The idea was simple, if a little ambitious.  I’d been asked to write a guidebook in the age of Google, TripAdvisor and Expedia, which seemed like being asked to sell typewriters when everyone is buying computers.  I took the book deal and focused on storytelling in print, but recognized that information is the flip side of inspiration, and a companion website and blog would provide enormous value for readers.   For starters, they could easily access destination and tour operator links, original or curated video, galleries, reading guides, fantastic products, and tips that didn’t make the print chapter.   I could also interact with my audience, receiving suggestions and offering advice.   Outside the limitations of a long print cycle, I also could add new experiences to the blog, which in turn could feed future book editions.
 
Canadianbucketlist.com launched with the first edition of my book, The Great Canadian Bucket List, in 2013.  Thanks to a fantastic prize from VIA Rail and Fairmont Hotels, it quickly attracted thousands of subscribers.  My publisher was a little concerned the website would cannibalize book sales, but we quickly learned that essay-length stories and short snippets of online information didn’t conflict at all.  In fact, only 1 in 5 readers registered on the website, the rest arrived organically from people around Canada and the world searching for unique experiences in the country.  They'd learn about the book, and a positive feedback loop was the result.

Over the years, the smash bestselling Great Canadian Bucket List has been through a half dozen different editions. It's been updated, re-designed, focused on regions, and continues to sell well. Earlier this year Dundurn Press published the second edition of The Great Western Canada Bucket List, and next year will see the third edition of The Great Canadian Bucket List.   The website, meanwhile, went through a complete overhaul during the pandemic (I had to do something stuck at home).  Today it looks better and is easier to use, all the content is unlocked, and ads help me cover the costs.
 
Each month I continue to update the blog with new experiences, commentary, travel tips, gift guides, and news from my world.  I never understood the world of SEO, which left money on the table but kept my content authentic and real.  Hi, this is Robin.  Not an AI, not an algorithm, not a bot...just a guy with the good fortune to see and share the remarkable country I live in.

​This month, at a prestigious event in Istanbul, canadianbucketlist.com won the Lowell Thomas Gold Medal for Best Blog.  Awarded by the Society of American Travel Writers, the Lowell Thomas Awards are the Oscars of travel journalism in North America.   For 40 years, they has been awarded across multiple categories to the best writers, photographers, broadcasters and producers in the world of travel media.    To quote the SATW website:  “[The Lowell Thomas Award] is the premier competition in North America in the field of travel journalism. It has gained its stature for several reasons, most notably: it does not promote any particular destination or travel product; it does not have any membership requirements for journalists to enter; it is judged independently by the faculty at a top U.S. school of journalism.  This year, judging was overseen by the University of Missouri School of Journalism with Emeritus Prof. John Fennell and Prof. Jennifer Rowe coordinating 25 judges and 1,430 entries.

I had entered several writing awards, because I’m a writer and occasionally that’s what we do, especially when you work alone in a bubble with little validation.   I entered this blog as an afterthought, but sometimes, years of hard work can sneak up on you and pay off. 

I'm deeply humbled by the recognition, and congratulate all award winners and nominees.  I’d also like to give a shout-out to my hardworking, inspirational colleagues in travel media who somehow make it work in this bizarro industry we call home.   It's difficult to see on the outside, but we make many sacrifices - personal and financial - to have this dream job. And my gratitude to you, the nameless anonymous visitor, for clicking on a link, spending some time with me on this site, and reading this far.  Rest assured; my award speech would have been much more impressive in person.
 

​The Fire Doctor of Taipei has coated my back with a brown paste of herbs, covered me with a towel, and spritzed on some alcohol.    After lowering the lights, he tells me to be calm, and then lights up the blowtorch.     I hear a sound not unlike that of a gas burner being lit, and catch the reflection of flames off a nearby mirror.   It takes a few moments to register that the source of the fire is my back, followed by the sudden rush of intense heat.

​For over a dozen years, Master Hsieh Ching-long has been using open flame to rid the pain. Master Hsieh (pronounced Shay) created fire therapy a dozen years ago after medical training in Beijing, applying his knowledge of traditional medicine, martial arts, and pyromania to invent a powerful treatment for muscle aches and sports injuries. Photos on display in his small clinic depict the doctor with several dozen local celebrities, and he tells me that business is booming.  “Not anybody can heal with flame,” says the Fire Doctor.   It requires years of martial arts training, so that you can channel your inner energy and use your hands as iron.   I’m not sure what this means exactly, but it sounded comic-book cool, and when he demonstrated the above by ripping an apple in half with his thumbs, I knew I was in good hands.  

​Being set alight was my thrill of choice in Taiwan, the “other” China.  The island nation lives in a constant state of tension with its larger Chinese neighbour, with mainland invasion just a few missiles away.   Established in 1949 after the communist revolution,  Taiwan’s US-supported economy boomed, its democracy flourished, and today it is amongst the sharpest claws of the Asian Tiger economies. With political rhetoric heating up, many look to the success of Hong Kong as a potential future for the peaceful reintegration of Taiwan and China.  In the meantime, I had my own heat to deal with. 
 

​I was hoping Master Hsieh could use his able hands, scarred with burns over time, to untie the thick plane knots in my back.    My treatment would come in three stages.   Firstly, he would use heated glass cups to realign the energy.  Gwyneth Paltrow popularized this treatment a couple years back when she revealed the source of the circular purple welts on her back.  It was only during my second treatment, when the blowtorch was fired up, that my nerves began sweating.    The herb paste burns for a several seconds before the good doctor douses the flames with a towel, and massages the intense heat into my skin.   “Now for the dangerous part,” he says, in which open flame is applied directly to the skin.   Photos of other patients on the wall showed grilled skin, lines like steak on a barbecue. I sit upright, and feel the flame rolled down my back on cotton doused in alcohol.  It hurts.  A lot.  I smell the sickly-sweet scent of skin being scorched.    Finally, the doctor uses his vice-grip hands for a deep tissue massage, and signals the end of the treatment.   My back is bright red, but thankfully free of burn marks.   I step out into the heat of Taipei, my adrenaline ablaze; the stiff muscles from yesterday’s long-haul flight slashed, burned, and cast off into oblivion.

Burning Man is so famously impossible to describe, I’m not even going to try.   I won’t talk about flying into Vegas to rent an RV for a 10-hour drive to Black Rock City, even if there was an opportunity to play craps with a purple-haired transvestite, but that’s another story.   I definitely won’t talk about driving past the massive US military installations in Hawthorne, Nevada, since that, along with nearby Area 51, has severe access restrictions.  I could tell you how, upon arriving in Burning Man, us virgins were made to roll around in the white flour dust of the Playa, embracing the dirt that we’d mentally prepared ourselves to combat.    It took mere seconds for the dust to cling to our clothes, skin, and psyche.   Look, I’ve spent the last five years waiting to get to Burning Man, and was as nervous and apprehensive as anyone.    Nothing to buy?  No taps, showers, or garbage bins?   50,000 plus people* in a hostile environment, and somehow this is meant to be fun?  All these adventures over the years, and just when I think I’ve seen it all, something shows up to smash my head with an experiential baseball bat, letting my brain ooze into the mud.  Something like Burning Man.

For those unfamiliar:  It’s an art festival, showcasing thousands of sculptures and modified cars and creative structures.  It’s a music festival, with hundreds of makeshift venues for DJ’s and musicians.  It’s a costume festival, with everyone wearing something extraordinary, if they choose to wear something at all. It’s a conference for the mind, offering free lectures and educational seminars from thinkers across the creative-arts-and social science spectrum.  It’s a religious festival, steering clear of organized dogma into the realms of free expression, open worship of the universe, and a deep reverence for the beauty of diversity.  It’s a love festival, where nudity is accepted, sex is acceptable, and tantric workshops are held.   It’s a community of likeminded individuals gathering in a remote place to avoid the confused, ignorant reaction of those who simply don’t get it, and probably never will.  It’s a backlash against corporate America, where no brands or advertisements or promotion is allowed.  It’s the wildest, most hedonistic party you’ve ever seen.   And most of all, Burning Man is none of these things at all.  

It started with a small group of artists in a hostile desert, challenging their creative limits and engaging in a form of self reliance and personal responsibility – this in a country so drunk on blaming others and passing the buck.   Fundamentals evolved: 

• Only mutant cars allowed on the Playa, and by mutant, that means nothing that wouldn’t give a cop whiplash if you passed him on the highway.
• Leave no trace, pack it in, pack it out, and no moop (matter out of place) such as feathers, glitter, cigarette butts or cheapo crap from China
• Commerce:  You cannot buy or sell anything, although water and ice is available at the central camp.
• No firearms, no pets, respect public boundaries…

It’s jarring to read the Survival Guide in an age where long form legal disclaimers are posted on parking lots.    There are countless ways to kill yourself at Burning Man, from exposure to extreme weather to getting toasted by a rogue art piece.   It’s your responsibility to stay alive, even though just about everyone you meet will gladly help you out (including volunteer rangers and medical staff).  You can scream and shout and spit and sue, but in the end, this is a community that lives according to its own rules.   The guide sets it straight on the front page: “Above and beyond the provision for individual survival, everyone is requested to help ensure our collective survival by following very basic rules relating to public safety and community well being.  Community membership is a privilege. “   If you don’t get it, please don’t come.   You’ll hate every second of it.

Within hours, every expectation I had about Burning Man was blown out the water.  I just didn’t expect the scale of the event to be so huge, the creative energy so vast.  Black Rock City emerges almost overnight, shaped like a clock, organized by the hands of the hour and 12 long, circular promenades. Bikes are essential if you want to see a fraction of everything, with the city stretching over 5 miles across.   There are hundreds of camps and villages set up along the grid, tribes ranging from a few members to several hundred.    Each camp offers something of value to the casual passer by:  Free cocktails, hot tamales, engaging conversation.   Free massages, games of tennis, bowling, a mechanical bull ride.  Free rides, free bad advice, free hugs, free drugs, free kisses, free help.   Free beds, free art, free costumes, free decorations for your bike.   Everyone seems to bring more than they need and need less than they want.   It’s a free for all, and it took a while to recalibrate my capitalistic conditioning so that I stopped asking “what’s the catch?”  There isn’t one.   “Where am I?”  It doesn’t matter.    “Who are you?”  A burner just like you.   “Where are we going?” I don’t know, but there’s no rush, so lets take it slow. 

​I saw things that shocked, surprised, dazzled and delighted me.   Moments of beauty, moments of overstimulation, moments of bewilderment.   Every time I stopped to ask “how on earth did they get this here?” I was reminded to stop questioning and start accepting.   My guides were friends old and new, veteran Burners and virgins like myself.    As much as this is a community event, every single Burner develops a unique personal response to the environment.  Some thrive in the heavy dust storms that blind and sting.   Some thrive in the camps and villages. Some thrive in the scorching hot day,  others in the cool, LED-lit night.   Drawing it all in together is the Man himself, erected on a wooden platform at 12 o’clock,  looking out over the gathering.  He started small over a dozen years ago, a couple feet high, burned to the ground on a beach outside San Francisco.   The Wicker Man fulfilled a similar role in Europe for centuries, but Burning Man’s founders claim that is a coincidence.  This year’s Man stood 104ft tall, regally awaiting the climax of the week-long event, his destined combustion.  The Man is Gonna Burn.   What does it mean, this Man on Fire?  A symbol of passion and drive, signifying anything is possible?   A community bringing down “the Man” that traps us with its strangling laws and bureaucracy and tax and corruption?    The collective ambition of a nation of pyromaniacs?   I hear these and other theories under the sound of fireworks exploding at his feet, driving the massive crowd into a frenzy.  Any second now he’s going to be a giant fireball.  Sometimes he burns fast, sometimes he burns slow.  A huge dust storm sweeps in, blowing fiery ash into the crowd.  This is not cause for concern.   We are prepared with the right gear and attitude.   Only here do the harsh elements become cause for celebration.   

​The called her the Belle of the Ball.   Standing on one leg, 40ft tall, skinned in polished steel that lights up at night, Bliss Dance is a staggering creation of beauty.  This statue could compete with any major landmark in the world, stealing the spotlight with its immense size and brilliant execution.   Is the world ready for such naked beauty, such unabashed appreciation of the female form?   No, which is why this privately funded work of art will probably land up somewhere remote, somewhere special, outside the guidebooks but well worth a pilgrimage.   It took a year to build. It could be appreciated by many generations.**   

​There’s a Monkey Chant in the Centre Camp.  It’s different tribe from the Balinese one featured in the documentary Baraka, hypnotically blending their voices into a cacophony of sound.  Hippies and corporate climbers, artists and thinkers, the haves and have nots.  Is the guy playing the flaming tuba really one of the producers of the Simpsons?   Did the guys at Google donate thousands of community bikes?   Are there celebrities in the house?  What does it matter?    I spent a half hour looking for a friend at Center Camp one afternoon, and realized that even if I walked right past her, I probably wouldn’t recognize her, and she wouldn’t recognize me. I was wearing red underwear with printed eyes on my thighs, blue wings made out of recycled water bottles, a shocking green wig, ski goggles and a white dust mask.   Costumes allow anybody to become anyone or anything, and they do.   Superheroes or furry animals, desert squid or neon robots.   Women can be naked or topless without fear of harassment.   Burners just won’t stand for young, drunken fratboys.   The community is a self-regulating system, an entropic organism that shakes out the dust and arises.   While it might seem like I had a bit part in a Mad Maxian post-apocalyptic world (complete with a Thunderdome), there was order in this chaos.  You know that weird friendliness that manifests itself on a hike, when complete strangers say hello to each other even though on the street they wouldn’t look at one another?   The Playa dust intensifies that encounter, amps up the positive energy.  We’re all going through this together, we’re all brothers and sisters.  At least until the Temple burns and the Exodus begins, when you can just make out the sound of a bubble popping.

​My friend Ian is never shy to initiate a philosophical debate.  
​“Is this the real world, or is the real world out there?”   
“Perhaps the real world should be more like Burning Man.”
“It’s all well and good until the food and water runs out, and then it will quickly turn into Lord of the Flies,” replies Bruce.
Making the trek from Canada, hiring an RV, equipping ourselves with food and drinks and costumes and playa gifts, the final tally is not cheap.   Everyone appears to have committed an extraordinary amount of time, money and energy to be here, and so everyone is doing their best to enjoy it.   It’s a brief trip to Utopia, so far outside our comfort zone we forgot what a shower looked like.   That Burning Man only lasts a week is calculated.  A sustainable leave-no-trace festival cannot become permanent, even though there is talk of Burning Man owners buying up surrounding land.   Applying the lessons of Burning Man is a common theme at many workshops.   Taking away the sense of community, of environmental responsibility, of respect for those around you - it can only be a good thing.   But it’s hard to hear those messages in the real world, when marketing and advertising and signs and media keep pounding away at you from all sides.  You’re not happy unless. You’re nothing until.    No wonder Decompression parties are held throughout the year.  

The Temple is the spiritual soul of Burning Man.   There’s so much more to this festival than flame breathing dragon cars, stilt bars and half naked discos.   The Temple is a solemn place to say goodbye to loved ones lost, dreams abandoned, or anything that needs to be released.   People write on the walls, in the cracks, on the wooden platforms.   It’s an outpouring of energy so intense you can feel it throbbing.   Life size photos of Burners lost before their time, tears dripping off the face of people in private confessions, their sad waters hit the wooden Temple, like syrup leaking from a bark tree.   I could only stand and watch, aware and grateful that this week marked a personal beginning and not an end.   It was here, in a camp dome surrounded by my tribe, that I asked Ana to marry me, and it was here, that our lives moved to the next logical step.    The Temple can wait for as long as I can help it.   On Sunday, with thousands already returned to the real world, the Temple is set aflame, designed to become a raging inferno of emotional relief.      We could feel the heat from far away, an unmistakable energy rushing through us, flaming ash soaring into the sky.    It was beautiful, it was sad, it was magic.

​Cherie, our Camp Momma, gave us each a gift.  It’s a small vial filled with the ashes of three Temple Burns, attached to a leather-beaded strap.    I’m looking at it now.  The dust and ashes of the Playa still resonate, even as I wake up each morning, wondering if it was all some weird, hallucinogenic dream.   Perhaps it was.   I don’t know how to describe Burning Man to those who have not been.   Other than to say:  If anything you’ve read above intrigues you, then find out more.   It can be challenging, but then again, the best experiences in life usually are. 

​
* Attendance is now around 70,000. 
** Bliss Dance is now a permanent exhibit outside the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. 

​Long in the shadows of its Maritime neighbours, New Brunswick has come into its own as a province packed with family-friendly experiences, gorgeous scenery, delicious seafood and wonderful people.  It also tends to be less packed with tourists, which means fewer crowds, better prices, and perfect for family road trips.    Canada’s most underrated province overdelivers, if you give it a chance.  Here’s my report (and video below) from a multi-generational trip to New Brunswick this summer, visiting the cities of Moncton and Fredericton.

All visitors should bee-line to Magnetic Hill, a short 15-minute drive from Moncton’s city centre.   The central draw is an optical illusion in which it appears your car will roll itself uphill, in neutral.  It’s a fun, quirky attraction, and a little hair-raising as you begin to pick up speed in reverse.  Read my Canadian Geographic column about Magnetic Hill for more information about the illusion and how it works.  The whole experience is over in minutes, but the area has other attractions to keep families busy while you’re there.  Across the street is The Boardwalk and Butterfly World, where the kids will go-go-go with go-karts, batting cages, bumper cars, balloon fights, mini-golf, and other attractions.   Back across Front Mountain Road is the Magic Mountain Splash Zone, billed as “the largest man-made tourist attraction in Atlantic Canada.”    The biggest waterpark in the Maritimes definitely gets busy on hot summer days, and you can relax: there’s no sliding uphill here.
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Further along is the Magnetic Hill Zoo, the largest zoo in Atlantic Canada with over 400 animals, including lion, tiger, cougar, zebra, bear, and cheeky lemurs.  It also has a fantastic playground for your own cheeky monkeys to get their swings in.  Animals are divided into regional zones and the zoo has won various awards for its conservation programs.  Exhausted parents might want to stop into the family owned and operated Magnetic Hill Winery to pick up a fruit wine before heading back to the city.  We stayed at the excellent Chateau Moncton on Main Street, conveniently located close to everything you might need.   If you’re looking for great sushi, head to Pink Sushi on bustling Main Street which got thumbs up across our three generations!

It’s a two-hour drive to the provincial capital of Fredericton, a small city that packs a cultural and historical punch.  The weather decided it needed a break from the hot summer days, so we took shelter from the rain in the Beaverbrook Art Gallery.   I added Salvador Dali’s Santiago El Grande to the Canadian Bucket List back in 2013, a striking painting rich with symbolism and meaning, and best appreciated lying down with the painting towering over you.  Since my last visit, the gallery has undergone extensive renovations, and Dali’s masterpiece has been relocated to its own room towards the back.  There are new paintings, sections and exhibits, including the Grandfather Akwiten, the oldest birchbark canoe in the world, locally crafted in the 1820s by the Wolastoqiyik First Nation.   We grabbed a quick, garlicky shawarma, and headed to Science East a couple blocks away.  Located in the old Fredericton York County Jail, it’s a quirky venue with interactive exhibits about electricity, gravity, biology and the forces of nature.  Quirky because downstairs is a historical exhibit in the former cell of serial killer, and upstairs I noticed info-panels about a double hanging in the court yard.    Staff at Science East have even complained about the place being haunted!  My son has a fun time with the exhibits, but we were disappointed to learn it was a rare open day for Science East.  With slashed public funding, Science East has had to close its doors to the general public.  Hopefully it will open again one day (come on corporate sponsors!) because any time a science museum closes, Ignorance cackles with glee. Maybe an enterprising local will start up night time ghost tours inside the building too.

The moody weather didn’t invite a visit to the pool at Delta Hotel, so I took my son to Kingswood Entertainment Centre for an indoor treat.   We played laser tag and tried candlepin bowling for the first time in one of the centre’s 30 lanes. He got his jollies out inside the large indoor playground, and we teamed up to battle monsters in the Cosmic Zone arcade.  Juggling the interests of an 8-year-old and his grandmother, my son won that day but grandma would triumph in the morning.  We drove a half hour to Kings Landing Historical Park, a living museum that recreates loyalist settler life in rural New Brunswick from the 19th century to the early 20th century.  Celebrating its 50th anniversary, Kings Landing has over 70 restored buildings with period-accurate furniture, occupied by reenactors in costume to breathe life into the settlement.   We took the horse and buggy car and explored the past, stopping into the General Store, the School, the houses and barns.   My son picked and ate ripe apples from the many orchards about, and took great delight checking for chamber pots under the beds.   Although Kings Landing was never an actual settlement, the attention to detail is extraordinary.   I picked up a few books on a desk expecting them to be fake, but they were original editions dating back to the 1820s!

The weather finally cooperated so we roamed around Downtown Fredericton, popping into art galleries and various eclectic stores, admiring some of the unusual cars that had gathered for a festival.  We walked past Officer’s Square and the Historic Garrison District, and ate ice-cream by the fountain outside City Hall.   Back at the Delta swimming pool, we eavesdropped on a beautiful wedding, enjoying a perfect afternoon with a bag of lobster flavoured Covered Bridge Potato Chips (fortunately back in operation after Canada’s best potato chip factory burned down in a fire earlier this year).   I left my son and mom back at the hotel to join fishing guide Matt Nason at the floating dock behind the hotel for a chance to hook the elusive Triple Crown.

Fredericton is the only place in North America where you can potentially catch the three prized fish of muskie, striped bass and sturgeon. You don’t have to travel far along the Saint John River to do so either, and no fishing license is necessary.  Different species gather in various spots between the Westmoreland Street Bridge, the Bill Thorpe Walking Bridge and Princess Margaret Bridge.   We first trolled for the muskie, which are typically 30 to 40 inches long and put up quite a fight.  Unfortunately none were biting the juicy night crawlers on the hook. Then we went for the ‘stripies’ and sturgeon, and struck out again.  I remember fishing with a local in Jamaica who told me that “every day is a fishing day, but not every day is a catching day.”  It’s always a good day to be on the water though.  Matt told me September is the best time of year to go for the Triple Crown, and that all three fish are catch and release.   As the sun set on the smooth waters, casting shadows across the steeples of Fredericton, it was beautiful just being on the Saint John River, admiring the views, and enjoying the conversation.   A gorgeous sunset concluded the fishing expedition, enhanced by the illuminated kayaks of Wolastoq Adventures, which depart from the jetty behind the Delta Hotel.
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There’s plenty to keep families busy in Moncton and Fredericton, and we haven’t even got to the province’s biggest draw, the Bay of Fundy.  With world-class art, living history, and fun, quirky activities, there’s truly something for everyone.

​The first time I saw Flyover Canada, it got me in the maple leaf feelies.  This was back in 2013, and I had recently finished the first edition of The Great Canadian Bucket List.  It felt especially poignant seeing Canada’s sprawling, diverse landscape on a 65-foot spherical screen, suspended on a moving chair that banked and dipped with the movement of flight.  The visual and sensory sensation of soaring over familiar cities and oceans, icecaps and prairies brought a tear to my eye.  For everyone else, it was impossible to leave the theatre without a sense of awe, wonder and pride, whether you had personally visited any of these places or not.  Located at Canada Place in Vancouver, I added Flyover to the Western Canada Bucket List and future editions, and have since taken a half dozen visitors for the ride.  It’s the perfect way to give anyone a powerful impression of Canada in a short space of time.

​This summer, Flyover launched a new show, entitled Awaken Canada.  It’s been over a decade since the original spectacle, and with new developments in cameras and drones, Flyover now benefits from some neat cinematic tricks that allow it to showcase different scenes that complement the original show.  As before, guests are first shown a short, immersive film before entering the main ride.  This new introduction is animated, riffing on a central, inclusive theme of Home.   What and where is home?  Locals, immigrants, seniors, kids, northerners and southerners all weigh in.  Home, they reveal, is a child’s hand in their grandmothers.  Home is a dip in a warm summer lake.  Home is the rain that falls in a city, or the big sky above golden wheat in the prairies.  Guests are then efficiently ushered through a short waiting area, and to their seats on different levels.  Rest assured, there are no bad seats with Flyover.  Everyone gets the same experience, so take your time, put bags under your chair, strap in, and get ready for flight.

​Awaken Canada starts up north, over the ice and snow.  Immediately I recognize some of the landmarks, places I have visited, places I have not.  Mount Thor in Nunavut was unmistakable, the largest granite rock in the world, gleaming in the sun.  “That’s the Blue Nose,” I tell my delighted kids as we enter Nova Scotia, “I’ve been on that boat!   And that’s Lunenburg!”    There’s no voiceover in the film, just one sweeping image after another set to music, a 4D experience as we soar through clouds and get sprayed by wind and mist.  “That waterfall is called Pissing Mare Falls, this is Gros Morne National Park,” I tell my daughter, who has a solid giggle.  She's getting the full  Canadian Bucket List narration.

​We collectively  “whoa” when we fly over a northern community, and then suddenly dip into a small fishing hole to submerge into the cold ocean with a pod of beluga whales.  After the show, we all agree this was the best part of the ride.  Then we see fall foliage blooming in Ontario, and now we’re tracking a skier doing tricks across the urban playground of Old Quebec City.   The camera swoops through tunnels and between sails, clearly benefitting from drones that can go where helicopters cannot.  There’s more of a focus on people:  fishing, walking, riding horses, farming, and most spectacularly, climbing mountains and frozen waterfalls.  Unlike the similar-type rides at Disney theme parks (like Soaring Around the World, Soaring Over California etc) no CGI is necessary.   The production and timing of the shots however, is mind-boggling.

​Over the prairies, into the mighty Rockies, and across the sandy beaches of Vancouver Island, the flight concludes with a night-time time-lapse into Vancouver,  concluding with the northern lights, of course.  The ten-minute ride has taken in a lot, but a scenic journey over Canada can take a lifetime.    Leaving the theatre makes you want to discover more: to visit these places and see what they look like from the ground.  Having seen more of Canada than most, I can confirm it’s just as spectacular.

2024 has sunk it’s teeth into me, and it’s not letting go.   I have already resigned myself to the fact that this year- my 50th on Planet Earth - all cards are on the cribbage table. It’s a year to tick off the exotic and the adventurous, from rafting Idaho’s Salmon River to river cruising the Danube and safari in Botswana’s Okavango Delta.   It’s a year to tackle the bucket list with a re-energized gusto, because who knows what’s lurking around the corner?   Judging by the constant barrage of horrendous news – war, political and social crisis, ecological havoc, artificial intelligence – it’s probably not very good.  So best make hay while the sun beams its golden rays, and fortunately for us, its solar radiation particles too. ​

Nearly a dozen trips up north failed to deliver the Northern Lights magic I’d heard so much about.  When I did eventually see the lights, they were a wispy green glow on the horizon of a freezing November Whitehorse night.  It was enough to convince me the aurora borealis is a real phenomenon and not a mass hallucination, but only barely.  A few weeks ago, Earth got hit with a rare solar storm, promising exceptional northern lights as far south as California.   Even then, you still need clear, dark skies.   I was in bed when my parents, bless them, texted a photo of the night sky from Iona Beach in Richmond, about 15 minutes’ drive from home.  It was enough to get me up, wake up a kid, and scream off into the night.  We could see a green glow from beneath the street lights.  By the time we got to Iona Beach, thousands of other people had the same idea.  We exited the grid lock, parked the car and walked a few feet onto a beach.   And there they were, the northern lights, shimmering in shades of green, blue and red.  The truth is it all comes out way better through a camera lens, and many photos shared from that special night are jaw-dropping.  Still, it’s the bucket list experience I’d chased in the far north for years, and here it was, just a random Friday night, minutes away from home.  

​It reminds me of my experience whale watching.  Just about every time I’ve purposely set out on a whale watching tour has been underwhelming.  Comedian Dimitri Martin described whale-watching, somewhat astutely, as fifteen people on a boat looking disappointed.  Yet I’ve had magical moments with whales in Antarctica, Labrador and Tahiti, all the by-product of simply being on a boat at the right place and right time.  Like life itself, you can’t guarantee anything even if you chase it, but the odds stack in your favour every time you simply show up.

​They didn’t quite stack up for another recent Bucket List experience:  cheering for your local team in Game 7 of a Stanley Cup series.  My brother offered me a rare and highly sought-after ticket to the Canucks vs the Oilers at home.  The atmosphere inside the arena was bonkers, a world away from regular season games I’ve attended in the past.  The Canucks came up well short, leaving 20,000 fans disappointed.   At least Canucks fans didn’t riot like they did the last time they hosted a Game 7 final.   

This year kicked off in Florida, where my kids and I explored Orlando beyond the theme parks, (well, almost).  After a quick visit to New York, our ski trip this year was the underrated Silverstar Mountain Resort, where we had a blast.   My daughter and I hit the Belize Barrier Reef, from above and below.  Watching a 10-year-old overcome the challenges of getting a full Junior Open Water Certification was a very proud moment for Papa.  Then came my first visit to Mexico in over a decade, visiting the booming tourist town of Puerto Vallarta, where I explored the idea of adventures versus vacations.  They shut down Universal Studios for a private party at IPW in Los Angeles, a tourism conference to promote travel in the United States.  Having Adventure Await’s Jami Savage guide me to the best rides at Universal was a treat unto itself, even with the motion sickness from the wild Harry Potter ride.   

This month also sees the release of my 10th published book: an expanded, updated and beautifully redesigned second edition of The Great Western Canada Bucket List.   I can't tell you how much work goes into these things, but it's a lot and the team at Dundurn Press are fantastic.  Despite everything going digital, what a treasure to hold in print (especially if a massive solar storm hits Earth one day and wipes out our electrical grid, just saying...) 

​Yes, it’s been a very busy few months on the Bucket List, and the best is yet to come.  I’m inspired by these opportunities, regret more people don’t have them, and am grateful, as always, to share my experiences through my stories and images.  

It’s been a hot minute since my last trip to Belize, filming an episode of my TV series Word Travels.   Back then, we hit the jungle, some Mayan ruins, the wetlands, and a Mennonite community for good measure (you can stream that Belize episode free on Tubi).   Now I finally have the opportunity to see the beaches and coral reefs that I missed on the first trip, which concludes with the line: “If you do everything the first time, there’s less reason to return.” 

​Swapping out a TV crew for my go-go-go daughter - a razor sharped chip off the old block -  we’re following up our jungle adventure to Costa Rica with another foray into Central America.  Much like Costa Rica, Belize is smashing things on the eco-tourism front, but Costa Rica doesn’t have Mayan ruins or an English-speaking population, somehow sheltered from the general mayhem found in its neighbours Guatemala and Honduras.  Focusing on the beach and the world’s second largest barrier reef, my daughter showed impressive vim taking on the PADI Junior Open Water Certification, working hard on her e-learning, confined pools dives in Vancouver, and the four challenging ocean dives on the reef.   You can read more about that journey in my Canadian Geographic column.   What I didn’t mention was that singular moment – the bucket list moment – where all the travel and work and adventure coalesced. We were diving together through a canyon reef, which admittedly wasn’t the most spectacular dive in terms of marine life, but allowed us to explore a unique eco-system, and the weird sensation of scuba diving, together.   Just another unforgettable moment in a lifetime of many.  Wish there was a TV crew to capture it! 

Last night I discovered the word: Zugzwang.   What the hell kind of a word is Zugzwang?  A real English word, co-opted from German as it turns out.  Definition: a situation in which the obligation to make a move in one's turn is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage. One day, I’m going to use that word in conversation, and I can’t wait.

There must be a lot of Austrians Googling:  “Where to find a great schnitzel in Canada?” because my column about skiing in the fantastic Silverstar Ski Resort, and taking my Austrian brother-in-law to Gerni's Farmhouse outside of Vernon, totally blew up.  Gerni refers to the late Gernot Langes-Swarovski, founder of the Swarovski crystal empire, which owns the glitzy spa resort Sparkling Hill in the BC interior.  Gerni liked his authentic Austrian food served in an authentic Austrian environment, so had a 16th century Austrian farmhouse dismantled and shipped over to his resort British Columbia.   The menu and setting would make any Austrian traveller tear up with joy.  Once they’ve settled down, they can explain to me what’s in a Almdudler.  It’s a popular Austrian non-alcoholic soda, of a sort, that tasted like the innocence of childhood for no reason I can possibly explain.

I also took the opportunity to do my best sack of potato impression while flying down an ice chute at 94 km/hr.  A lot of people asked me why I felt compelled to do the public skeleton at the Whistler Bobsleigh Centre, and the answer is:  because tourists actually do this, and it is undoubtably something unique, memorable, attainable and hilarious.   Therefore:  something to add to the bucket list.  Jon Montgomery, who won skeleton gold in the skeleton at the 2010 Olympics, was a great sport for his quotes in my column, which pretty much captures the all-round absurdity of flying down a “frozen toilet chute.”

Unseasonably warm weather totally zugzwanged me when it came to a long-planned multi-day snowmobile trip in Algonquin Provincial Park.  We were watching snow reports during the worst winter season on record, and the trip was ultimately pulled just days before I was set to fly out to Ontario.  A bummer in every way, because snowmobiling without snow is no fun at all.  Climate change is going to wreak havoc on more and more travel plans, so purchasing a little travel insurance to fully recoup any upcoming flights in the case of unexpected chaos is no longer just another airline cash-grab, it’s a necessity.

​Finally, the second edition of The Great Western Canada Bucket List arrived at my doorstep and it looks fantastic.  Packed with inspiration, it’s slim enough to gift to those travelling with carry-ons, and my wish is for it to land on the radar of anyone greeting newcomers to BC and Alberta.  As you can tell on the companion site, there’s so much to explore and discover across a landscape that is both unique and diverse.  The book will officially launch nationwide in May 14, look for it wherever you find your reading material.

​Affluent residents of St Barts are accustomed to welcoming ​​mega yachts of the rich and famous.  Unless you happen to know a billionaire, it’s highly unlikely you’d ever get close to one of these vessels, much less find yourself on the most ​beautiful boat in the bay.  It’s a topic that comes up repeatedly among the passengers of the SPV Star Flyer, a striking, 16-sail clipper with four towering masts, polished teak trims, and enormous white sails.  Turning heads from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, it looks like a pirate ship sailed through an eighteenth-century wormhole.   
 
Sailing with the breeze in high comfort is on many a bucket list, especially romantics with a pinch of salt in their veins.  When I first boarded the Star Flyer late afternoon in St Maarten, it took my breath away. One of three tall ships owned and operated by Sweden’s Star Clippers, my week-long itinerary in the Lesser Antilles promised an adventure both familiar and exotic.   Well-appointed rooms, friendly international staff, and a fine buffet are common on most cruise ships.  Sallying forth under sail, chasing pirate lore, and dropping anchor at small island communities is not.    Born and raised in a landlocked city, salt runs in my blood like integrity in politics. I can’t tell a jib from a top sail, a schooner from a sloop, or the spanker from the anchor.  Regardless of one’s ​prior ​knowledge and appreciation for sailing, everyone goose-bumped when the crew hoisted the sails at sunset.  With speakers booming an epic soundtrack of Vangelis’s Conquest of Paradise, the wind thrust us forward in search of rich Caribbean bounty. 

​The 166-passenger Star Flyer is 115m-long with a 15-metre-wide beam, and it’s not even the biggest ship in the Star Clipper fleet (the 227-passenger, 42-sail Royal Clipper holds the Guinness World Record as the largest square rigger in service).  Both ships rely on the breeze to do the heavy lifting, with low-emission gas used for internal power,  port docking​,​ and maneuvering through idle doldrums.  Fortunately, the wind in the Caribbean from December to April is so reliable you can bank on it, hence, the trade winds. It’s the perfect time to make up the leeway​,​ learn your sailing lingo, ​and ​discover​wild​​ ​legends among the beaches and coconut trees.

​Calling into Anguilla, St Kitts, Virgin Gorda, Jost Van Dyke, and St Barts, I’m sailing into a domain of buried treasure, mythical pirates, and sloop battles.  Borrowing books from the ship’s library, I dove into the Golden Age of Piracy, when motley crews of men – and occasionally women – plundered trade and war ships​, all the ​while swearing impressive oaths of loyalty, democracy, and non-discrimination.  Welcoming all who could be useful and evenly distributing the spoils, the intrigue of pirates has long hijacked ​our ​popular ​imagination. The Black Flag inspired countless legends in the Caribbean, including that of a buried treasure hidden deep inside the coastal caves of the uninhabited Norman Island.  Here, the Star Flyer dropped anchor so ​passengers could snorkel into the same caves that inspired Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island.  The more I read about Henry Morgan and Calico Jack, Anne Bonny and the infamous Blackbeard, the more I got swept up in the region’s history, and the thrill of sailing under wind.   
 
Operating a tall ship is both an art and a skill.  Experienced passengers on board constantly debated our Polish captain’s decisions, ​analyzing the different sails in use, and the impact of the prevailing winds.  With 3344 square metres of sail, utilizing all four masts could easily blow us halfway around the world.  The captain tells me that he often sails up and down during the night, providing invaluable experience for his navigation and ship crew, and using just fifteen percent of the fuel typically needed for a ship of this size.  Cruising anywhere in modern luxury is a decadent affair, but with its comparatively low carbon footprint, large passenger sailboats like the Star Flyer suggest a more viable and sustainable cruising alternative.   When we dock in St Kitts, I see a line-up of massive cruise ships parked outside a duty-free shopping mall.  It’s the only time our vastly different cruise experiences meet, and it feels like we’re visiting from a different planet.

​Occasionally, the wind howls over twenty-five knots, creating large swells that rock and roll the ship, stabilizers be damned.  Sometimes, I reach for the Gravol, or need to retreat to my comfortable cabin on the Commodore Deck, watching sea water rinse my cabin window.  More often the​​ sea is as calm as a mirror, but sailing will always be an adventure, especially for landlubbers lacking​ ​sea legs.  Seventy-three international staff and crew operate efficiently under any conditions, spotlessly cleaning our rooms, preparing fantastic meals, cocktails, and typical evening entertainment.  There’s pirate parties and trivia nights, disco dancing and interpretive talks.  Daily activities include swimming and snorkelling, various watersports, an onboard spa, and opportunities to explore the history and culture of different islands.  Tenders deposit us on quiet beaches that are home to some of the Caribbean’s legendary sailing bars, like Soper’s Hole on Tortola, and the Soggy Dollar on Jost Van Dyke.   My personal highlight is a visit to The Baths on Virgin Gorda, a series of rock pools, beaches and cave swims in the turquoise water of ​your ​dreams.  ​Being on a smaller ​vessel with a minimal footprint means we can visit and interact with beaches and communities beyond the reach of​ giant ​cruise ships.   My dining mates, a couple from Toronto, are cruise veterans with dozens of voyages under their belt.  Both agree the tall ship had exceeded their expectations, with just the right combination of adventure and comfort.   

Embracing the warm sea breeze, I stretch my arms towards a pod of dolphins cresting a few metres beneath me.   I’m lying on the netted bowsprit at the fore of the ship, my favourite spot on the Flyer to soak it all in.  It’s a giant hammock, of sorts, meeting the sea breeze and ocean spray head-on.  I often lie back on the thick net to admire the clouds, or zone out staring at the waves.  That’s when the dolphins appeared, gliding playfully in front of the bow, providing another singular moment of joy in a week of many. Admittedly, not all passengers have the nerve to hang out at the bowsprit, much less take up ​the ship's offer to scale the mainmast.  Securely kitted with a safety harness, I climbed the rope ladder to a viewing platform eighteen metres above the ​sparking ​water. It provided a priceless and occasionally knee-shaking birds-eye view of the ship,​ sea, islands​,​ and sparkling horizon.  Although travelling alone, I quickly found my crew of fellow bowspritters and mast-climbers. Spanning six decades of age, I gathered with my group to enjoy fine cocktails, fun company, and tall tales at the Tropical Bar.  No matter what boat you sail in, it’s the people you meet who create the paradise you find.  

​Reliably gorgeous sunsets​ and epic sailaways​ are greeted each evening with champagne, cocktails and quirky maritime toasts suggested in the daily program. “To our wives and girlfriends… may they never meet!”    An unannounced wedding takes place on the Sun Deck one evening, and the entire ship celebrates.  Small ships just have that kind of vibe.   Later, we’re invited to follow the cruise tradition of dressing in white to sail the warm breeze under the spotlight of a full moon.  Naturally recalibrating my balance with one hand steadied on the ship, I’d found my sea legs at last.   

Everything moves a little slower under sail.   Although internet is available at the bar, it is pricey and limited. Most passengers agree that screens can wait. Sailing on a tall ship is about reading and resting, conversations and stargazing, staring into the distance, and wondering why it took you so long.    ​When we anchored ​in St Barts, ​it was a thrill to find ​ourselves on the most impressive ship in the harbour, and nobody need​ed​ a personal invitation from a billionaire either. Any way the wind blows, it’s reassuring to know we can all find our own swashbuckling sailing adventure.

I’ve long said that people are everything when it comes to great travel.  I coined “the people we meet create the paradise we find” back in 2005, spoke about it in my TEDx talk, and continue to believe it now more than ever.    

In December, I saw out the year with some memorable adventure:  I travelled with my daughter to Costa Rica for a fantastic story about family legacies, and my kids (plus a niece) on a road trip down the Oregon Coast for a story that turned lemons to lemonade, and heavy rain into rugged Pacific storm-watching!  I kicked off the new year taking the kids to Orlando – my first foray into the Sunshine State – and then headed to New York for IMM, the premier international travel media marketplace.  With a general atmosphere of uncertainty (here’s looking at you, US and Canadian Elections) it’s shaping up to be that kind of year:  this feeling of wanting to go everywhere and do everything while there’s still an opportunity to do so.  The trip this month I was looking forward to most in January was unusually personal, and it’s all about people, of course.
 
I grew up in a tight family in South Africa, gathering every Friday night for family dinners that included my grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins.   It’s a tradition my own family continues to follow, and my kids thankfully have the same experience in Canada.  Like seeds from a dandelion, my extended family scattered about the globe, and we had not been in the same room for a staggering 27 years.   In that time, close family members were sadly lost, but we were joined by new spouses, kids and grandkids.  Having relocated to Delray Beach, Florida, my aunt now lives with her daughter (my sister-cousin) and grand-daughter, three generations of strong, beautiful women I have missed dearly.  With my aunt turning a sprightly 80, the opportunity presented itself for the family to finally gather from three continents for a long overdue reunion that would celebrate the past, and relish the present. 
 
After an exhausting schedule in Orlando, my kids and I took the spotless Brightline train to Boca Raton, where the kids would meet their great aunt and extended family members for the first time.  My own family flew in from Vancouver, and we rented a house on Air Bnb just a few minutes’ walk from my aunt.  Unseasonal (and unreasonably cool) weather be damned, the atmosphere was immaculately joyous.  It’s one of the reasons why I encourage everyone to travel into their past, seeking out long lost relatives and newfound family histories.  It all becomes a deeply personal layer of discovery that instantly elevates any journey into so much more.   

I can't say I explored much of Delray Beach – an affluent coastal community – other than a lovely long lunch at a beachfront restaurant and a decent walk alongside strip malls, expensive cars, ocean canals and enormous mansions home to the mega rich. While my own family lives far more modestly, the obvious and ostentatious wealth was unavoidable (I heard Lamborghini made SUV’s, I didn’t expect to see four in a single afternoon!). In truth, we could have been anywhere and it would have hardly mattered. 

Over a long weekend, my family gathered for every delicious meal, the conversation was effortless, the kids got on famously, and the years simply vanished.  All of it a powerful reminder that the very best destinations don’t have to offer much, just the very best people to share it with.

​Wrapping up 2023, tourism is rebounding faster from the pandemic than most of us predicted.    We weren’t’ supposed to see industry numbers like this until 2024 or even 2025, but the world has collectively decided to move on as if Covid never happened, and tourism has reflected this accordingly.   Everything has definitely become more expensive, sometimes because of supply-chain issues, sometimes because it’s an opportunity for folks to maximize profits and take advantage of others.  This is true for the tourism industry, and true for everything else too. 
 
This year I really got stuck into my bi-weekly column for Canadian Geographic, chasing stories that are inspirational, worth knowing, and unique.   It’s the cornerstone of my Bucket List brand:  exploring destinations and activities that you can’t find anywhere else; are wholly memorable; practically attainable; and will make a great story you’ll want to share for the rest of your days.   

​I kicked off 2023 with a New Year’s Eve torchlight descent at Sun Peaks Resort in British Columbia.  After many years of snowboarding, I’m now transitioning to skis, and it was a fantastic confidence booster (and a little terrifying) to ski at night.    A few weeks later I found myself on BC’s Powder Highway, back on skis in Fernie, Kimberly and at the Panorama Mountain Resort.  I explored quirky roadside attractions in New Brunswick, unique statues around the world, high-speed F1 yacht racing in San Francisco, and the origins of craft beer in the Pacific Northwest.   Sometimes the story is about people too, like the Syrian refuges in Nova Scotia and their phenomenally successful chocolate business, or Scuba Diving Hall of Famer and cave diving legend Jill Heinerth. 

​The best travel is about the experiences you share, whether it means taking your kids medieval glamping in Alberta, or a parent on a bucket list hike in Newfoundland.  Sometimes family travel lies on a spectrum between beluga whales in the north, the jungle in the south, and iconic theme-parks (I’m proud of this particularly honest review of Disneyland.) 

​I’m always on the lookout for unusual and memorable accommodation, from the world’s most northerly eco-lodge to surviving a night in Quebec City’s ice hotel.  As for wildlife, I  attempted to cage dive with saltwater crocodiles in Australia, hit the prairies to see the world’s largest concentration of snakes, and looked at places near and far to ethically volunteer with animals.  The two back-to-back horse-riding expeditions I took to the Allenby Pass in Banff National Park showcased the Rockies at their finest, and was my inspiring debut as a Can Geo Adventures Travel Ambassador.   Learning more about Indigenous experiences across the country shepherded me to prairies campfires and other inspiring locations around the country.   Further afield, I researched upcoming stories about the Rio de Janeiro Carnaval in Brazil, a sustainable eco-lodge in Costa, and exploring French Polynesia with a small-ship Wind Star cruise. 

​I write a monthly blog for Great Canadian Trails too, where this year you can find stories about mountains, forests, whales and icebergs, cross-country skiing and great Canadian books.  I celebrated Yukon for the territory’s 125th anniversary, took a curious look at Prince Edward Island, a ride along the beautiful Kettle Valley Heritage Trail, and explored Canadian wonders that double as international look-a-likes.