today’s gadgets, some humans will not “make the right decision” to repair faulty systems – turning former safety options into potentially costly liabilities.
–Alvin Shier, Canmore

Correction
Re: “The Romountics” (April 2010)
It was inaccurately reported in April’s issue that artist Maureen Enns was married to grizzly-bear researcher Charlie Russell. Rather, the former research partners lived and worked together in Russia from 1995 to 2003. As well, Enns does not live in Canmore, as was stated, but has a studio north of Cochrane.

Enns’s work will be on display in the Grizzly! exhibition at the Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies from June 20 to October 11, 2010. For more on this artist, visit maureenenns.com

The Getaway

That first glimpse of the pine and spruce forest surrounding the community of Elkwater is nothing short of stunning. In fact, this view comes as a big surprise considering that most of the 60-kilometre drive from Medicine Hat, through cattle ranches and rolling fields, is standard Prairie fare. But after climbing 600 metres above the surrounding plains towards this, the highest point between Labrador and the Rockies (an elevation that put this plateau above the ice-age glaciers), it’s clear that Elkwater is indeed somewhere special.

Located on the Alberta side of Cypress Hills Interprovincial Park, Elkwater was founded in the late 1800s when “Happy” Jack Hart opened the first coal mine along the north shore of Elkwater Lake. Today the mines are long gone but the Elkwater townsite carries on as a four-seasons playground to the 200 or so well-to-do families who live in this cottage country.

During the summer months, Elkwater’s eponymous lake becomes the hub for swimming and boating. Around it, numerous hiking and biking trails provide opportunities to see moose, mule deer and even wild turkeys. Attend an orientation at Cypress Hills Interprovincial Park Alberta Visitor Centre and discover an array of daily interpretative programs ranging from GPS geocaching to astronomy.

The Hideaway

Elkwater Lake Lodge & Resort is a charming property informed by its woodsy setting. The rustic lobby features overstuffed leather chairs, a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace and vintage-looking chandeliers dangling from amongst wood beams. The 31 guest rooms, including the lodge’s popular two-storey lofts, are more modern in feel, some are even equipped with small kitchenettes and decks. For more privacy, guests can reserve one of the property’s six cabins or 11 condominium suites. Downstairs at Buglers Dining Room & Lounge, diners can indulge in Chef Pablo’s culinary creations, such as fresh bocconcini marinated in apple juice and vanilla, served with Saskatoon marmalade. In mid-October, oenophiles descend on the resort to take part in its annual Wine Festival in the Hills.1-888-893-3811

The Inside Track
Reel good: A two-hour “Learn to Fish” introductory course offered by the park (403-893-3833). Gear head: The Shoreline and Sunset trails on rented mountain bikes (403-893-3835). Tee time: A round at Elkwater Mini Golf (403-893-3835). Border hop: Wine tasting at Cypress Hills Vineyard and Winery, Saskatchewan’s only wine producer (306-662-4100 ). On guard: A guided tour of Fort Walsh National Historic Site, a former North West Mounted Police post (306-662-2645).

The go-to city guide — when you’ve barely got a weekend

Since Confederation, it’s been fashionable for westerners to poke fun at the city they call Hogtown. Every time I return from a trip to Toronto, raving about the dining, architecture or shopping, I’m met with scowls and disbelief from my pals in the West – the same folks who go on about their weekends in Chicago, San Francisco or New York. Well, guess what? While you weren’t watching over the past decade, Toronto has developed all the accoutrements of sophisticated big-city life, without the hassles of border crossing, currency exchange or culture shock.

Of course, not every visitor will love the moneyed swagger that defines Yorkville as Toronto’s little Manhattan, with its rarefied air of exclusive boutiques and velvet-rope lounges (which, admittedly, becomes nearly insufferable during the Toronto International Film Festival every autumn). If playing millionaire for a day is not your style, ride the subway a few stops south to Yonge-Dundas Square, the city’s populist hub: there’s an urban energy in this public crossroads that no other Canadian city can duplicate.

Toronto is also full of glorious new architecture and public spaces. Frank Gehry’s reinvention of the Art Gallery of Ontario is a restrained gesture compared to Will Alsop’s adjacent look-at-me Ontario College of Art and Design. Even Vancouver writer and artist Douglas Coupland has pitched in. He created sculptures for a 3.2-hectare public waterfront art park that opened last year on the north side of Fort York Boulevard.

To feel the vibe of modern Toronto, go west – further west than the last-decade cool of Queen Street West to the far reaches of King and Queen streets, between Spadina and Ossington. There, recent gentrification has turned former flophouses into funky hotels and dives into hipster bars. A connected friend might even get you into one of the new-generation private social clubs, such as the Spoke or Atelier; if not, dinner and drinks on one of the area’s dozens of outdoor terraces supply a parade of pretty people and gin and tonics all summer long. What’s not to love?

Insider’s Guide

The Go Spots
• Group of Seven paintings, Frank restaurant and Frank’s architecture are just a few of the reasons to visit the Art Gallery of Ontario.  416-979-6648; ago.net
• The Bay on Queen Street gives Holt’s a run for its money with designer enclave The Room. 416-861-9111
• For a less-rarefied shopping experience, hit one of two well-stocked Joe Fresh Style stand-alone flagship stores for the Superstore-born fashion brand. 416-410-3736 (St. Clair Avenue West), 416-703-4865 (Lower Jarvis St.); joe.ca
• Finish your day with the same city view George Clooney enjoys from the Roof Lounge at the Park Hyatt Toronto. AMA members save 10% off the best hotel rate when they show their card. 416-925-1234; parktoronto.hyatt.com

Trendy Vittles
• Toronto has gone charcuterie-mad for west-side hotspot the Black Hoof. It doesn’t take reservations or credit cards, but all its carnivorous delights, from the terrine to the pancetta, are made in-house. 416-551-8854
• The owners of the city’s beloved Italian chainlet, Terroni, have created the cozy Osteria Ciceri e Tria, a cheap, cheerful and filling spot for surprisingly sophisticated Neapolitan food. 416-955-0258; osteriacicerietria.com

Best Crash Zones
• The Hazelton is glamour central during the Toronto International Film Festival. The new, privately owned Yorkville hotel has hushed elegance and discretion down pat. 416-963-6300; hehazeltonhotel.com
• Old-world service followed the Quebec hotel chain Germain to its Toronto location. But its spacious quarters are entirely modern. 416-345-9500; germaintoronto.com

CAA exclusive getaway to Toronto includes 2-nights’ accommodation and a Toronto City Pass to visit the CN Tower, Royal Ontario Museum, Casa Loma, Ontario Science Centre and the Toronto Zoo. From $279 per person, including tax.  1-866-667-4777; AMATravel.ca

“In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward …
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o’er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and corn-fields …”
Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1847

The June sun streams in the window of our waterfront hotel room. My husband, James, sorts out the children’s sleeping arrangements in the adjoining room as I sip iced jasmine green tea and read Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s famous 1847 poem, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie, which immortalizes the tragic 1755 deportation of the Acadians. We have one night in Halifax before beginning our whirlwind literary tour of the Evangeline Trail, the official roadtrip from here to Yarmouth, named after Longfellow’s poem.

It’s not just the trail’s name that holds literary associations. Nova Scotia’s entire western region, which the 400-kilometre route runs through, has produced such acclaimed writers as the bestselling Ami McKay and Order of Canada recipient Ernest Buckler, among many others. It’s a region renowned for its beauty and complex history and is clearly a powerful literary catalyst.

It’s also fitting that we chose this hotel, attached to the historic train station, as it was once a part of the distinguished chain of Canadian National Railway properties. With a stellar downtown location, the Nova Scotian, which became a Westin in 1996, is contemporary yet whispers of a grand past. It was Dominion Atlantic Railway that ignited interest in literary travel to Nova Scotia’s Annapolis Valley in 1894. Using its trains, and the popularity and poignancy of Longfellow’s poem, the railway enticed tourists to the area.

But before I can sink too deeply into literary reverie, my thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of an epic battle breaking out among the children (Silas, four, Anna, eight, and Mary, 10) over who gets which big white pouffy bed. My husband diplomatically settles the dispute and we assemble to begin our tour.

The first stop is just a short walk from the hotel at the Five Fisherman Restaurant, a landmark famous for its seafood, particularly the steamed mussels. Dating back to 1816, this building on Argyle Street was once an art college founded by Anna Leonowens, author of Anna and the King of Siam, a memoir based on her experiences as governess to the king’s children and later adapted into the Academy Award-winning movie-musical, The King and I. James goes crazy at the mussel bar and Anna orders Digby scallops with mashed potatoes, while the rest of us try the fragrant clam chowder. 

The sun is setting by the time we walk back along Barrington Street, passing the site where L.M. Montgomery lived in the now-demolished Halifax Ladies’ College while she studied English literature prior to her 1908 Anne of Green Gables fame. Our route also takes us past the charming Waverley Inn, the historic Victorian hotel where playwright and poet Oscar Wilde stayed on an 1882 lecture tour. By the time we return to the Westin, it’s too late for a story, so we tuck the children in with a few lines from Longfellow, and the promise that the next morning we’ll be off to the Land of Evangeline.

Passenger trains don’t run through the Land of Evangeline anymore, but a twinned highway does, and we make good time to the historic town of Windsor, the children transfixed by the purple, white and pink lupines lining the road. It was amid this countryside that Governor General Award-winning writer George Elliott Clarke was born and raised. Clarke now lives in Toronto, but his work focuses on what he calls the “Africadian,” the descendents of former African-American slaves who escaped to Canada via another railroad – albeit a symbolic one – and settled in Nova Scotia.

After a 50-minute drive from Halifax, we come upon Haliburton House, home of the first Canadian internationally bestselling author, Thomas Chandler Haliburton (1796-1865). His Clockmaker serial appeared in The Novascotian newspaper and featured the sardonic Sam Slick, a character whose wisecracking commentary coined the expressions, “It’s raining cats and dogs,” and “Facts are stranger than fiction.”

We leave Windsor and before us lies the view Longfellow captured in his poem: the meadows and Cape Blomidon stretching into the sky as “sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic looked on the happy valley.”

This setting, the lush Annapolis Valley, is one of Canada’s richest agriculture areas, highly regarded for its apples, farmers’ markets and vineyards – and for its rich history, too. We stop at Grand-Pré National Historic Site, which commemorates the life of the Acadians and where we discover, to the children’s delight, a statue of Longfellow’s heroine.

The poet’s epic work is based on the fictional story of Evangeline and Gabriel, betrothed but separated during the Deportation. It’s a sad tale, but happier memories await as we move on to Houston Beach for clam digging. The children run like sandpipers along the shore and I leave them with their father to make the short drive to Canning, a former shipbuilding village, for lemonade with historical fiction writer Ami McKay.

McKay is the ideal person to describe the attraction the area holds for literary types. Originally from Chicago, she set her first novel, The Birth House, on the other side of Cape Blomidon, where she now lives. It tells the tale of a midwife living in Scots Bay, which is incidentally where the author fell in love with her future husband. “We hiked to Scots Bay on a stormy day and I felt like I was home for the first time in my life,” she says. “By the end of the week, we were engaged.”

McKay’s next novel, The Virgin Cure, will be set in 1870 New York, but it’s here in rural Nova Scotia that she’ll craft her settings and characters. “When I need to go deeper, to think about the bigger questions the story wants me to answer, this is where I need to be, in the stillness,” she says. “I can sit on the rocks by the water and close my eyes and feel closer to New York than when I’m sitting in downtown Manhattan. This place helps me channel that energy I need when I am creating.”

These words stay with me on the drive into Wolfville, long after I’ve retrieved my family from their sojourn on Houston Beach. But by the time we reach our home for the night, the Blomidon Inn (built in 1881 as a sea captain’s stately manor), my thoughts are back in the moment and it’s me, not the children, who ends up jumping on the antique four-poster bed. There is a charming gift shop on the property and a hectare and a half of Victorian gardens to explore. Wolfville, population 3,658, is also home to Acadia University, which adds to the town’s quiet, erudite charm.

That evening, while a friend watches the children, James and I dine at Tempest World Cuisine, a chic restaurant that could have been airlifted in from New York. Michael Howell, owner and chef, is the president of Slow Food Nova Scotia and committed to using local ingredients. Our meal starts with Thai curry mussels followed by smoked haddock chowder and a salad of golden beets with smoked duck and a roasted red-pepper coulis. The main course is a memorable lobster risotto and beef tenderloin.

Each serving is paired with a wine from the multitude of local vineyards. The region’s cool-climate grapes produce a broad range of enigmatic yet well-balanced wines, such as the evening’s reserve Chardonnay from Blomidon Estate Wineries (with its characteristics of pear and apple) and the 2008 L’Acadie Vintner’s Reserve from Domaine de Grand-Pré, made from L’Acadie grapes, a cultivar exclusive to the area and named in honour of the Acadians. 

The next morning we head west into the Annapolis Valley on a back road called Route 221. We pass through Woodville where Margaret Atwood’s mother grew up, heading up North Mountain to Harbourville on the mighty Bay of Fundy where Atwood’s aunt, Joyce Barkhouse (the writer of Pit Pony, later made into the popular CBC television series) has a cottage. We make our way across the heart of the valley through Ernest Buckler country. The warm air smells of wild roses as we pass by quaint farms along the Annapolis River on this classic summer day, heading through Centrelea where Buckler, an internationally acclaimed writer whose work is infused with this landscape, lived on his farm. I think of a line from his famous 1952 novel, The Mountain and the Valley: “The sky was so purely blue from morning till night, it had a kind of ringing.”

In Annapolis Royal, we stroll around the seven-hectare aromatic Historic Gardens before piling back into the car. Ten minutes later, we are picnicking on the grounds of Port-Royal National Historic Site by the Annapolis Basin, the reconstruction of a settlement built in 1605 by French navigator, explorer and cartographer Samuel de Champlain. For entertainment (and sanity) over the long winters, Champlain established The Order of Good Cheer, a social club in which guests dined on a feast of wild meats and were entertained by “Le Théâtre de Neptune,” quite possibly the first theatrical company in North America.

From Port Royal, the Evangeline Trail now takes us to Yarmouth via the Acadian Shore where French-speaking villages dot the coast of Baie Sainte-Marie. We motor along, the children enthralled with Saint Mary’s Church, the tallest wooden church in North America, its steeple reaching more than 56 metres. We lunch at Chez Christophe Grosse Coque near Church Pointe, tucking into crispy fish cakes and the traditional Acadian dish of rapûre or rappie pie, a savoury blend of grated potato and meat.

Finally we arrive in Yarmouth where the Evangeline Trail comes to an end. Our friend Sandra Phinney, the current writer-in-residence at the Yarmouth Regional Library, tells us her town has been home to many authors, among them Frank Parker Day, who penned Rockbound, winner of the CBC’s 2005 Canada Reads competition. Rockbound was also adapted as a musical and premiered back in Ami McKay territory at the Ross Creek Centre for the Arts. 

We spend the late afternoon in the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia’s Yarmouth satellite location before Sandra takes us to the solar-powered house that she and her husband built on the banks of the Tusket River. There, we boil lobster and, later, Sandra leads us to what she calls “the summer shack,” a charming cottage in the woods. The warm evening air smells of pine trees, and James and I hold hands under the stars – that is until a chorus of young voices calls out through window: “You forgot to read us a story!”

Sandra offers to fill in as reader, which leaves me free to continue sitting in the gentle, fragrant night pondering how this Land of Evangeline has become such a beautiful weave of geography, culture, tradition and innovation. I now believe I understand why this land gives birth to writers: it provides the variety needed for inspiration and the solitude needed for creation.

The big lone bull stepped out of the aspens near sundown. “What do you think?” asked my friend Phil Despins, wondering aloud whether I shared his hunch that this animal might be dangerous. One thing was clear to us: we were not in a good position tactically for a sudden encounter with wild bison here on the southwest apron of isolated Prince Albert National Park, three hours north of Saskatoon. Not 15 metres away, and staring straight at us with obvious signs of agitation, he certainly looked every inch the malignant brute. Heavy, dark, unexpectedly massive and muscular, with a great shaggy cape and upward curving horns, the big bull was rocking back and forth, silhouetted in the declining light.

A safe retreat seemed out of the question – but there was an upside. Close-quarters experience with Saskatchewan’s major free-ranging bison herds was what we were after. And with this straggling member of the Sturgeon River herd, known to roam in and out of the park at will, up-close and personal was exactly what we were getting.

We’d spent the earlier part of the day following false leads through a maze of grid roads in and around the heavily forested 4,000-square-kilometre park, fielding ghostly reports concerning the whereabouts of the herd before we finally learned it tends to stay in the Amyot Lake area. Locals call this the “wild west” side of the park, which is, for the most part, inaccessible by public motorized vehicles. How to get there was the question. And with just a few hours of daylight left, we finally did the unthinkable: stopped at a gas station in the nearby village of Debden and asked for directions.

Overhearing our questions put to the clerk, a female customer offered a suggestion: “I’m not sure myself, but I’ll look up Ruben Vaadeland’s number for you. I bet he’ll know.” And he did.

Ruben is the 77-year-old patriarch of the Vaadeland family, a cowboying clan that has ranched along the Sturgeon River watershed on the southern border of the park since 1929, raising shorthorn cattle and children on the Lazy SV ranch. His countrified but otherwise precise directions to “stay on the speed curves” (the sweeping bends of gravelled Parkview Road trending northeast from Debden) put Phil and I within a kilometre or two of the park’s isolated west side warden’s office just before the day drew to a close.

The Sturgeon River plains bison herd was reintroduced to the area in 1969 as a supplementary meat source for First Nations people. Initially, 50 head were brought here from Alberta’s Elk Island National Park and released into the Thunder Hills, north of Prince Albert National Park. The herd made its way south and, by 2006, had grown to an estimated population of 400. 

But even though the group flourished, its relationship with local ranchers has not been an easy one. At times, the bison have been guilty of hooligan behaviour: smashing fences, competing with cattle for graze and even challenging male bovines for the cows at breeding time. “The cowboys have been hazing the herd out of the fields for the last couple days,” Ruben told us. “I’m sure you’ll find them around there.”

So, with some persistence, we’d finally manoeuvred ourselves into this tension-filled predicament despite the obvious warning signs: steaming clods of dung amid hammered-down clumps of trees where the massive creatures had barrelled upslope from the Sturgeon River. Though the rest of the herd had already moved deeper into the thicker woods surrounding Amyot Lake, this lone male had lingered on the threshold between ranchland and parkland, seemingly awaiting our arrival.

But suddenly, with the same ethereal speed with which he’d materialized, the menace was gone. He simply bolted with a kangaroo leap up a short incline and feathered into the darkening woods that closed behind him like a curtain. The show was over. “Now that was real,” said Phil, his voice filled with both relief and admiration. It was the vanishing act that startled us the most. We simply had no idea a creature weighing close to a ton could move like that.

“We call them ‘bachelors’ and they can run at about the same speed as a horse,” Ruben Vaadeland’s son Gord informs us later of the aging bulls who choose solitary lives, and who can often be more aggressive and unpredictable than the other males. The younger Vaadeland recently splintered off part of the family’s Lazy SV to start the Sturgeon River guest ranch, which takes clients by horseback to within spitting distance of the herd. “Bison seem to have an extra level of tolerance for horses and we’re usually able to ride within 50 yards of them,” says Gord, who has hosted university researchers, grade-school education experiences and even Terry Grant, the steely-eyed star of OLN’s Mantracker series in which Vaadeland appears for an episode as “sidekick.”

“A favourite time for me is in August when the rut starts,” he says. “The young bulls are getting tossed around and there’s dirt flying everywhere. Plus, it’s loud: you can hear them grunting from the other side of the river.”

Gord Vaadeland is also the executive director of the local Sturgeon River Plains Bison Stewards whose short-term goal is to create an environment where co-existence between ranchers and bison is possible. The herd’s presence here is a direct connection to a traditional cowboy way of life that Vaadeland reminds us “is in jeopardy too.”

If you don’t appreciate the romance of the Old West, you probably wouldn’t bother rambling around the province for a glimpse of the free-ranging herds that have been so recently reintroduced to sprawling Saskatchewan. For those who do, there are options. About seven hours south of the Sturgeon River herd, another 70 bison live in a fenced-in 180-square-kilometre area of Grasslands National Park. A herd of 50 takes up residence in the Old Man on His Back Prairie and Conservation Area, an hour west. A further 35 mosey in a secure paddock with a viewing tower at Buffalo Pound Provincial Park, 25 km northeast of Moose Jaw in the Qu’Appelle Valley. Still another unmonitored herd free-ranges in the Primrose Lake Air Weapons Range north of Meadow Lake.

The term “free-ranging” is a relative one. It would be a stretch to say that even the Sturgeon River herd can come and go as its ancestors did when an estimated 60 million roamed as far south as Texas. And as committed as westerners are to the iconography of the legendary buffalo, history was hard on its species. An industry voice for domestic growers, the Canadian Bison Association reckons that by 1899 less than 1,000 remained in the aftermath of one reckless century of western expansion. “The complete loss of a species was prevented by the efforts of ranchers and conservationists in both Canada and the United States,” declares the CBA’s website.

Though it may be hard for die-hard conservationists to credit commercial bison operations with the resurgence of the species, Gord Vaadeland takes a conciliatory view. “Domestic growers have restored the relationship between man and bison,” he says. Indeed, a Saskatchewan Ministry of Agriculture survey found that the number of bison in the province had risen from less than 35,000 in 2001 to more than 57,000 in 2006 thanks mostly to the efforts of producers. The few hundred “free-ranging” bison must be seen in the context of the domestic growers’ success story. Saskatchewan’s bison population represents a quarter of Canada’s national herd of 220,000.

Most official sources, including the Nature Conservancy of Canada, which now manages the Old Man on His Back herd, trace this repopulation back to two Metis men named Charles Allard and Michel Pablo who, in 1884, dismayed by the diminishing numbers of bison on the prairies, bought a small group of calves and nurtured them along until their numbers reached 800 by 1906. In 1909, members of the Allard-Pablo herd were shipped to Alberta’s newly created Elk Island National Park. Most of today’s purebred plains bison originate from that lot, including those at Sturgeon River, Grasslands and Old Man on His Back.

“If you hurry, you’ll see them just down the road,” says site host Sue Dumontel of the resident bison herd as we arrive on another crisp, sunny day at the interpretive centre of the 5,200-hectare Old Man on His Back, south of Saskatchewan’s storied Frenchman River valley. With its sweeping, wide-open vistas, pronghorn antelope and views of Montana’s Bear’s Paw mountain range rising on a clear day, this is quite literally a place where you could watch your dog run away for three days. It’s also a region steeped in the lore of Canada’s Old West and in a semicircular arc from this point are some of its most dramatic touchstones: Fort Walsh at Battle Creek, the site of the Cypress Hills Massacre; the Red Coat Trail, the pipeline for the arrival of the North West Mounted Police; Eastend, home of the T-Rex “Scotty,” and his fossilized remains; Grasslands National Park, and nearby Wood Mountain, where Sitting Bull led the remnants of his Sioux nation after Little Bighorn. Even now, it’s not difficult to imagine that there was once a time when the rising, falling swells of this still sparsely populated mixed-grass prairie were black with bison.

Signage makes finding the Old Man on His Back centre, a few miles of gravel off Hwy. 18, straightforward enough, though only 336 people visited last year. The gravel roads can turn slick and impassable in the rain, but it’s mostly the isolated feel of this country that takes it off the tourism mainstream. Yet here, under the dome of an endless blue sky, and on this vast stretch of open grass, the buffalo seem timeless and perfect.

Sue is right, the herd is on the road, where it seems content to stay. With Phil and I on this prairie tableau is a member of the Archaeological Society of Alberta, Marlin Sercombe, who shares our reverence for the western story. We approach the herd with caution, although Sue has advised us that we’re past the spring calving season, the most dangerous time to be near the animals.

Because we need photos, Marlin and I advance on foot toward the watchful herd, while Phil mans his big four-by-four for a quick pickup, just in case. One of the ground rules is that you stay in a vehicle at all times, and we heartily endorse this. After Sturgeon River, there’s no doubt in our minds that a pursuing bison could quickly reel in a man afoot – especially here in the open. Our next moves come unrecommended.

Step by step we draw nearer to the herd, which is now perhaps 100 metres away. That’s close enough, says the body language of two adult females who, with tails swishing, turn their full attention on us. We back up slowly toward the truck and watch the herd depart the road, plotting a quick-stepping course onto the yawning prairie.

Undaunted, we follow behind, gingerly picking a tacking approach. The herd is now definitely on guard, and we know we’re pushing our luck. Still, astonishingly, the herd temporarily disappears from view in the folds of the land. Now it’s apparent why buffalo hunts were not always a success. The enormity of the land can swallow whole even North America’s largest land mammal.

When they re-emerge, we again press forward in an angling manoeuvre. Gradually we close the distance, realizing that what we’re doing is dumb, but relishing the primal joy of stalking an Ice Age survivor. Then, without notice, the herd makes an abrupt U-turn and within moments we find ourselves corralled. With deft skill, Phil eases his truck to our position and we clamber inside, seconds before the big, brown forms completely surround the vehicle.

The herd tolerates the truck as Phil gingerly picks a line through their mass and takes us out onto the main road. Once we’re clear, he pulls over to inspect his vehicle. “You know you’re having a good day when you get buffalo crap on your tires,” he says with a grin.

Alberta Bison Spotting

Wood Buffalo National Park
Established in 1922 and straddling the border between Alberta and the Northwest Territories, the 45,000-square-kilometre Wood Buffalo National Park is both remote and alluring. Park officials caution visitors that weather, wildlife and road conditions all require preparation, but the rewards for the hardy explorer are immense. A designated UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1983, Wood Buffalo is home to bears, wolves, eagles and at least three “at risk” species: the peregrine falcon, the whooping crane and the wood bison.

Larger and darker in colour than their plains cousins, the wood-bison herd in this park numbered 5,600 as of 2005, which officially makes it the largest free-roaming herd left in the world.

Elk Island National Park
Just a one-hour drive east of downtown Edmonton lies the opportunity to see, not just one, but two unique groups of bison co-existing in Elk Island National Park. The park has maintained a wood bison herd since 1965 — when a group of 18 was brought south from Wood Buffalo National Park. The plains bison arrived much earlier, during the park’s formative years, between 1907 and 1909. 

What’s the easiest way to tell these hulking relatives apart? Just look for the plains bison’s telltale drooping beard, its full cape and thick chaps. The wood bison, meanwhile, is bigger as a breed, but its beard is straggly and short, its cape tight to the shoulders and its chaps notably absent, the poor fella.

Peter Mayle didn’t invent this place when he published A Year in Provence in 1989, but he did articulate, gently and charmingly, why southeastern France has been a destination recherché for 2,500 years.  All it takes is one evening in these hills, as the sun sets, serenaded by cicadas, to understand. While our North American lives are oriented around speed, Provence seems designed to slow our heartbeats. You couldn’t hurry here if you tried. 

In February of 2009, with our phones and BlackBerries and computers ringing and bleeping and blooping, with my long workdays at the Edmonton Journalblending into weekends packed with social and familial responsibilities, my wife and I decided to gather up our two little girls and take an unearned one-year sabbatical overseas.

Of the six départements that make up Provence, we chose the northern Vaucluse for the same reasons Julius Caesar made it a retirement destination for his overworked legionnaires two millennia ago: the land, the people, the light, the scents of lavender and strawberries, the intense flavours of olives and sharp cheese. It doesn’t have the celebrity buzz of the southern Vaucluse, along the Luberon mountains – Peter Mayle’s neighbourhood – but it’s quieter and cheaper, and the wine is just as good.

The Greeks were the first to plant grapevines in France. Then the Romans came through, planted more vines, made collaborators of the locals, and built a pleasant system of retirement communities east of the Rhône River. The empire collapsed, the barbarians arrived, the church became the church, the barbarians rolled through again and, finally, these wonderful people we now call the French materialized. While some will argue the Nazis were the last barbarians to take temporary ownership of Provence, others will point to the latest occupation by rich northerners from Belgium, Luxembourg, Holland, Scandinavia, the United Kingdom and, of course, North America.

Who can blame us? In a world flattened by busy, multinational sameness, the Vaucluse continues to deliver on all its unique and powerful promises. It is rich with some of the best food and wine in the world, Roman and medieval ruins, reliably sunny weather, triple-kisses-on-the-cheek hospitality from its proud inhabitants, a funky local accent, art and literature and, most important, some of France’s most enchanting scenery.

There isn’t anything new to discover in these green hills that wasn’t already well known during the reign of Julius Caesar, and still the place hasn’t lost its authenticity. Of course, there are SUVs here now, and cellphones (it’s still Earth), but small, family-owned cafés and restaurants, vineyards, shops, hotels and bed-and-breakfasts have thrived in the Vaucluse while the rest of the world has succumbed to McDonald’s, Starbucks and new-world wine plastered with cute logos.

Few inhabitants embody this spirit of Provence like Pierre Paumel, one of only 300 peer-chosen French master chefs. Born in the region and committed to its meat, produce and wine, he is a fusion of intellectual, artist, stand-up comic and farmer. He and his gregarious wife Annie run La Bastide des Princes, a luxurious yet economical bed-and-breakfast, restaurant and cooking school a few kilometres from the Gallo-Roman city of Orange.

The Paumels owned the famous restaurant and hotel La Sommellerie in the nearby village of Châteauneuf-du-Pape until their “retirement.” Now at La Bastide des Princes, a 17th-century manor that has quickly become a favourite of the tastemaking Michelin Guide, they welcome guests in five large rooms with exposed beams and rustic furnishings. Pierre offers morning instruction in Provençal cuisine and wine that result in a sumptuous lunch. They serve dinner by the fire in the winter and on the patio in the summer. Upstairs, they operate a spa. Oh, and if you fancy a party beside the swimming pool in the property’s beautiful garden (designed like a village square), they’ll host it for you.

“We decided to slow down,” said Annie, when I stayed at the Bastide. “It feels wonderful.” Nevertheless, she made this observation while running from the kitchen to receive a fax in her office. That’s the illusive quality of the slow life in Provence. For those who have made a career out of perfecting languor for visitors, life here moves quickly – but not so fast that Pierre and Annie don’t sit down to eat lunch with their guests.

For our lunch, Pierre taught me how to make black-olive fougasse (a kind of focaccia bread), along with roast leg of lamb, and a dream dish of baked mullet splashed with local olive oil and arranged on a thin slice of pastry with ratatouille. On the fish: fresh tapenade. On the plate: fresh pesto.

One of the finest things about staying in a chambre d’hôte, a rural bed-and-breakfast-and-sometimes-dinner, with a couple like Pierre and Annie is that they seem to know everyone worth knowing in a 30-kilometre radius. Since Pierre is a pal of every vigneron in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, he gave me a shortlist of vineyards to visit in one of the world’s most famous wine villages.

Thanks to Pierre, and my interest in organic wine, I landed without a reservation at Château La Nerthe. My guide, the domaine’s well-spoken director Christian Voeux, grew up down the road in Séguret. At 92 hectares, Chatêau La Nerthe is the second-largest wine estate in Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Historically, it may be the most important. The Romans planted here. The domaine shows up in the literature of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. By 1750, its wine was already being exported to America. And after a catastrophic invasion of a nasty leaf-eating bug called phylloxera at the end of the 19th century, it was army commander Joseph Ducos, the then-owner of Château La Nerthe, who bravely rebuilt the wine industry in the region.

“It’s the soil, these little rocks, that have made this place different,” said Voeux, as he took me on a tour of the vines. He explained that a vast sea once covered this land, leaving behind minerals as it slowly drained into the Mediterranean.

New-world wine marketing has taught us to look for single-grape wines, such as a cabernet or a merlot. Here however, centuries of expertise in blending varieties is the preferred strategy, even if it means North American wine drinkers are often confused by French wine. Why do they use the names of villages and regions instead of grapes? The strict rules in the appellation of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, for example, allow 13 grapes but few of them are used. Red wines of the southern Rhône Valley are generally composed of a mixture of three grapes or cépages: Grenache, Syrah (Shiraz) and Mourvèdre.

For a more thorough education in the genius of Rhône Valley wines and in embracing the slow life, I drove southeast to the commune of Mazan. The Auberge du Vin is a chambre d’hôte between Mazan and Carpentras, surrounded by vines, with a clear view of Mont Ventoux. Here Linda Field, an investment banker who gave up a mad career in London to open the Auberge du Vin, a bed-and-breakfast and wine education centre in Provence, gave me a two-hour course in Côtes du Rhône wine. We concluded the five tastings with a tender and tasty coq au vin for dinner.

The Auberge du Vin is a beautifully renovated stone farmhouse, a perfect blend of the historic and the modern. Linda’s husband, Christopher, a former engineer, did the renovations himself. He also baked the bread we had with dinner. Though they’ll tell you they were once stressed out by long workdays and moving others’ millions, it doesn’t show.

“What wine should we start with?” asked Christopher, as our meal began. “The rosé, Christophe,” replied Linda, using the French pronunciation of her husband’s name. “We should save the Châteauneuf for the lamb.”
“Do we have to?”

If there’s one person who epitomizes the slow-life ethos, it’s Patricia Wells. One of the finest cookbook authors in the world, she runs her celebrated Provençal cooking courses a stone’s throw from the most extensive archaeological dig in France: the 2,000-year-old Roman ruins in downtown Vaison-la-Romaine. The hill overlooking them is an authentic medieval haute-ville, stuffed with art galleries, cafés and lavender shops. But the bustle of Vaison, population 6,000, is not evident from Chanteduc, the villa, garden and small wine domain Patricia shares with her husband, Walter Wells, author and former editor of the International Herald Tribune.

Her life-changing, five-day courses in Provençal cuisine are centred on the products she buys at the Tuesday morning market in Vaison-la-Romaine. She teaches students how to sweat a vegetable and then, at the market, introduces them to everything the world loves about Provence: fresh fruit and vegetables, locally grown meat, lavender, truffles, cheese, bread, fish and pottery.

Walter and Patricia Wells arrived in Paris from New York in the early 1980s for a two-year assignment. They never left. They still have an apartment and a cooking school in Paris, but they adore relaxing into their Provençal life. (In fact, when my family first arrived in France, we read their joint autobiography, We’ve Always Had Paris… And Provence: A Scrapbook of Our Life in France, and they quickly became our heroes.) The Wellses love for the region’s food, its people and its culture is infectious. On their terrace, overlooking a lush garden and the sleepy valley, they tell hilarious and moving stories about buying Chanteduc, learning the language and travelling the country a hundred times over in a little Volkswagen convertible.

The Wellses would be the first to agree that the pace of life in rural France can be slow. We livened it up by visiting the prefecture and urban capital of the Vaucluse, Avignon, with its famous bridge and walled medieval city. Every summer, Avignon holds one of the best theatre festivals on earth. Take Stratford, mix it with the Edmonton Fringe, slap a fashion show on it, translate the whole thing into French, and give it a backdrop of 14th-century architecture, and you get the Avignon Festival.

If you don’t happen to visit Avignon during its famous festival, there are still plenty of attractions worth visiting. Hôtel La Mirande, across the street from the Palace of the Popes, which took the place of the Vatican from 1309 to 1378, is in one of the most beautiful mansions in the south of France. The Stein family, who acquired the grand house in 1987, renovated it to exacting 17th-century standards. Every room is a work of art. The restaurant, devoted to Rhône Valley food and wine, is among the best in the region. Downstairs, in the atmospheric basement atelier of La Mirande, table d’hôte chef Jean-Claude Altmayer cooks over a giant, wood-fired 120-year-old oven.

It was here that I shared a bottle of Côtes du Rhône from the village of Visan with three other guests at a large table adjacent to Altmayer’s atelier. The chef didn’t rush for one instant and seemed to smile for two hours straight. Between courses he told tales of cooking for five French presidents, designer Jean Paul Gaultier, German musical group Boney M. and actor Jack Nicholson. When he learned I was Canadian, he pulled out some smoked salmon to celebrate.

The next day I tasted more local wine in the basement of the Palace, then purchased a bottle and carried it up to the Parc des Rochers des Doms overlooking the city. From that vantage point, it wasn’t difficult to imagine what brought the popes to the Vaucluse: everything that drew us here, I imagine. Rome was a little too busy, too fast, too competitive, too international. Contemplating God and ensuring his dominion required calm and stillness, the sound of cicadas at night, powerful red wine, garlicky tapenade and the sweet perfume of lavender in the morning.

In 1378, when the papacy returned to Rome, the Western Schism occurred. For those who had become accustomed to life in the Rhône Valley, it was painful to imagine a return to big-city life. In fact, Clement VII briefly tore the Catholic Church in half to set up an alternate papacy here in Provenc

Photo credit: sparker, Creative Commons, Flickr

Bernie and Ann Johnston suffer from incurable wanderlust. The only downside to travelling the world? Expenses. Still, the Johnstons have discovered a solution that enables them to pursue their travels without paying an arm and a leg: house swapping. After 11 years of home exchanges, the couple are veterans, and, says Bernie, “We’ve had lovely experiences with no problems the entire time.”

The principle behind home exchanges is simple: “You stay in my house; I stay in yours.” Various organizations (most of which are online) act as go-betweens, posting listings of the homes and providing a safe means of communication between participants. No money changes hands, but each homeowner pays an annual fee to the linking organization. (Shorter or longer memberships are available and are priced accordingly.) Once that’s covered, members can take part in as many home swaps as they want.

The first concern that most people have is security. Bernie, a retired RCMP officer, says, “People are so security-conscious that it defeats them – they just don’t want to let a stranger into their house.” But, in fact, one linking agency, HomeExchange.com, reports that, in its 14 years of business, and after tens of thousands of exchanges, it has never had a report of theft or vandalism. Common sense dictates that valuable items, such as jewelry and family treasures, be put away. And although most insurance companies regard home exchangers as “guests within the home” (and thereby covered by insurance), it’s wise to double-check your own policy. Often, cars are swapped as well; most car insurance provides coverage for swappers, but again, check before you swap.

Bernie has always found that, because of the considerable back-and-forth exchange before the swap, “the owners know each other’s personalities pretty well.” Once initial contact is made via the Internet, the owners exchange emails and phone calls, asking each other questions, coordinating vacation times and discussing myriad “howto” details on everything from booting up home computers to operating the washing machine. Sometimes, homeowners arrange to care for each other’s pets and plants. It’s also a good idea to provide lists of friends to contact in case of emergency, or simply as an entrée into the community. Exchangers can even set up an agreement of rules or use one of the boilerplate agreements provided by the linking agency.

Finding home exchanges that accommodate larger families may be more difficult – which is where villa rentals come in. Richard and Barbara Wafer planned a vacation to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary and wanted to bring along the whole family. To get everybody in one place, the couple decided to rent a villa. Working through an agency, they found one in Portugal’s Algarve area – a huge residence with seven double bedrooms, each with its own ensuite. The dining room sat 16, the swimming pool was Olympic-sized and tennis courts were just a short walk away. As the pièce de résistance, a local caterer prepared a four-course gourmet dinner for the celebration in the villa kitchen. For both accommodation and meal, the outlay was considerably less than what it would have been at a hotel, and the experience much more memorable.

Before starting your search for a home exchange or villa rental, it’s important to first list all of the amenities you need for the kind of vacation you want. Will you be spending most of the time sightseeing (you’ll need a car) or just relaxing (a pool would be nice)? Will you be cooking most of the time? If you need to keep in touch with home, is there access to high-speed Internet? Elaine LeJambe, AMA manager of Product Development, adds another bit of advice: “Read your contract carefully to ensure there are no hidden charges. For example, sometimes there’s a substantial damage deposit,” she cautions. “However, most people who have booked villa experiences love them and we get rave reviews.”

So as the cost of flights and accommodation increases, creative solutions like home swaps and villa rentals can keep the love of travel alive and the budget low.

Home-swap links

HomeLink Canada phone 604-987-3262;
Global Home Exchange phone 250-756-6177
International Home Exchange Network phone phone 386-238-3633

Hello Hola
How are you? Como esta (formal), Como estas (informal)
Good Bien
Thank you Gracias
Please Por Favor
Thank you very much Muchas gracias
Yes Si
No No
Goodbye Adios
Bye Adios
Good morning Buenos dias
Good evening Buenas tardes
Excuse me (please) Desculpia
I don’t speak Spanish No hablo espanol
Do you speak English? No hablo ingles
Pleased to meet you Gusto de conocerlo/la (m/f)

I am Yo soy
he is El es
she is Ella es
it is Eso es
we are somos
(formal) you are Usted es
(informal) you are tu eres

My name is... Mi nombre es
This is my wife Esta es mi esposa
This is my husband Este es mi esposo
This is my son Este es mi hijo
This is my daughter Esta es mi hija
This is my (male) friend. Este es mi amigo
This is my (female) friend. Esta es mi amiga
Where is ... Donde es
…a bank? un banco
…a restaurant? un restaurante
…a museum? un museo?
… a cinema? un cinema?
… a department store?… una tienda?
… a train station? una estacion de Tren
… a grocery store? ...un supermercado

I have - Yo tengo
he has El tiene
she has Ella tiene
we have Tenemos
(formal) you have Usted Tiene
(informal) you have Tu tienes
I am hungry Tengo hambre
We are thirsty Tenemos sed
Do you have tienes…
… fruit? fruta?
… bread? pan?
… milk? leche?
… butter? mantequilla?
… beer? cerveza?

I am Canadian (a male) Yo soy canadiense
I am Canadian (a female) Yo soy canadiensa

Numbers 1 - 20:
1 uno
2 dos
3 - tres
4 cuatro
5 cinco
6 seis
7 siete
8 ocho
9 nueve
10 diez
11 once
12 doce
13 trece
14 catorce
15 quince
16 dieciseis
17 diecisiete
18 dieciocho
19 diecinueve
20 veinte

Spread over 75 hectares, the Devonian Botanic Garden (30 minutes southwest of Edmonton) blooms every spring and summer in a flamboyant display of annuals and perennials. But there is one piece of the property that shuns such showiness in favour of a more subtle beauty: the Kurimoto Japanese Garden, celebrating its 20th anniversary this year. And while its exquisitely manicured grounds might be the Devonian’s most popular attraction, the garden’s function is nevertheless to inspire a sense of personal reflection and renewal. Honouring that purpose, a traditional teahouse in the southwest corner provides the setting for demonstrations of chanoyu, the tea ceremony. Gisèle Plamondon is a member of Matsukaze Tea Group. Each year, she introduces guests to this tranquil, time-honoured practice.

WW: What is the history of the tea ceremony?
GP Its roots date back to the ninth century. Japanese monks needed to stay awake through the night to pray so they began drinking matcha, a thick, dark-green powdered tea that is whisked with hot water. Tea master Sen Rikyu ritualized chanoyu in the 16th century.
WW: Are there rules of etiquette that one must follow before entering the teahouse?
GP If you were participating in a traditional tea ceremony in Japan, both the host and the guest would observe certain rules of etiquette. Before entering the teahouse, guests would rinse their hands and mouth at a stone water basin in the garden to symbolize purification. Afterward, the guests would sit in a waiting area, calming their spirits and composing their thoughts while waiting for the host to receive them. That’s because the tea ceremony requires mindfulness and tranquility.
WW How should I drink the tea?
GP The bowl is served with its front, or face, toward you. Receive the bowl with your right hand, placing it flat in the open palm of your left. Then raise the bowl and give a slight bow. Before you drink, turn the bowl with two small rotations so that the front now faces away from you. Ideally, you will finish the tea in three sips, making a loud slurping noise on the last. Finally, set the bowl down in front of you, taking a minute to admire its texture and colour.
WW: At the tea ceremony, each bowl is different and some even appear damaged. Why is that?
GP There is a Japanese idea called wabi sabi, which refers to the perfection of the imperfect. It’s the acknowledgement that such imperfections make people and things unique. I’ve heard stories of master potters creating a beautiful bowl and then hitting the wet clay with a wooden paddle to give it a flaw, so that it has wabi sabi.
WW Should guests be fluent in the rules before attempting the tea ceremony?
GP Rest assured, when we perform the tea ceremony today, it’s with the understanding that guests may have no prior experience. It is our intention to make you feel comfortable.

The Kurimoto Japanese Garden hosts its first Japanese tea ceremony of the year on May 2.

This year marks the 100-year anniversary of the RV. It has been a century since people began outfitting their Model T’s with makeshift tents, according to the Recreational Vehicle Association. And since then, a lot has changed: the RV has gone mainstream and become a billion-dollar business. But some things, like RV etiquette, are timeless. Here, a few 21st-century rules that will roll right on into the next century.

The old: You have a problem with your vehicle. You use the park’s telephone to try to get a mechanic to drive to the boonies to fix it. You pacify the crowd waiting for the phone by explaining your predicament. 
The new: Your cell phone summons roadside assistance in moments. Now your problem is the Ansel Adams who monopolizes the WiFi at the clubhouse by emailing hundreds of photos from a 10-megpixel camera.
Timeless rule: When amenities are shared, keep it under 15 minutes.

The old: Your neighbours’ kids have expanded their game of tag to include your site. You contemplate handing them a Robert Frost poem, with the highlighted line, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
The new: RVs have gotten much bigger and it can be hard not to infringe on others’ space. Even during the economic recession, larger, luxury versions of many RV brands sold better than modest rigs. When you open the slide out of your larger, luxury brand, you discover it covers your neighbours’ fire pit. 
Timeless rule: Park your rig at an angle to match the RVs next to you, and factor in slide outs and awnings. Leave room for them to access their cupboards.

The old: You drive for hours to find an isolated spot in the wilderness to do a little boondocking and discover someone has been there before you – and left a trail of garbage behind.
The new: You pull into the nearest boondocker-friendly parking lot for a little shuteye. Unfortunately you must then spend half an hour cleaning up from the last guest.
The timeless lesson: Whether it’s maintaining the goodwill of park rangers or Walmart managers, leaving your site in better shape than you left it will make it easier for boondockers everywhere.

The old: A friendly Fido wanders the park at will, leaving a mess by day and barking at night.
The new: A friendly Fido wanders the park at will, leaving a mess by day and barking at night.
Timeless rule: Some things never change: keep pets leashed and shushed. Even if you’re in the “wilderness,” pick up after it.

The old: Sitting round the campfire crooning kumbayah is great fun for the whole family. Unfortunately, your neighbours also enjoy sitting round the fire – with a boombox.
The new: Increasing numbers of people live in RVs. That means your neighbour may be preparing to go to work the next morning, and does not appreciate any late-night kumbayahing or boomboxing.
Timeless rule: If you aren’t told a park quiet time at check-in, use common sense. Not everyone on the park is on holiday, and even the ones who are still want a decent sleep.

Alberta proves that size doesn’t matter – at least where towns are concerned. The province is scattered with small communities with big personalities. Here’s a quick-and-dirty guide to five of Alberta’s lesser-known towns.

Torrington
In 1996, folks living in this tiny hamlet in southern Alberta opened a museum of stuffed gophers to draw tourists to the region. Now, the Torrington Gopher Hole Museum boasts 47 dioramas featuring 77 stuffed, posed and costumed gophers. Beverly Graham of Torrington’s Tourism Action Society says the museum is a natural extension of a gopher theme: there’s a large gopher statue at the entrance to town and all 11 fire hydrants are painted to resemble gophers. This year, the museum will add one more diorama, of a gopher standing waiting for a train, suitcase in paw. Previously, “Albert” was on loan to a Vancouver museum, says Graham: “He’s come home.”
Time: 45 minutes

Lacombe
When Lacombe was settled in the late 19th Century, many thought it would become a hub between Edmonton and Calgary.  Instead, that distinction went to Red Deer. While Lacombe wasn’t destined to be a big place, it’s remained vibrant. At the tip of the town’s main street you’ll find the Flat Iron Building, which actually resembles an old-fashioned iron. Designed in the Beaux-Arts architectural style, and built on a trapezoid-shaped lot, the building’s construction is rare – there are only ten flat iron buildings in the world. “This is the only one in a small centre,” explains Catherine Neale Ward, a planning consultant for Lacombe and district. Take a stroll through downtown and enjoy the many brick heritage buildings, and dozens of murals. Head to the Stopping House for a fresh scone with whipped cream before you skedaddle.
Time: 60 minutes

Empress
Located in the Canadian Badlands near the Saskatchewan border, the town of Empress is home to a handful of artisans and artists, including Dean and Fran Francis of Sagebrush Studios. “I grew up not too far away and this is the area I’ve always painted, so I started my studio here,” explains Dean, who spent the first 20 years of his art career in urban centres before setting up the studio 10 years ago. The couple’s 20-acre property is about 10 minutes from town and features three reconditioned churches filled with art and extensive gardens.
Time: 50 minutes

Wainwright
Like many early communities, Wainright began as a hub for the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway. The old train station still stands in the town’s downtown area but now houses The Wainwright and District Museum . The museum’s exhibits tell the story of the area’s rich history. Wainwright was home to Internment Camp 135 during WWII and was notoriously kind to prisoners. Wainwright was also home to Buffalo National Park (1909-1939), one of the country’s earliest efforts to protect wildlife. After stopping in the museum café for a snack, mosey down the street to clock tower. Built in 1925 to commemorate locals who died in the Great War, the structure is the only freestanding war memorial of its kind in Canada.
Time: 60 minutes

Crowsnest Pass
Nestled in the southwest part of the province, the area is teaming with wildlife thanks to the lush forests and mountains. It’s also blessed with the temperate weather enjoyed by southern Alberta. Visit the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre to see the remnants of a landslide that obliterated the town of Frank, Alta., in 1903. The slide was so large that it dammed the Crowsnest River and formed a small lake that covered part of the railway. After strolling through the site and visiting the interpretive centre, grab a coffee and a fresh homemade cookie at the Cinnamon Bear Bakery and Café before resuming your journey. AMA members save 10% on regular admission at the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre
Time: 50 minutes

William Cornelius Van Horne understood the power of mountains. In the late 19th century, the legendary president of the Canadian Pacific Railway oversaw the construction of Canada’s first transcontinental line and knew that Canada’s Rockies had the potential to become one of the world’s great tourist destinations. As he famously declared, “Since we can’t export the scenery, we will have to import the tourists.” But even so, Van Horne, a powerful man with the renegade vision and inexhaustible energy inherent amongst early nation builders, eventually did find a way to move mountains: through art.

He commissioned renowned landscape artists such as Frederic Marlett Bell-Smith and Marmaduke Matthews to paint the mountains; the resulting works travelled the globe in promotional exhibits touting the glories of the “Canadian Alps.” For Van Horne, these works not only revealed the majesty of nature but also his personal triumph. The CPR, with its tracks and timetables, had civilized an untamed wilderness, allowing upper-class tourists to drink in its vistas along with an aperitif.

From this pragmatic beginning was born a tradition of art-making in the Canadian Rockies that was to reveal itself over time as a reflection of visitors’ changing relationship with this environment. To take an art tour of the Bow Valley is to discover a wealth of stories about the people who visited the Rockies intending only to capture the mountains in paint, but who found themselves instead taken captive by a force more profound.

In search of Van Horne’s Banff, I find myself drawn up winding Mountain Avenue to the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel. Depending on your point of view, the colossal resort-castle is either a magnificent heritage monument or a misplaced monstrosity. Either way, it is the most visible legacy of the former CPR president’s influence on these mountains. The story has it that when Van Horne came to inspect the hotel during construction, he found, to his horror, that it was being built backwards: the staff, rather than the paying guests, were getting the million-dollar view. He ordered the hotel rebuilt the right way round, so that visitors would get what they paid for.

Van Horne was a painter in his own right and one of his landscapes still hangs in a grand hallway of the hotel. A closer look reveals Van Horne’s name signed backwards – a subtle reminder of his lingering irritation over the debacle.

If there is one place in these mountains that embodies the area’s early 20th-century golden age of art, it’s the Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies in Banff. I’m here on a chilly, overcast day, when the mountains are barely visible outside, and paintings must tell the story in their place. This museum, with its gallery spaces for historic and contemporary art, is a treasure on the banks of the Bow River. Its origins date back to the late 1950s, when it was the vision of pioneering artists Peter and Catharine Whyte.

Peter Whyte was a local boy who went to art school in Boston and returned home with an unlikely bride: Catharine Robb, a young woman whose social status can be inferred from the fact that in order to marry Whyte, she turned down a member of the Rockefeller family. Her regal portrait, prominently displayed in the main hall of the museum, also speaks to her privileged origins and adds to the romance of her abandonment of that world to join Peter in this remote mountain town.

Their cosy log house next to the museum, and open to visitors on guided tours, displays some of their canvases as well as their painting paraphernalia. The Whytes’ landscapes have a warmth and intimacy that reveal their deep love for these mountains. Peter, in particular, took an interest in the Stoney and Blackfoot people, committing their images to canvas at a time when their traditional way of life was swiftly vanishing.

Curator Michale Lang takes me into the stacks in the basement of the museum to impress upon me the volume of artistic treasures held in this 1,200-square-foot vault. Approximately 49,000 artworks make up the collection, and are either in storage here or on display upstairs. In the stacks, I spot pieces by the CPR artists, some of which will be displayed next year in the museum’s Gateway to the Rockies exhibition. As well, there are portraits of early Banff settlers such as outfitter Jimmy Simpson rendered by expatriate Russian painter Nicolas de Grandmaison, yet another artist who came to visit and stayed. It was Simpson who invited the famed American wildlife artist Carl Rungius to Banff in 1910 and took him on pack trips around the Bow Valley and into Jasper. On those trips, Rungius produced sketches of what would later be some of his most iconic portrayals of mountain fauna. For the next 20 summers, after 1922, Rungius split his time between New York and a small studio in Banff, which he called the Paintbox.

It’s not difficult to understand what drew these early-20th-century artists to the Rockies. Many were iconoclasts and adventurous free spirits. For some, this frontier represented freedom from civilization’s encrusted traditions. Independent women such as Mary Schaffer, the first white woman to see Maligne Lake, came to the Rockies to paint wildflowers and wear trousers. And a new generation of artists, which included members of Canada’s Group of Seven, whose works dating from the 1920s to the early 1960s can be found in the museum’s vaults, saw these New World mountains as a challenge to push beyond the picturesque landscape tradition inherited from Europe.

Even so, as Lang points out, it would be a mistake to paint these artists as environmentalists before their time. Not that these generations of painters didn’t cherish the wilderness, but some, like Rungius, were actually big-game trophy hunters.

Even Group of Seven painters such as Lawren Harris and A.Y. Jackson envisioned wilderness more in terms of its significance to Canadian identity than its intrinsic value. In their day, representational art was concerned with the personal meaning of the landscape on the artist. And, with a glorious vista at every turn of the road, the hard-won beauty of traditional landscape painting had lost some of the cachet it held in the days of the packhorse. Harris’s pared-down, almost abstract canvases of the Bow Valley peaks and Maligne Lake area are famous examples of this modernist trend.

So with the feeling that I had barely scratched the surface of all that the museum holds, I reluctantly move on. The sky is still clouded over and the wind icy as I make my way up Tunnel Mountain to The Banff Centre. This specialized arts and culture institution, which offers programs in creativity, leadership development, mountain culture and the environment, began life as the Banff School of Fine Arts in the 1930s, its painting program founded by artists Alfred Crocker Leighton and Walter Phillips.

Leighton and his wife, Barbara, were another unconventional artist couple, contemporaries of the Whytes who unapologetically eschewed society’s rules. (Their most famous exploit: missing their own wedding dinner to take a painting pack trip into the backcountry.)

Phillips, meanwhile, was a master printmaker and woodcutter. Much of his craft was learned from Japanese artists working in a tradition dating back to early masters like Hiroshige. Today, the Walter Phillips Gallery at the centre presents ancient aboriginal craftwork alongside contemporary work, such as a recent exhibit of snowboarding-inspired art in various media.

Back in Banff, I discover that despite its bustling cosmopolitan feel, the town is still small enough that I can explore most of its galleries on foot in a single afternoon. It’s also here that the modern themes of mountain art become apparent.

At Canada House gallery on Bear Street, landscape paintings have taken a backseat to wildlife art. Here, I discover that depictions of bears are prevalent. It seems the beleaguered grizzly, perhaps the most potent modern symbol of vanishing wilderness, roams through the imagination of many contemporary artists.

Just as Peter Whyte must have felt an urgency to paint the Blackfoot, so too are today’s mountain artists capturing what is most threatened. In the stacks of the Whyte Museum, I saw the work of Canmore artist Maureen Enns, the wife of grizzly bear researcher Charlie Russell. Enns, whose exhibition Grizzly! shows at the museum June 19 to October 11, was terrified of bears until she had a peaceful close encounter with a sow and her cub in 1991 while riding in the backcountry. Since that time, the study and understanding of bears has become a vital part of her life. Her paintings of grizzlies mingle photographic realism with more abstract forms that imagine a bear’s-eye view of nature.

Another contemporary exhibit at the Whyte featured work by Canmore artist Jan Kabatoff. Entitled Glacier: A Journey, the project charts the effect of climate change on these fragile frozen landscapes. Her multimedia work included painting, textiles, photography and mould impressions inspired by the artists’ visits to seven glaciers on three continents. The show was endorsed by Water for Life, the United Nations’ decade of action on water issues. In the artist’s words, glaciers are “sentient beings, and I strive to grasp their ephemeral nature to better understand our interconnectedness with the natural world.”

On my frosty, fogbound final morning, I drive up the Bow Valley parkway to another grand edifice, the chateau on the shore of what may be the most painted lake in Canada, if not the world. Lake Louise was dubbed “the heartbeat of mountaineering” in its early days, but it wasn’t only climbers who flocked here. Artists and photographers very quickly discovered the wonders of the lake and its surroundings. Early CPR artists like Bell-Smith had to camp out here with their easels, but the railway eventually built a log chalet to accommodate visitors. The lake became a starting-off point for art expeditions into the backcountry, just as it is today. 

Now, entering the stunning, recently refurbished 552-room Chateau Lake Louise, I’m greeted by an understated but magical chandelier in the front lobby, which pays tribute to the wives of the early Swiss guides who led climbing expeditions through the Rockies. Back when the “chateau” was still a small log structure amid the vastness, the guides’ wives would stand at the doorway after sunset with lanterns to show the returning climbing parties the way home.

The Mount Temple Wing, completed in 2004, boasts lofty stained-glass windows that depict, not saints or divinities, but wildlife. Each window displays the web of interrelationships that develop around a particular animal, such as the wolf or the lake trout. The effect is surprisingly moving, especially as one gazes through these cathedral-sized windows to the far older Cretaceous-era cathedrals of stone outside.

These windows, along with the wing’s murals describing the history of human activity in the Lake Louise area, serve as a vivid reminder of the changes in attitude towards these mountains that art has reflected over the last century and a half. From a trickle of hearty explorers, the CPR turned the Rockies into a playground for the wealthy and, eventually, the “age of the automobile” opened up the mountain parks to the masses.

As I drive out of Banff the following day, the sun is shining and the mountains at last emerge. Taking advantage of the change in weather, a young man sets up an easel on the sidewalk to paint the same dazzling peaks that the railway artists beheld more than a century before. I’m struck by how little these awesome, abiding presences would have changed in that time compared to the art that depicts them. While early artists set out to subdue wilderness on canvas, contemporary artists seek to remind us of how enmeshed we are with nature, and how little we still understand it.

I’m not going to lie. Coming from Alberta, it feels a bit weird to be on a pub patio in Portland’s Hawthorne district – my partner Adam and I enjoying pints of happy-hour beers, our dog passed out on a slab of sun-drenched concrete metres from our feet and Franka, our two-year-old daughter, happily weaving her way through rows of picnic tables packed with a jovial after-work crowd.

It’s even weirder when the middle-aged guy at the table across from us interrupts a conversation with his buddies and leans in confidentially toward Adam. “It sure is nice to see the little ones out,” he says without a hint of intoxication. “When they’re young like that, you’ve gotta get out or you’ll go crazy. I know: I’ve got three of my own.”

I take a swig of my pint and look at Adam in amazement. What? No reprimand for letting our kid run loose while we enjoy a rare moment of bliss? No raised eyebrows for having the audacity to bring our family pet into a public space without a leash? For a moment I think I’m the one who’s intoxicated, and then I remember, nope – I’m just in heaven. Parent heaven. Welcome to Portland.

Located in Oregon’s agriculture-rich Willamette Valley in the northwestern United States, this city of roughly half a million people is a five-hour drive south of Vancouver and a little under 300 kilometres from Seattle. As the name suggests, it was once a major port city, due to its position on the Willamette River, which flows north into the Columbia River before emptying into the Pacific Ocean.

Known for its progressive attitude, Portland’s penchant for creative problem-solving is what made it a dot-com epicentre in the 1990s and one of the greenest urban places in the world today. Even so, it was a simple coin toss that determined the municipality’s moniker.

Founding fathers Asa Lovejoy and Francis Pettygrove both wanted to name the city after their respective hometowns: Boston, Massachusetts and Portland, Maine. In 1845, they settled the matter with the flip of a penny. Pettygrove won best two out of three. Lovejoy, meanwhile, had to wait a century for his turn to shine. In 1989, cartoonist and Portland-native Matt Groening introduced the world to Reverend (you guessed it) Lovejoy – a pessimistic clergyman featured in The Simpsons.

How do I know all this? Be-cause while my clan is socializing with the other laid-back families by the fountain at Waterfront Park, I’m on a Portland Walking Tours walkabout, led by guide Brad Fortier.

Brad, like most Portlanders, is originally from someplace else. He grew up in Wisconsin, works (aside from guiding) as an actor, and instantly wins a place in my heart when he assures me that next time I needn’t leave my child behind – it’s company policy to adapt tours to the little folks. And, besides, temperamental toddlers happen to be his specialty. ˛

I read somewhere that this tour won an award for “Best Way to Fake Being a Native.” As we make our way down the pedestrian-friendly downtown core flanked by tidy office towers and large street-level windows (which turn office workers into a facet of the streetscape), it’s easy to see why. I observe that part of being a local includes sporting some sort of athletic-looking rain jacket, smiling politely at strangers and walking like you’ve never even heard of a hurry.

Over the next two-and-a-half hours, we stop at points of interest such as the famed Portland Center for the Performing Arts, where I see schoolchildren climbing all over Mexican artist Alejandro Colunga’s statue of a man with a runny nose (it drips like a water faucet). We check out the city’s “outdoor living room” at Pioneer Courthouse Square, where more than 300 events are held each year, everything from movies to sandcastle competitions. And my personal favourite: a visit with the lovely Portlandia, a 10-metre-tall copper statue of a buff, trident-wielding woman who beckons to visitors from the entranceway of the Portland Building.

When it’s all said and done, I am a walking encyclopedia of useless trivia, which I unleash on Adam for the duration of our stay. I soon delight in peppering conversations with Portland’s many aliases, including Bridgetown (a reference to the city’s 11 river crossings), PDX (the three-letter designation for Portland International Airport) and Rip City (a name that stuck after being blurted out by an NBA play-by-play announcer in the heat of a Portland Trail Blazers’ game).

Before parting ways with Brad, he gives me a huge list of kid-friendly things to see: standards like the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, the Children’s Museum and the Oregon Zoo. His picks also include sites such as Valentines, a downtown live-music venue, and the McMenamins’ collective of art-house movie theatres – places I would never dream of taking my kid back home for fear of getting a thousand dirty looks. But I have to remind myself: this is Portland.

In my experience, travelling with a toddler is a lot like backpacking through Europe with a friend you want to keep. You have to be lighthearted, you have to communicate and you have to be willing to throw your agenda out the window if it means avoiding a meltdown. This is why choosing the right hotel is a big factor in determining the success of the trip: Because like it or not, you are going to spend a lot of time there.

Lucky for us, we managed to score a room at the very hip and surprisingly affordable Ace Hotel, a four-storey heritage building on the corner of 10th and Stark. It’s walking distance from local institutions Powell’s Books (the world’s largest new-and-used bookstore) and Voodoo Doughnut (a 24-hour shop featuring treats in flavours such as “Grape Ape” and “Dirty Snowball”).

The minimalist rooms at the Ace are decorated by local artists using vintage furniture and found objects. And in true PDX style, there are weird things all over the property: a black-and-white photo booth, giant jars of paper clips and rubber erasers, and a set of library-card catalogues stuffed with secret confessions left by guests.

It doesn’t take long for us to realize that, despite our best intentions, we may never leave the hotel premises. Franka and Indy (yes, the Ace allows pets!) are lapping up the attention bestowed on them by the groups of hipsters lounging on couches in the lobby. We are also right next door to Stumptown Coffee Roasters, where a team of heavily tattooed baristas serve up some of the best coffee on this side of the globe.

Our reasons for coming to Portland in the first place were simple: we were in desperate need of some R&R and, after experiencing the shock of being demoted from adult soirees to chaotic playgroups, we just wanted to feel cool again.

At this point there is no way that we are going to tackle our growing list of “must-sees.” So what do we do?  What any good Rip City native would do. Order another Americano, sit back and chillax.

The vitality in this city is impossible to ignore and all the more potent as we careen down the Hawthorne Bridge on Dutch bicycles rented from Clever Cycles. With Franka and Indy perched on the front of Adam’s Bakfiet cargo bike, this is by far the best way to explore the city. In Portland, cyclists – not motorists – rule the road. Free maps are available at any of the cycle shops, and well-marked bike lanes as well as an extensive trail system mean that, even as a tourist, finding your way is safe and simple.

After a fine afternoon perusing the vintage clothing shops along Hawthorne Boulevard, we take the Springwater Corridor along the Willamette and, later, a set of abandoned-railroad-lines-turned-asphalt-trails in the direction of Selwood, a neighbourhood known for its brightly coloured bungalows and independently owned shops.

We breathe in the heavy musk of cool, riverside air, serenaded by starlings, sparrows and belted kingfishers while we whip past the Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge. Everywhere we look, we see families walking, fishing or resting in the shadows of the giant Ferris wheel jutting up from the neighbouring Oaks Amusement Park.

When we finally arrive in Selwood, our spirits are high and our bellies empty, so we head to local grocery chain New Seasons Market for a bite of homemade mac’n’cheese. Once inside, we are swarmed by packs of giddy tweens wearing aprons and wielding trays of food samples. I gasp at the sight of some even younger children operating cash registers and choosing floral arrangements for customers.

Afraid I’ve just stumbled upon a first-world sweatshop, I ask the first grown-up I see to explain what exactly is going on. “It’s take- your-kid-to-work day,” she says, handing me an organic carob-chip cookie. As she strolls away, I notice a baby strapped to her side.

Of course! I forgot. We’re in heaven. Parent heaven. Welcome to Portland.

Enjoy a 3-night stay in Portland, including daily continental breakfast and a sightseeing cruise. From $227 per person. Call AMA Travel at 1-866-667-4777.

The best of kid-friendly Portland

STAY

•Inn at Northrup Station
2025 NW Northrup St., 1-800-224-1180
This family friendly AAA/CAA Diamond Rated boutique hotel located along Portland’s streetcar line has in-suite kitchens, a rooftop patio and an endless supply of saltwater taffy in the lobby.
•Ace Hotel
1022 SW Stark St., 503-228-2277
Hipsters from around the globe hang here and so do their kids (and dogs). Remember your trip with a family portrait taken in the hotel’s B&W photo booth.

PLAY

•World Forestry Center
4033 SW Canyon Rd., 503-228-1367
Your little tree-huggers will be in awe of this stunning 20,000-square-foot museum located in Washington Park. Learn about trees of the Pacific Northwest and other regions of the globe. AMA members save $1 on admission.
•Portland Children’s Museum
4015 SW Canyon Rd, 503-223-6500
A museum designed especially for the senses. Kids can experiment with clay, drive wooden trains or explore new sensations in the Baby Garden. AMA members save $1 on admission.
•Oregon Museum of Science and Industry
1945 SE Water Ave., 503-797-4000
Explore the constellations in the Harry C. Kendall Planetarium or visit an actual ex-Navy submarine at this Portland favourite. AMA members save $1 on general admission.
•WeVillage
424 NW 11th Ave., 503-935-5590
Drop off the kids before a night on the town. The drop-in childcare facility in the Pearl District is open late and has an indoor play park and creative activity centres.
•Jamison Square Park
810 NW 11th Ave.
During the summer months, the wading pool in this park is packed. Catch a free ride in on the MAX Light Rail from downtown.
•Oaks Amusement Park
Off SE Spokane St., 503-233-5777
Think Coney Island on the Willamette River. Strap on a pair of roller skates or catch a ride on the nostalgic Ferris wheel.

RIDE

•Portland Ariel Tram
3303 SW Bond Ave., 503-238-7433
Part of the city’s public transportation system, the tram is a great way to view the city from above. Children under six ride for free.
•Oregon Zoo
4001 SW Canyon Rd., 503-226-1561
Take the MAX Light Rail to this urban animal kingdom where you can explore the park aboard three different passenger trains.

Gill Ross, AMA Travel Specialist
OREGON, U.S.A.

When it comes to natural beauty, Oregon’s landscape and coastline are truly spectacular. Most people know about the state’s coast rock formations and scenic beaches, but they don’t know it is also home to some of the largest sand dunes in North America. In the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area, southwest of Portland, daring visitors can rent four-wheelers and explore the sandy heights. But even if you don’t crave adventure, you’ll never be left wondering what to do. In the southeast corner of the state, I spent an afternoon at Shore Acres Botanical Gardens near Coos Bay. The explosion of strawberry-coloured rhododendrons and azaleas reminded me of Victoria’s Butchart Gardens — only this private estate is perched on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Another charming destination was Tillamook, the unofficial cheese capital of Oregon. Sampling opportunities abound, but one must-stop is the Blue Heron French Cheese Company. I couldn’t leave this deli/café without buying a small round of cambozola. Which brings me to one more thing I love about Oregon: no sales tax!

Need help planning a trip to Oregon? Call toll-free 1-888-989-8422 to speak to Gill Ross, or visit your local AMA centre.

An adaptive cruise control (ACC) system adjusts speed as needed to maintain a set distance from the vehicle ahead. It helps reduce the risk of collisions caused by following too closely or not reducing speed soon enough to avoid obstacles ahead. Get it or gadget? As an in-vehicle techno-logy, ACC is still at a relatively early stage of development. Future generations of the device are expected to be much more intuitive and function even in stop-and-go situations. So, at a current price tag of $900 and up, you may want to wait for further tweaking.

Introduced about a decade ago, high-intensity discharge lamps (HIDs) produce light from an electric arc between tungsten elec-trodes. The result is greater luminosity over longer and wider ranges than conventional tungsten-halogen headlamps. Get it or gadget? An after-market HID conversion starts at approximately $150, plus installation. And though they’re no excuse to shirk your annual eye exam, these lights do improve night vision significantly. On the flipside, oncoming drivers often feel blinded by the HIDs’ intense bluish-white light. If you use them, remember: increasing night-driving speeds because you feel safer negates all benefits.

A global-positioning system (GPS) may not auto-matically come to mind as a safety tool, but its clear visual and auditory directions help prevent the sudden lane changes and rapid braking characteristic of drivers unsure of their routes.  Get it or gadget? Most people who invest in navigation systems (which start in the $200 range) soon wonder how they ever did without one. Get it, but remember that road safety comes first: distracted drivers are three times more likely to be involved in a collision, so don’t program the GPS on the road. And if you can’t easily respond to a direction, take the next exit or turn; your automated “guide” will recalibrate and put you back on course.

A rear-view video camera system broad-casts the scene behind the vehicle directly to a small screen mounted on the dashboard, giving the driver a clear view of potential hazards such as pets on the driveway and neighbouring bumpers during a parallel park. Get it or gadget? A popular alternative to a backing-aid system, the camera is available as an after-market add-on, at a much lower cost ($150 to $250). However, unlike a back-ing aid, it does not emit warning signals so drivers must rely exclusively on visual cues.

A backing-aid system helps to reduce blind spots while reversing. Ultrasonic sound waves sense rear obstacles, emitting audible and visual warnings during low-speed back-ups. These devices are espe-cially useful for large vehicles such as SUVs, RVs and buses, or when towing trailers. Get it or gadget? The system pro-vides drivers with comfort and convenience but should definitely not be seen as a substitute for shoulder checks or vehicle walkabouts. And at a built-in option price of around $500, it is foremost a luxury safety item.

Hi-tech your drive: Learn the latest driver-safety skills with customized brush-up lessons from AMA Driver Education. 1-800-642-3810; AMADriver Education.ca (click on Driver Improvements)

Here’s something I’m learning, hiking 24 days across Spain with one of my oldest friends: No matter how certain we are of our position on the map – and we’re pretty good navigators David and I, having cemented our friendship as young naval officers – there will still be moments when we feel utterly lost, impossibly distant from both beginning and end. It’s not a bad feeling, being “in the flow,” but there’s no denying that the sensation is partly linked to physical exhaustion.

We are following one branch of the famous Way of St. James pilgrimage, from Irun in the Basque Country, 750-odd kilometres west to the Galician capital of Santiago de Compostela. David and I realized very early on that the pilgrim’s way is the long way – and not just in kilometres. It’s long in terms of the time it takes to tap into the spiritual uplift that makes this journey worthwhile. Without it, you’re just putting one foot down after the other for days on end, pointed at some smudge of a town on the horizon as if destined to walk towards that town forever.

I have to confess, coming into Galicia on day 19 of our hike, it’s the physical fatigue I’m feeling most. Earlier, we crossed the high pass at Alto de Acebo, under a long, white row of wind turbines. Then we descended the slopes on the far side of the ridge, coming down into that green Spanish anomaly that was once the Kingdom of Galicia – its coastal fjords and rugged hills so much like the Irish West Country to which it is linked by Iberian migrations as far back as the Mesolithic Age. But here, standing outside a dusty little café at the bend of the road, just over the pass, I look up to see storm clouds forming, their black shapes coiling and swirling above. The first cold slant of rain strikes the garbage-bag raincoat I’ve been making do with since losing my fancy MEC storm jacket in Oviedo on unlucky day 13.

Maybe it’s the prospect of getting soaked that has me feeling the road. Of course, maybe it’s also the nagging ache from obscure leg and groin muscles. Because while this has been the adventure of a lifetime – marked by more careful pre-trip planning, more gear research, more physical training than I’ve done for any trip – there’s no sugar-coating the trek on a purely physical level. Seven-hundred-and-fifty clicks and I only have two feet. Each of them is going to hit the deck – pavement, dirt, goat track or rocky escarpment – some 10,000 to 15,000 times a day. And while minor individually, these steps add up. I’ve been introduced to muscles and tendons; bits of cartilage and connective tissue that I had no idea were even resident in my body. I know them now, intimately.

Having said that, make no mistake, I see people in their 50s and 60s breezing up the trail at high speed, their walking sticks clattering on the stones, their ornamental scallop shells – a common sight on Galician beaches and a symbol for the trail – jangling on their packs, signaling that they’re not only doing just fine, they’re doing fine their second or third time. But for me, reasonably fit mid-40s, known to jog but also to enjoy the comfort of a pub stool from time to time, I’m feeling myself deep into this thing. Endlessly deep. The rain is falling. And our objective is still two hundred kilometres away.

I didn’t get soaked that day. That’s the flip side of my insight, right there. Meeting and beating our existential fatigue is one of the distinguishing features of the trail experience. Not only must we carry on if we want to reach the end. We do carry on. We find our way. And over the days and weeks, this becomes a source of a deep satisfaction. There are many diversions: mountaintops and gentle green pastures, villages whose sun-dappled restaurant patios we never want to leave. But we do leave. We look at each other, sipping our cold drinks and waiting for our legs to restore. Then we grin, hoist our packs and wheel back into the narrow lane behind the cow pasture under the dome of Spanish blue sky. We get back to it.

Every day, David and I meet people in exactly this fashion. We observe each other getting back to it, carrying on. And we talk in a French/Spanish/English/German trail-patois about the phenomenon that brings us all here, from Vancouver, Aberdeen, Majorca, Birmingham or Berlin. Because even without the aches and pains, the Way of St. James is anachronistic. We’re normally so complexly scheduled, our iPhones and Blackberries buzzing with incoming reminders that a meeting is coming up, a sales report is due, a parking meter is about to expire. The Way of St. James might be on another planet compared to those things.

Here, rhythms are smooth and elemental. We go to sleep exhausted, but rise with the sun, dying to get back out there. We crave fuel, so we eat a massive breakfast at an early-opening café: cups of liberally sugared café con leche and wedges of egg-and-potato tortilla taken from plates on the bar. Then, off we go, with just a single item on the day’s agenda: get to wherever we’re going next. Sometimes I hold a mental picture of this place in my mind for inspiration, for motivation. The good hotel in Grandas de Salime, where I plan to have a very long shower. The restaurant in Fonsagrada where pilgrims gather for a glass of the famous local cider. Lugo by nightfall for the tapas dinner of my dreams: blood sausage and octopus, chorizo and stuffed artichokes, cod on toast with pepper relish.

I make a promise a day to myself, but always a simple one. You’ll get there, I say. You’ll walk there. And so, the body fuelled and occupied, the mind settles into the hammock of simple expectations. Step and repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Onward up the farm fragrant lanes past the boy herding cows with a stick, past the dog sleeping in the sun, past the rough shouldered hill to the cool, clear air of the ridgeline beyond. Blue skies and bird cries. Long stands of Galician red pine. Bells from sheep and church steeples in the valley. The endless crunch of pilgrim feet, my own and my companion’s. Together we make a single sound.

Once, back in Asturias, lost down a long, descending forest trail, David and I met a woman from the Irish West Country who showed us the right path and walked with us awhile. What do you like about this trek? The question went back and forth. She told us she liked the pulse of many bodies moving daily down the same trail, towards the same objective. Her scallop shell shifted on her pack as she spoke, and her walking stick clacked on the stones.

It was like a river, she said. That movement of people. Only we weren’t merely adrift in it, we made the river ourselves. All of us an ancient river, flowing towards Santiago. And for all the physical effort, it felt good to be in that flow.

Some 250,000 trekkers are expected to make that river flow in 2010. The number of pilgrims has grown sharply in recent years, ever since a British TV series (The Naked Pilgrim, 2003) was set on the trail. Most people walk the “French Way,” from St. Jean Pied de Port on the French side of the Pyrenees, in a gentle arc westward through the hot Spanish midland plateau to Santiago de Compostela. A smaller number – few enough that David and I see only a dozen other hikers a day – will walk the route we have taken: the “Northern Way” through Basque Country and west along the Atlantic coast, then inland over the mountains using the original route for pilgrims documented in Fonsagrada as early as the 12th century.

We chose the northern route having heard that the food was superb all through the Basque Country, Cantabria and Asturias. The greenery and the slightly cooler summer temperatures proved a further advantage. But one way or the other, all of us who make this pilgrimage for our various reasons – secular and religious – converge on a single point: the place where the remains of St. James were allegedly found in the ninth century.

St. James was beheaded by Herod Agrippa I in 44 AD, having returned to Judea after preaching in Iberia. Denied a burial site, legend has it that James’s disciples took his body back to where he’d preached (still other tales have the body miraculously arriving on a crewless boat). Following further miracles, involving the taming of wild oxen and the conversion of Queen Lupa of Galicia, he was finally buried in Libredon, in what is now Santiago de Compostela.

Entering Galicia, I feel the nearness of that city and its legendary crypt like a magnetic force just over the horizon. And the currents of that ancient river grow to their strongest. Out of Fonsagrada in the early morning, our shadows growing long and sharp in front of us as the sun burns away the mist, we hike through low pink flowers, past a stone chapel, up the flanks of the Serra do Hospital, where the ruins of an old pilgrim’s hospice can still be found. Hospital de Montouto was built in the 14th century by the oddly named King Peter the Cruel.

From the summit, we descend down a grassy lane through ferns and pines and find ourselves at the Casa Meson, a hostel opening onto the trail. And we sit here in weary silence, another hill behind us and a smaller number of hills ahead. It’s only mid-morning so we order coffee and omelettes, which are served with crusty bread and fresh tomatoes. We sit and smile into the sun as a large group of Spanish pilgrims arrive. We greet them (Hola. Buenos días.) adding, as always, Buen camino, the blessing for a good walk. As we leave, the group has just begun to sing inside, mid-morning wine glasses raised. Red chickens eat breadcrumbs under the outdoor tables.

Everybody walks together, but everybody walks in his or her own way. People greet David and I warmly, or pass without a glance. They hike in groups or solo. They walk slowly, or sometimes with astonishing speed.

Everybody also maintains a small tie to the outside world. David’s is to catch up on BoSox news from hotel Internet kiosks. As for me, coming down the long, wet hillside off Buscol Mountain at the end of our longest day to a dam we have to cross to reach Grandas de Salime, I hold my iPhone in front of me to hear Oscar Peterson’s “Satin Doll.” It gives me strength.

The journey gives meaning to life. That’s the long-walk allegory in a nutshell. And it’s true across cultures, times and belief systems. “The path to God” is a dictum of Western culture. But Lao Tze also thought Tao was a path. Buddha and the Sufis, likewise, have a version of the sacred road. Even in secular terms, how often do we hear that the journey is the destination? Live life; enjoy life in its flow.

As for me, I thought I was doing this hike for fitness. But by Galicia on day 19, I’ve lost that narrow sense of it. The distilled wisdom of the trail has worked into my bones over the kilometres, the days, the weeks. It’s come up through my soles and ended up in my soul.
But there’s no denying the physical endpoint, either. Especially in Galicia, the idea of the destination has a gravity all its own. In the clouded hills ahead, I find myself looking for the spires of Santiago days before they can reasonably be seen. The weather worsens. Hamstrings reach crisis points of tension and stretch. On the final walking morning, we take cover under the awning of the only café open at that early hour and snap pictures of ourselves and other pilgrims, all clustered in ponchos (and garbage bags).

When the rain subsides, we march the last leg into Santiago. By the town of Arzúa, less than 30 km away, we’ve joined the full flow. All the trails have converged. Now we walk in our hundreds through the green, folded valleys, into the outskirts of the legendary city. Past the old lepers’ hospital and the Chapel of San Lazaro. Down past the beautiful historic cloister of San Pedro de la Rúa, and finally to the Porta do Camino, which, for pilgrims, marks the entry point into the old town centre. And as we rise up the shining flagstones towards the fabled Plaza del Obradoiro and see the gothic face of the cathedral that dominates there, we hear the joyous singing of pilgrims at the end of their journey – kids in ponchos, groups of seniors. We don’t join them. But I know the feeling. It’s a feeling I might never have known if I hadn’t walked 750 km across an unfamiliar country with an old friend. ˛

Suddenly, I feel lost again. Just briefly, stranded in the moment. Suspended between a beginning that was impossibly long ago and an ending that does not quite seem to have arrived. But it’s not a challenging feeling this time. It’s a thrill. And I want to take it with me. I want it to last forever.

The last night in Santiago is also my birthday, so we eat a very fine meal: steak frites followed by Galician cake and coffee laced with brandy. Then we walk out into the teeming streets. Everywhere, there are pilgrims sitting in cafés, smiling and laughing. It’s over. But the journey will stay with us, woven into our memories.

I buy a scallop shell charm for my wife and a St. James Cross keychain for my son. Then it’s back to the hotel. And sleep, sleep, sleep.

Camino 101
If you’re planning to do this trek for any longer than a few days, extensive research (online or from a book) is mandatory. But here are some of the key points that I learned, either in advance or on the fly.
• Accommodations: Your budget will guide you, but consider the pensions over the official hostels (called refugios). Pensions are plentiful, often require no reservation and cost approximately 20 euros a night per person for a double room. Refugios cost under 15 euros; however the facilities are usually shared.
• Food: The northern and original routes are home to some of the finest fare in Spain: Basque tapas, Asturian fabadas, Oviedo cider, Galician seafood. One hint though: eat well in the cities because restaurant hours and availability in smaller towns are unpredictable.
• Shoes and Socks: This item deserves its own category. Consider a light walking shoe that doesn’t cover the ankle (you’ll need the flexibility). I used a pair of Salomon XA Comps in Gortex with Icebreaker socks and didn’t get a single blister.
• Gear: You won’t be camping so leave your sleeping bag and Thermarest at home. Instead, pack blister pads (just in case), Band-Aids, earplugs, a rain cover for your pack and a sun hat. A toque and warm gloves are also handy since, even in the summer, the mornings are cold. Buen camino!

Jaunt: Calgary to Coleman via Hwys 22 and 3, return
Distance: Approx. 400 km Fuel:  1 1/2 to 2 tanks
Duration: 2 days Prime Time: Late spring through fall
Tunes: “Four Strong Winds,” the original Ian and Sylvia version from 1964, now available on CD, and Wood River, by Connie Kaldor, which includes “Hymn for Pincher Creek”

The Crowsnest Pass covers a distance of only 30-odd kilometres, end to end, but historically it packs a mighty wallop. 

This road has stories to tell: As the first Canadian passage through the Rockies, and only a few kilometres from the Montana border, the Pass served as an important trade route for goods both legal and illicit.

During Alberta’s prohibition era between 1916 and 1924, bootleggers such as Sicilian- born Emilio “Emperor Pic” Picariello found thirsty customers among the area’s coal miners. But Pic’s dynasty came to a dramatic conclusion in 1922 when he and Florence Lassandro, the 22-year-old wife of a business associate, shot and killed a police constable. Lassandro remains the first and only woman ever to be executed in Alberta, and her tragic tale became the subject of the 2003 opera Filumena.

Today, the only facet of the Pass more pervasive than its rum-running legacy – commemorated in everything from local watering holes to a four-day summer festival – is the wind. It starts gently, heading east from the Pacific and cooling as it crests the western slopes of the Rockies before funnelling through the mountain pass, where it warms and builds velocity as it goes.

Be prepared for its gusts as you drive. With recorded speeds as high as 150 km/h, this airstream powers turbines on local wind farms but has also uprooted trees, flipped vehicles and, in 2002, even derailed a freight train.  To get to the Crowsnest Pass, leave Calgary by Hwy. 7 and head west for 26 km. Turn left at Government Road, which shortly becomes Hwy. 22. This rural thoroughfare will carry you through a number of charming foothill towns where the culinary offerings, in particular, should not be ignored.

At the intersection of Hwy. 7 and Government Road is Black Diamond, a community that was almost destroyed by fire in 1949 and rebuilt using abandoned buildings from other nearby settlements. These structures still comprise a large part of Centre Avenue. And conjuring that rustic feel at number 119 is the Black Diamond Bakery and Coffee Shop, where proprietor George Nielsen serves up an award-wining chili along with his specialty – Trail of the Cowboy sourdough bread (403-933-4503). Also stop at Marv’s Classic Soda Shop, a ’50s-inspired rock ’n’ roll diner where visitors are treated to such unusual delicacies as carbonated “Marvello” ice cream and peanut-butter burgers (marvsclassics.ca).

From Black Diamond, continue south to Longview (home turf of country singer Ian Tyson) for a stop at Marv’s Classic Soda Shop, a ’50s-inspired rock ’n’ roll diner where visitors are treated to such unusual delicacies as carbonated “Marvello” ice cream and peanut-butter burgers (marvsclassics.ca). From Black Diamond, continue south to Longview. Beef lovers will also want to pull over at the Longview Jerky Shop. This institution’s dry, smoked Alberta beef comes in flavours ranging from good-ol’-fashioned BBQ to exotic mandarin-ginger (longviewjerkyshop.com).

From Longview south, the terrain gives way to sprawling cattle ranches grazed by herds of black and red Angus. The most storied of these properties is the Bar U, just 13 km outside Longview. Established in 1881, this formerly massive corporate ranch once enveloped seven townships. Its renown as a cattlemen’s training ground and centre of breeding excellence made it a key stopping place for visiting VIPs such as Harry Longabaugh (the Sundance Kid) and Edward VIII (Prince of Wales). In 1991, Parks Canada bought the original headquarters and a 150-hectare portion of the ranch to commemorate its historical significance.

Stop in first at the visitors’ centre to watch the Bar U’s story on video. Then, explore the grounds by wagon to pick up further details from wandering interpretive guides.

After the tour, take Hwy. 22 to Hwy. 3, turning left toward Lundbreck Falls where the Crowsnest River plunges 12 metres.

This scenic water feature gives way to one of North America’s premier trout-
fishing streams.

From the falls, the road loops back to Hwy. 3. Turn left, heading west, and you’ll soon encounter the iconic Burmis tree with its bare and twisted branches silhouetted against the sky. This spooky-looking limber pine, dead but believed to be some 300 years old, fell over in 1998. Not wanting to see it removed, locals propped it back up with steel support rods.

Hwy. 3, also known as the Crowsnest Highway, covers a distance of 1,200 km between Hope, B.C. and Medicine Hat, Alberta. It also cuts through three limestone mountain ranges – the Livingstone, the Flathead and the High Rock. Though this terrain is cherished by hikers and climbers for its dramatic vistas, the porous nature of the rock makes it notoriously unstable.

Even so, coal was king here at the turn of the 20th century, and mining companies forged ahead, erecting the five towns that make up the Municipality of the Crowsnest Pass. Bellevue, Hillcrest, Frank, Blairmore and Coleman all came into being between 1898 and 1905. And though the towns’ underground facilities closed long ago, many of the district’s 6,000 residents still work in modern open-pit mines across the B.C. border. 

The journey along Hwy. 3 reveals this rich industrial history in a series of well-maintained attractions such as Leitch Collieries, the ruins of the only wholly Canadian-owned coal mine in the Pass, located just outside Hillcrest. Although the operation closed in 1915, the sandstone shell of its once-handsome gabled-roof powerhouse still stands. Guided tours are available through the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre (frankslide.com).

Back on Hwy. 3, carry on west to Bellevue. Turn right on Main Street and follow signs to the Bellevue Underground Mine, operated by West Canadian Collieries from 1903 until its closure in 1962. A chill greets visitors at the entrance to its tunnels where the inside temperature hovers around 5°C. Donning a miner’s hard hat with headlamp, guests can explore 300 metres into the eerie darkness. Tours run every half-hour (403-564-4700; crowsnestguide.com/bellevuemine).

From the Bellevue mine, head west and stop at the Old Dairy Ice Cream Shop, just down the street. This former milk-and-cheese plant now serves a variety of tempting sweets, among them a delectable English-toffee soft ice cream.

After treats, take 213th Street south, crossing Hwy. 3. At the Hillcrest Cemetery and Memorial, a granite pillar commemorates the tragedy of June 19, 1914, when a massive explosion tore through the tunnels of the Hillcrest Mine, killing 189 men in Canada’s worst-ever mining disaster. Here, the dead were grouped according to cultural and religious differences in mass graves. The surrounding memorial stones mark other underground mine explosions, including the West Canadian in Bellevue and the McGillivray in Coleman.

Following this solemn day’s end, head back to Hwy. 3 and continue west to Coleman for the night.

Good eats: Popeil’s, on the north side of Hwy. 3 in Coleman, noted for its souvlaki (403-563-5555). For a hearty breakfast with the locals, try Chris’ Restaurant, 7802-17th Ave., for pancakes (403-563-3093).

Good sleeps: Country Encounters B&B, . Ask for the turret room, decorated in 1920s style (403-563-5299). Or try A Safe Haven B&B, for a room with a mountain view (403-563-5053).

Local colour: The RumRunner, 7902-20th Ave. (on Hwy. 3), for an after-dinner drink at the gorgeous oak bar, which was once part of the Broadway set of Show Boat. (403-562-7552)

In the morning, walk off your breakfast with a stroll through historic Coleman (you’re in it), which dates back to 1903. Flumerfelt Park, in the middle of town, opens onto The Miner’s Path, a 100-year-old trail along Nez Perce Creek to the McGillivray Mine.

Next, stop in at the Crowsnest Museum, 7701-18th Ave., south of Hwy. 3. Ten separate galleries situated in an old elementary school showcase original artifacts and two evocative photo collections depicting life in the early days of the mining communities.

From Hwy. 3, head east toward Blairmore, home to the annual Rum Runner Days in mid-July. The festival includes a parade and fair, as well as the highlight – Thunder in the Valley. This fabulous fireworks display is best viewed from downtown Blairmore. The show, now in its 17th year, takes place Saturday, July 17 (rumrunnerdays.com).

From Hwy. 3, turn left onto 153rd Street and continue 1.5 km to the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre, driving through the sombre rubble that marks the original Frank townsite. In April 1903, with nothing more than a faint rumble of warning, the east face of Turtle Mountain suddenly gave way. Within 90 seconds, more than 70 men, women and children were buried beneath an 82-million-tonne river of limestone.

Allow time to leisurely explore the centre’s interactive displays, being sure to catch one or both of the film presentations that so vividly portray that terrible night (frankslide.com). When it’s time to head home, take Hwy. 3 east to the intersection of Hwy. 22 and set a course north for Calgary. 

At Big Rock Brewery, spent grain is used as cattle feed.  Pictured here is brewmaster Paul Gautreau

Alberta may not always get an A-grade when it comes to the environment, but in some areas the province’s enterprises are on the leading edge. In industries from agriculture to forestry to beer, Alberta businesses are taking their own initiative to become closed-loop producers – that is, figuring out where waste happens and finding new uses for it.

Even the kind of waste that gets stuck on your boots: yep, we’re talking about grade-A Alberta cow poop. Powered by nearly 100-per-cent renewable energy made from feedlot cattle manure, Growing Power Hairy Hill (GPHH) will be Canada’s first integrated bio-refinery when it goes on line next year. Located 120 kilometres northeast of Edmonton, the $100-million-plus facility will produce electricity, fuel ethanol, fertilizer and even reusable water – all from one base ingredient: waste.

“Alberta has more than 70 per cent of Canada’s cattle feedlot capacity, and so the biomass is right here,” explains Mike Kotelko, president of Highland Feeders Ltd.  and one of the partners in the venture.

That’s one big pile of manure, no matter which way you shovel it. One cow produces six times the waste of one human (1,200 kilograms per animal per year), and there are 5.7 million cattle in confined feeding operations in the province. Up until recently, 95 per cent of all that manure ended up being applied to agricultural land as fertilizer, but dealing with the volumes has been challenging. Direct runoff can cause soil and water contamination, especially for those cattle farms next to watersheds. And peeee-yuwww: odour is a constant issue.

As operators of one of the largest cattle operations in the province, Mike and brother Bern Kotelko know these challenges well. They have partnered with a second brotherly duo, Evan and Shane Chrapko, who were part of the first generation of the tech boom. The Chrapkos sold their dot-com firm, DocSpace, for $568 million U.S. in 1999, just weeks before the bubble burst. Now they’re investing in new and promising technologies that will benefit Alberta, including the venture with the Kotelkos, under the name Highmark Renewables.

Their “waste equals opportunity” approach focuses on squeezing maximum benefit from the last and hardest of the so-called “Four Rs” – reduce, reuse, recycle and recover. The heart of the technology that converts poop to power at the Hairy Hill facility is a patented system called Growing Power Anaerobic Digestion System (GPADS). What goes in is high-solids, high-fibre organic wastes such as manure, food industry residues and municipal garbage. What comes out is biogas, a 100-per-cent renewable substitute for natural gas comprising methane and carbon dioxide.

The biogas is then used to generate electricity, steam and hot water to manufacture ethanol and a renewable bio-based fertilizer. At the end of the process, there is no waste. “It’s a great opportunity to close the loop by utilizing existing infrastructure and systems, and bridge to a new age of energy,” Mike Kotelko says.

None of it would have been possible without a further breakthrough technology called the Integrated Manure Utilization System, developed by Dr. Xiaomei Li, a Chinese scientist who made Alberta her home in the 1990s. Dr. Li’s process is so revolutionary it can separate solids and liquids sufficiently to make the water contained in manure reusable.

Funded by a mix of more than 100 direct and indirect private investors and government support, the GPHH plant will also produce 40 million litres of fuel ethanol a year from four million bushels of locally grown, mostly low-grade wheat. Ethanol has the advantage of being a renewable fuel and is mainly used as a biofuel additive for gasoline. Between 2000 and 2007, global production of ethanol fuel escalated from 17 billion to more than 52 billion litres, most of it from agriculture feedstocks such as corn and sugar cane.

“It has taken innovation, creative thinking and expertise to make this all possible,” Mike Kotelko says. “Alberta thinking at its best.”

Ten years ago, Fort McMurray-based Northland Forest Products started looking at the immense outflow of waste from their lumber processing operation as an opportunity lost. Today, the company is making money off their excess outputs – both from the woody biomass and the 30 million BTUs (British Thermal Units) of heat generated in processing at any one time.

That means exhaust from the plant is harnessed to heat its buildings and kilns; sawdust is sold to the oil patch for use in clean-up applications; shavings are sold to the agricultural sector for use in livestock bedding and wood waste from the mill (called hog fuel) is sold to the local municipality for use in sewage treatment.

“It’s an enormous shift,” observes Howard Ewashko, the company’s president. “The closer we can get to heat recovery and harnessing our waste stream, the more it helps the bottom line. We saw it as an opportunity to make a change, and when provincial funding became available, we decided to pursue it.”

With the help of a $2-million grant from the Alberta government, the company built an $8-million facility that uses an Austrian-devised thermo-chemical process that has the capability to generate both thermal and electrical power. “We have the ability to produce two megawatts of electricity at any given time should the market be there for it,” he says. That’s enough energy to power nearly 2,000 average Alberta households.

The funding was allocated through the Biorefining Commercialization and Market Development Program and the Bio-energy Infrastructure Development Program, part of the province’s plan to encourage the growth of a clean, renewable fuel industry in Alberta.

To see the potential benefits of waste-efficiency systems firsthand, Northland company representatives travelled to Europe and evaluated cutting-edge heat recovery technologies. “We made the trip before we built our heat plant and gasifier to look at what they were doing,” he says. “Europe has long contended with high fuel prices, and so the incentive to innovate to control costs is much stronger and has been around longer.”

Northland has also been in discussions with a Manitoba-based greenhouse company interested in harnessing the waste heat into a facility that would be built adjacent to the Fort McMurray plant. But the city’s tight labour pool has been a stumbling block, Ewashko says. Potential partners, such as the company from Manitoba, are worried about getting enough workers to staff their operations. “The fresh vegetables would have a ready market right here,” he says. “It’s a win-win situation, and we just need to find the right partner to make it happen.”

Recouping the investment for the facility will depend on the commodity markets and fuel prices. “What we get for our wood-waste stream fluctuates, but we could see the payback in as little as four years or as many as 12,” he says.

Alberta manufacturers are also increasingly focused on reducing waste and enhancing cost efficiency of their operations. Calgary’s Big Rock Brewery, for instance, buys its barley and wheat from Alberta farmers, then sells all of the spent grain from the brewing process back to Alberta farmers as cattle feed. It’s a way of closing the loop and making a lot of people happy all at the same time. 

In 2008, the brewery commissioned Conscious Brands to complete an environmental assessment of its operations. “One of the many recommendations from this assessment was that we implement a sustainability management team,” says Tara Nychkalo, the brewery’s communications manager. “This team has been created and tasked with reducing our environmental footprint through better energy management, smarter transportation and material consumption.”

By installing more efficient water management systems, the brewery has reduced wastewater volumes by 35 per cent, she says. Big Rock now captures, filters and reuses residual grey water for cooling and chilling, rinsing and maintenance around the brewery.

Prosit! That’s something to toast, and reason to celebrate both the environment and the bottom line.

Waste by the Numbers
• Province-wide, 40 per cent of all waste comes from industrial, commercial and institutional sectors; 33 per cent comes from residences; and 27 per cent is generated by construction and demolition.
• Alberta’s rate of municipal solid waste disposal averages about 900 kg per capita, the highest in Canada. Nova Scotia is lowest, at around 400 kg per capita.
• At least 80 per cent of material currently sent to municipal landfills can be recovered.
• About 40 per cent of municipal solid waste is organic material such as leaf and yard waste, vegetable processing wastes and table scraps.
• Cattle produce large amounts of manure, with bulls producing 42 kg/day, beef cows 37 kg/day, steers 26 kg/day, heifers 24 kg/day and calves 12 kg/day. Milk cows produce the most at 62 kg per day, about 10 per cent of their bodyweight.

Sources: Alberta Environment, Statistics Canada

With headlines trumpeting London’s demise as the world’s leading financial centre, one could be fooled into believing that the party is truly over. But for tourists to this normally cost-prohibitive city, there has never been a better time to visit.

Londoners love going out and, when it comes to tightening their belts, most would sacrifice their flash flats and second vehicles before cutting expenditures at trendy restaurants. More dining establishments opened in 2009 than 2007 and London is catching up to Paris in its number of Michelin-starred restaurants. This point of pride is topped only by France’s most celebrated chef, Alain Ducasse, calling London the culinary capital of the world (his eponymous eatery at The Dorchester adds three stars to the count).

For much the same reason, theatre critics are proclaiming 2010 the West End stage district’s golden year. The ironic star of the season is ENRON, a sassy take on the biggest corporate scandal in modern history, playing at the Noel Coward Theatre. And Phantom fans won’t want to miss the sequel, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Love Never Dies, at the Adelphi.

Sports, too, will take centre stage over the next few years, a result of London’s winning bids to host the 2010 and 2011 ATP tennis finals as well as the 2012 Summer Olympics. What’s more, the city’s soccer clubs are thri-ving, notably Chelsea, whose Russian owner pumped over a billion dollars into the franchise, further igniting the epic rivalry with North London’s Arsenal. The downturn means tickets – though not necessarily cheaper – are at least easier to come by.

City Hall knows the importance of tourist spending to the capital’s recovery and has reacted by creating pedestrian-only zones in prime tourist locations to support a growing sidewalk-café culture. The weaker currency also means that London’s array of upscale shops is no longer reserved for the oligarchs. 

So while no one can say for sure what London’s long-term future holds, one thing is certain: now is the time to enjoy last decade’s decadence at this decade’s prices. 

Insiders Guide

The Go Spots
• The Saatchi Gallery, known for its cutting-edge contemporary exhibits, has relocated to more spacious quarters off King’s Road.
• A Thames Clipper from Westminster Pier to Greenwich is a fabulous way to see the city from a different perspective. The 40-minute boat trip disembarks at the Royal Observatory, the starting point of world time.
• Through the summer months, the open-air Opera Holland Park stages world-class productions several times a week, its backdrop the ruins of a bombed-out manor house.

Best Crash Zones
• Located in trendy NoHo, the Charlotte Street Hotel offers comfortable rooms, friendly service and a cool vibe. Its buzzing bar is a hangout for local media types.
• The recently opened Sanctum Soho is a boutique bolt-hole, just a stone’s throw from the bright lights of the trendy entertainment district and within close proximity of the more sophisticated Mayfair area.

Trendy Vittles
• Author Ian Fleming was a regular at the Duke’s Hotel Bar and it’s believed that Bond’s preference for “shaken, not stirred” derives from this establishment’s flamboyant Martini ritual. 
• Sweetings, once attached to the old Billingsgate fish market, serves an array of fresh seafood, along with traditional dishes such as eel pie and spotted dick. The Black Velvet house cocktail (champagne and Guinness) is surprisingly refreshing. Open Monday to Friday for lunch. 020-7248-3062
• Rules opened the same year Napoleon invaded Egypt, making it all the more incredible that this West End institution still serves up some of the city’s finest British fare. 

Several years ago, my wife and two kids gave me a tent for Father’s Day, kicking off an annual pilgrimage to the Alberta Rockies. Since then, I’ve also become what you might call a purist. So when my friends who own RVs say, “I’m going camping this weekend,” I know what they really mean. Anything with a motor and a TV antenna is a portable motel. For us purists, camping is done in a tent. But with today’s technological leaps, even old-school tent camping has been given an upgrade.

Pick a tent
Tents are rated by the number of adult sleeping bags that fit inside, not including gear. Divide that number by two for a comfortable size.

Standard tents come in three formats: A-frame, dome and walled. Of the three, I prefer a dome, which enables campers to stand up and stretch. More advanced versions, however, are in a category unto themselves. I like the range of hybrid tents, which make it easy to pack light. Particularly nifty is the one-person Cocoon, a dew-drop shaped cross between a tent and a sleeping bag. Simply hang it from a high tree branch and snuggle up inside. Another cool advancement is the Respite, a hammock/tent combo that’s especially popular among stargazers and claustrophobics. (Tug the zippers to turn the tent into an open-air cot.)

Solar-powered tents are both eco- and family friendly. They can hold up to six campers and feature interior LED lights and solar panels, which can also charge electronics.

Set up camp
AMA members can pick up the AAA/CAA CampBook at any centre. It lists hundreds of sites for Western Canada and Alaska. Just be sure to reserve your location at least a month in advance, especially before a long weekend.

My kids insist on a “civilized” campsite not far from “real” toilets and hot-water faucets. Luckily, that no longer bars us completely from outhouse-scattered, shower-free provincial sites. Pocket showers are lifesavers for the germ-phobics in your party. Fill the compact bag with up to 10 litres of water, hang it from a tree branch and turn on the tap. Bonus: the bags are powered by solar heat, so you can enjoy a warm (if quick) wash.

There are endless variations on the portable-toilet model, as well. Most consist of an inner pail that lifts out for easy disposal and cleaning. Many have lids that store toilet paper, waste bags and hand sanitizers, while others fold up for compact storage.

At the campsite, choose a flat location at least three and a half metres from the firepit, and clear it of rocks and branches before pitching tent. You can roll out traditional sleeping bags, or modern Selk’Bags (which look like padded snowsuits and can withstand frigid temperatures).

Position the picnic table about a metre from the firepit, then hang a large tarpaulin to protect against rain and dew. Most of today’s varieties are ultralight and fold into water-bottle-sized containers. Many also come with screens that keep bugs at bay.

Eat well
For three nights of camping, I take one insulated picnic cooler, kept cold with ice packs and frozen apple juice. (The juice goes hiking with us on day two, once it has turned to slush.) Our first night’s menu usually includes traditional camping favourites: roasted wieners and S’mores. We’re also partial to our pie iron, which resembles a panini-maker with long arms for fireside roasting and makes
great “pizza” (tomato sauce and pizza fillings between two slices of bread).

Though freeze-dried and sous-vide meals may be a camper’s best friend, this camper’s family balks at the mere suggestion. But gone are the days of cardboard-flavoured camping fare. The newest instant meals incorporate gourmet and ethnic-inspired dishes, organic salads, soups and entrees.

Live with dirt
Deal with the “dirty” aspect of camping by remembering that everything can be cleaned post-trip. For now, bring hand sanitizer and kick up some dirt – camping is supposed to be messy. Happy trails!

With interest rates finally starting to level out after the recession, many homeowners are looking to renegotiate their mortages. Faced with an array of options and often confusing terminology (just what is the difference between fixed-rate and adjustable?), it can be difficult to make a sound decision. Melinda Mantello, manager, AMA mortgage solutions, is here to answer your questions. She has 26 years’ experience in the mortgage industry – as well as plenty of tips to make mortgage renegotiation manageable.

My husband and I are buying our first home. Half our friends recommend a fixed-rate mortgage, while the other half say adjustable. What do we do?
MM: First, take a look at your finances. You need to determine what your budget is as well as your tolerance level for risk. Next, consider the differences between a fixed-rate and adjustable-rate mortgage. According to a November 2009 report from the Canadian Association of Accredited Mortgage Professionals, 68 per cent of Canadians have fixed-rate mortgages. With a fixed rate you know exactly what your interest rate and payments are going to be for the term you signed up for. Fixed-rate mortgages therefore offer peace of mind in knowing that each payment will be the same throughout the term.

Adjustable-rate mortgages, on the other hand, have an adjustable interest rate that is tied to the Bank of Canada’s prime rate, which can fluctuate depending on economic conditions. Right now the rate is low, so adjustable-rate mortgages may be less than prime.

So, go with the adjustable and save money, right? Not necessarily. With an adjustable-rate mortgage you will save money, but only if interest rates remain low – and there’s no certainty they will. In December 2009, the Bank of Canada reiterated its commitment to keep its “overnight” rate at 0.25 per cent, until at least the second quarter of 2010 (and that rate is often used as an indicator of which way the interest rates may be trending).

However, if inflation were to take off, that rate – and consequently the prime rate and the interest rate attached to your adjustable-rate mortgage – would go up with it. The bottom line: If you’re the kind of person who can live with a little uncertainty, and you have some degree of flexibility in your budget, then by all means go with the adjustable – just keep an eye on the bank’s prime rate. If, however, you have a low tolerance for risk and not much flexibility, get a fixed rate – then console yourself with the knowledge that because interest rates are low across the board right now, the spread between adjustable and fixed-rate is pretty narrow.

I understand I can opt for an amortization period of 35 years. That means lower payments?
MM: It depends. If making lower monthly payments lets you both buy a home and save money for retirement, then go for the longer amortization. However, you might want to do a little number crunching first. As an example, monthly payments on a $300,000 mortgage, amortized over 25 years at five per cent interest, will result in total interest charges of $223,000. Amortize that same amount over 30 years and interest charges go up to $276,000 (based on regular payments paid throughout the term). There are ways of repaying your mortgage faster – talk to your lender about pre-payment options.

What’s the difference between an open and closed mortgage?
MM: Open mortgages typically have terms ranging from six months to one year. The advantage is that yo

I’m trying to imagine Shanghai under a clear blue sky. Above me, painted on the concrete ceiling of a bomb-shelter turned-shopping-mall, fluffy white cumulus clouds fleck a deep azure sky. I had set out earlier from my hotel, seeking a little exercise to ward off jetlag, when the scent of steaming dim sum lured me underground. Not only is this fake sky a welcome contrast to the permanent haze outside, it also offers a glimpse of this city’s sunny future.

From May through October, Shanghai will host Expo 2010, a world’s fair showcasing more than 200 nations in as many pavilions. The highly anticipated event will serve as a kind of coming-out ball for China’s biggest city. In preparation, the municipality is cleaning house – shuttering factories, halting construction and restricting traffic – in an attempt to clear the notoriously smoggy air and project a squeaky-clean image for the anticipated 70 million visitors. (In fact, the cleanup effort has been underway since before the 2008 Beijing Olympics, when Shanghai Stadium served as the official soccer venue.)

In a way this mall, located under the People’s Square at the geographic centre of the city, neatly encapsulates the past century of Chinese psychology. In the heady days of the 1920s Jazz Era, the square was a racecourse surrounded by colonial mansions. In 1949, when the Communists took control and frivolities such as gambling were banned, foreigners fled and the site became a propagandist parade ground. Later, Cold War paranoia prompted construction of a warren of bomb shelters beneath the square to accommodate a million people.

Today, as I wander the surreal labyrinth of retailers selling knockoff watches and lurid comic-book costumes, it’s clear China is in the midst of a shopping spree.

Back above ground, in the neon chaos, I meet with architect Spencer Dodington. A Shanghai resident for 14 years, he has kindly offered to distill his experience into a few jam-packed days. “Shanghai was a cow town,” Dodington explains in his charming Texan drawl. “In 1845 the population was only 25,000 people. It was the end of the Silk Road and there were literally camels in the streets.”

It’s precisely this provincial image that organizers are aiming to dispel with Expo, for which the theme is “Better City Better Life.” Home to 20 million people, today’s Shanghai shimmers with the trappings of the nouveau riche: chic restaurants, bars and brands convey that the Shanghainese are worldly and urbane – qualities the city wants to emphasize with its heavily orchestrated spring cleaning.

This desire to keep up appearances (versus losing face) is a deep-rooted particularity of Eastern custom. So too, I soon learn, is feng shui, the practice of manipulating physical space to harness good luck.

“The Chinese believe your fate is largely predetermined by your birth and your place in society and family,” says Dodington. “You can only tweak it by orienting your environment.” Feng shui is taken so seriously it’s even written into the building code. In the Urban Planning Museum, Dodington and I stand before a vast scale model of Shanghai and witness the evidence. Since bad luck (not to mention arctic winds and marauding Mongols) arrives from the north, the main entrance of every building in the city faces south. This practice doubtlessly surprised many of the international architects of Expo. How the British pavilion (which resembles a giant fibre-optic dandelion), the United Arab Emirates pavilion (designed in the form of a sand dune) or the Swiss pavilion (with its living alpine meadow) adhere to feng shui remains to be seen.

Back out among the blare of horns on Tibet Road, Dodington and I head for the sanctuary of the French Concession. In the 1860s, after China lost the second Opium War, it gave each of the victorious French, British and Americans a slice of land along the Huangpu River on which to settle. The gesture was intended as a slight, given that flooding turned the terrain into a swamp for much of the year. But the tables were turned when an army of Britain’s civil engineers created a barrier to keep the water out. The levee held and, to China’s dismay, foreigners, instead of water, flooded Shanghai.

Next, we make our way through avenues lined with plane trees and thick with swerving bicycles, stopping occasionally to take in strange and wonderful streetscapes of Art Deco masterpieces and stately apartments. When we reach Huangpu River, we find the original embankment still there. The Bund – Shanghai’s legendary waterfront road that calls to mind the Champs Élysées or Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue – is the Urdu word for levee, said to have been bestowed on the boulevard thanks to the influence of the Iraqi-Jewish Sassoon family, who were prominent in Shanghai during the late 1800s.

The Bund may not take up much space (in fact, there are just 52 buildings along its length), but it is here that one of the most remarkable Expo makeovers is taking place. “Even 10 years ago, the Bund was derelict,” shouts Dodington above the hubbub of traffic. “This building was a recreation hall full of ping-pong tables.” Now the space he’s referring to, known as Three on The Bund, is a multi-storey shopping, entertainment and gallery complex outfitted by design guru Michael Graves to house the likes of Jean Georges restaurants and Giorgio Armani boutiques. And soon, Dodington will no longer have to shout over the street noise. Four lanes are being rerouted underground, reducing traffic to a trickle and creating a waterfront promenade.

This prime piece of real estate was the Wall Street of Shanghai in its early 20th-century heyday, and many of the buildings still reflect this gilded financial past. The Shanghai Pudong Development Bank, a neoclassical icon, was the second largest bank on earth when it was built in 1923. Many others await their transformation into hotels: Fairmont, Waldorf Astoria and Peninsula are just a few of the brass-nameplate brands that will grace The Bund in May.

In the meantime, cement-spattered tricycles laden with building materials stand forlornly in porticos where limousines will soon idle. If the calibre of high-end hotels already springing up throughout the city is anything to go by, these future properties will usher in another round of economic halcyon days.

Photo credit: d’n’c, Flickr, Creative Commons

The Langham Yangtze Boutique, my plush home for the week, is an Art Deco jewel on Nanjing Road, a few blocks west of The Bund, built in 1934 as the Yangtze Hotel. It reopened in May 2009 after a vast renovation at the hands of German design firm Duncan & Miller & Ullman. Much like for Expo itself, no expense was spared. The centrepiece is a sweeping staircase leading to the mezzanine bar under a stained-glass roof. Design elements throughout the 96-room hotel reflect the various architectural styles that reigned in Shanghai during the height of European influence here. The in-room bathtubs are the size of plunge pools. In the Chuan spa, flaked ice falls from the ceiling to rest in a marble plinth for the sole purpose of providing cool rubdowns between steam treatments. T’ang Court, the hotel’s signature restaurant, has already been awarded two Michelin stars (no doubt thanks to its renowned hairycrab tasting menu, a seasonal delicacy that the Shanghainese are crazy about).

As the sun begins to set over the Huangpu River, Dodington and I cross The Bund to watch its amber light play on the Pudong skyline. “The river carries all the negative energy downstream and dumps it when it makes a sharp turn,” my companion explains in another reference to feng shui beliefs, making a sweeping gesture towards the water. He directs my gaze to the Oriental Pearl TV tower, which to my western eyes resembles a rocket ship out of The Jetsons, and explains that the structure is actually a giant talisman. “It symbolizes a dragon with a pearl in its mouth, making it impossible for the dragon to spew forth bad energy,” explains Dodington with a twinkle in his eye. “The superstition previously condemned this area. So now it’s problem-solved.” As if on cue, the tower erupts in a gaudy syncopated light show.

This is another face of the new Shanghai: loud, brash and glitzy. Fortunately, there’s still room for the unassuming Shanghai of old. Early in my stay at the Langham, I had met with Tony Wang, the hotel’s director of communications. He wore a monogrammed silk shirt and an exquisitely tailored suit in a delicately pinstriped cashmere charcoal. Versace? Helmut Lang? Prada? The answer was none of the above. I headed for the old Dongjiadu Road fabric market the next day with three things in my possession: the address of Wang’s personal tailor, a dog-eared copy of GQ and an invaluable bargaining tip.

“Always seek the oldest person in the store,” he whispered before I left. “They’ll either be the owner or a long-term employee. Either way, they’ll have more authority to reduce the price.” For what I’d normally pay for a jacket, I bought an entire suit and five silk shirts – all monogrammed, of course.

On my last day, I head to Zhujiajiao, a frozen-in-time village outside the city, to get an idea of just how far Shanghai has come. Somewhat fittingly, the freeway passes over the Expo site, where a thicket of building cranes marks the spot. The whole area was recently used for steel factories, shipbuilding and coal depots. With them gone, so too has the black heart of Shanghai’s heavy industry. The vast metropolis gives way to rice fields surprisingly quickly and, in just over an hour, I arrive at Zhujiajiao, one of a handful of traditional water towns that surround the city. Places like this survived largely unchanged through the colonial period by supplying goods to local Chinese that colonialists didn’t want, namely fish and rice. Formed 1,700 years ago, the small town has 36 stone bridges and a network of canals plied by the Chinese version of gondolas, whose owners paddle their boats with a single oar as though stirring a giant cauldron.

Away from the main street, where vendors sell jade bracelets and an assortment of tourist tack, the lanes yield an astounding array of traditional wares. Leaf-bound sticky rice, sugared pork hocks and candied lotus root spill from every storefront. In a pickle store brimming with all manner of vegetables in giant glass orbs, I submit to a sample: my tastebuds are flooded with the delicate floral sweetness of pickled . . . well, I’m not sure what exactly.

Further along a narrow lane, I stumble upon the oldest Qing dynasty post office, recognizable by the ornate dragon post box out front. I cross the Fangsheng bridge, fending off touts who sell goldfish for tourists to set free in the canal. Eventually I find myself in a Chinese chemist staring at a vast wall of drawers. On the counter, a calculator sits alongside an abacus. Once again, I’m reminded of how, in Shanghai, the ancient and the new eternally co-exist.

Even in this remote place, Expo’s reach is felt. In a darkened doorway somewhere between the chemist, Kezhi Gardens and Yunjin Monastery, I discover the event’s fibreglass mascot, Haibao. It resembles Gumby, only far better fed and painted a joyful, optimistic blue – the colour of a sky just emerging from the haze.

Talk about being blindsided.You pick up the phone and find yourself speaking to a collections agent. Why haven’t you been keeping up with your credit card payments, the agent wants to know, or how come you’re behind on your mortgage? And, while we’re at it, how’s that new car you drove off the lot six weeks ago and haven’t made a payment on?

Hah, you say. Wrong number, pal. Can’t be me. I’ve never missed a bill payment, I own my own home outright and I drive a 12-year-old Ford. You’re about to hang up when the agent starts rattling off personal information that sends a shiver down your spine. The deadbeat that the agent is pursuing has your name, your address, your driver’s licence number, your social insurance number and a whole lot else besides.

Slowly it starts to sink in. You have become a victim of identity theft. Someone has used your personal information to obtain credit and gone on a spending spree. Your problem – and make no mistake, you have a problem – will be to prove you are not the person responsible. Not so easy, according to researchers at McMaster University, who found that Canadian victims of identity fraud spent 20 million hours of their time and $150 million of their own money in 2008 proving they were not responsible for crimes perpetrated in their names.

According to PhoneBusters, a Canadian anti-fraud call centre, 11,370 victims of identity theft in Canada reported losses of nearly $9.6 million in 2008. If the numbers don’t seem to add up with those of the McMaster study, it’s because, according to MU professor Milena Head, identity theft is a “grossly underreported” crime.

The most common forms include unauthorized credit card purchases and new loans taken out in the victim’s name. Identity thieves generally acquire personal information by stealing mail, sifting through garbage or stealing from company databases.

The upside to these grim statistics, says Al Vonkeman, executive director of the Alberta Crime Prevention Association, is that Canadians are becoming more conscious of identity theft. “People are shredding a lot more and becoming more aware of how they give out personal information,” he says.

Unfortunately, the companies that hold our private details have been “perhaps a little slower on the uptake,” says Vonkeman. In other words, loan officers don’t have time to knock on doors to see if new homeowners are who they say they are. And credit card companies are reluctant to implement restrictive security measures that may prove a barrier to legitimate applicants. The odd $15,000 write-off isn’t big enough to faze a multi-billion-dollar institution, but the result is less protection for the consumer.

The good news is that the federal government is currently beefing up the laws regarding identity theft by making it a crime to possess another person’s identification without just cause. Still, Vonkeman insists that when it comes to safeguarding identity, “nobody out there is going to protect your information as well as you.”

Plug the social networking leak
Social networking sites are a goldmine for identity thieves looking for personal information, says Jean-François Legault, senior manager with Deloitte & Touche’s forensic and dispute services practice in Montreal. He explains that criminals posing as “friends” can obtain vital information, including birthdates, phone numbers and email addresses. What’s more, a qualitative personal detail like “mother’s maiden name” becomes readily available on Facebook where participating extended family may be clearly labelled as part of your clan.

Legault advises social networkers to seriously limit the amount of information they post because, in addition to being available to thieves directly, the sites’ data banks are vulnerable to hackers. Sgt. Sylvain Roussel of the RCMP’s Commercial Crime Unit in southern Alberta goes even further.

Learn it, live it
• Buy a shredder and use it to dispose of all personal and financial information.
• Carry only the credit cards and ID you need; leave SIN cards, birth certificates and passports at home.
• Use complicated passwords and change them annually.
• Check your credit score annually via consumer credit reporting agencies such as TransUnion or Equifax.

If it’s been awhile since you tested your knowledge of traffic signs, sit down and take this five-minute test.

1. What does the sign below indicate?

a.No dangerous goods allowed ahead
b.Obstruction ahead
c.No freight

2. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Construction work ahead
b.Dead-end
c.Bus lane only

3. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Chevron - sharp turn ahead
b.Fork in the road
c.Yield ahead

4. What does the sign below indicate?

a.One-way street
b.Passing not permitted
c.Bridge/Lane restriction

5. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Exit approaching
b.Merge
c.Free flow lane

6. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Information-Hospital
b.Crossroads
c.Four-way stop

7. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Hazard marker
b.School advance
c.Hazardous goods route

8. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Yield right of way
b.Road narrows
c.Divided highway

9. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Free-flow lane
b.Merge
c.Exit approaching

10. What does the sign below indicate?

a.Hazard marker
b.Restricted height
c.Signal ahead

Answers
1a, 2b, 3a, 4c, 5c, 6b, 7c, 8a, 9b, 10a

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.

Related articles

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.

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.