My very first scuba dive was a house reef off the island of Tufi in Papua New Guinea. Firmly located in the Coral Triangle, a region of mind-boggling diversity and with the healthiest corals left in our oceans, the house reef of the Tufi Dive Resort was sensational, not that I had a frame of reference.  My second dive was a wreck dive, followed by a night dive. How this came to be is another story altogether, but for now I thought it would be fun to look at three of my favourite dives:

​It takes 2.5 hours with the swell for our dive boat to make its way along the west Kauai coastline towards the islands Ni’ihau and Lehua.  It’s my first dive in the region, and fellow divers with Seasport Divers  tell me it doesn’t get any better in all Hawaii. Seasport only runs excursions to Ni’ihau from late spring to early fall, after which the swells and currents get too strong.  Today is the last run of the season, and due to the surge, our entry and exit will be drift dives.  Everyone will be using Nitrox, allowing us to go longer and deeper than normal air.    It’s both my first drift and Nitrox dive, and I could hardly wait to get underwater. 
 
First site, the Lehua Ledge, sitting off the small island Lehua adjacent to the much larger Niihau.  Seconds in the water, I’m being stared at by a large monk seal, an endangered pinniped that lives around these waters.  As I descend, I encounter a huge school of colourful Pyramid Butterfly Fish.  Below me on the shelf, I see the shadow of a large Sand Bar shark, gracefully vanishing into the shadows.   Other highlights on the first dive: A Yellow Margin Moray, Triton’s Trumpet, a Crown of Thorns, and endemic Bandit Angels.  
 
The next dive is at a pinnacle known as Vertical Awareness.  My Nitrox is at 32%, and I am relieved that it tastes just like regular air.  I descend to 90ft, making my way around a large outcrop.  We see Pennant Butterflies, a Stout Moray, a huge Titan Scorpion Fish, an endemic Hawaiian Lionfish, and a cool red-striped nudibranch.  Although the water is a comfy 26°C, I pass through some cold thermoclines, and a powerful surge sweeps me along.  There’s a reason why this dive is seasonal.  The captain spots me and picks me up as divers continue to pop up all over the surface.
 
The best is saved for last, a drift dive to a spot called Pu’u Mu’u.   It’s my introduction to underwater caves, and while one diver ends his dive early with claustrophobia, I absolutely love it.   Reflective bubbles of air gather on the cave ceiling like mercury, as my flashlight reveals so much life and colour.  Black coral hangs from the walls, along with Cauliflower and Leather coral.   Deeper into the rock, Purple Spiny Lobster and big Tiger Cowry shells are amazing to see, as I ebb towards a series of spectacular swim-throughs.  
 
The swells pick up as we return to Poipu, even as Bottlenose and Spinner dolphins gather around the boat.   It will be another season before Seasport Divers resume this incredible dive, but there’s plenty of others on Kauai to keep them, and us, busy in the meantime.   Dives to Ni’ihau run twice a week late spring to early autumn. 

​A plane, another plane, a 4-hour drive, a small boat, a larger boat, another smaller boat, and at last my toes touch the squeaky-white beaches of Malapascua Island. It’s one of the premier diving spots in the Philippines, and with 7000 islands, this is a country that’s full of them.  The water is a balmy 28°C, visibility can reach up to 35m, and the Visayan Sea is teeming with life.   For recreational divers in love with big animals, there’s a much bigger hook:  Year-round, this is the only place in the world where you can dive with thresher sharks.
 
Popular with Asian and European divers, Malapascua Island has exploded in the last 10 years thanks to budget flights from Manila.   A Dutch couple founded Exotic Island Dive Resort, the first resort on the island, and are credited with discovering the shoal where the threshers gather. Everything – people, supplies, water – has to come in daily on boats, so I’m amazed with the resort’s exhaustive dining menu. I meet my sun-blonde dive-masters, Jules and Mimi, and they fill me on what I can expect.    
 
“Thresher sharks are different from other sharks.  They’re shiny, with big eyes and that giant tail. And they’re so sweet, I just want to pet them,” explains Mimi.  Adds Jules: “You have to respect them, but you can’t feel afraid.”    We suit up for a night dive to Lighthouse, just to warm up and enjoy the seahorses, mandarin fish, huge hermit crabs and flamboyant flatworms hanging around a nearby reef.  It’s only my second night dive, and to my delight, the inky ocean feels comfortable and safe.  Bio-luminescence surrounds me on my ascent, as I surface by the traditional wooden outrigger, under a bright crescent moon. I see why they called this Exotic Island.
 
It’s an early 5:30am start to Monad Shoal for my thresher shark encounter. I’m nervous: it’s not every day you swim with big animals, but what if they don’t show up?   The best time to see the sharks is at sunrise, when they are drawn to a natural cleaning station on the shoal located about 20 minutes boat ride from the resort.   Manta, devil and eagle rays, along with hammerheads, are seasonal visitors too.   We submerge and head to the edge of the shoal. Within minutes, Mimi’s flat hand is on her head.   A 6ft thresher comes into view, appearing out of the depth below us.   Its distinctive tail looks like an Ottoman sword.   There’s barely time to register before another appears, and another.  Judging Jules’ reaction, I’ve stumbled upon a bumper day on the shoal.  During our hour-long dive, we count about a dozen threshers.   One circles back and eyes me out curiously. That moment instantly converts me into a lifelong shark diver. 
 
Back on the banka, the traditional outrigger, there’s huge smiles on the faces of a dozen divers. “It was an effort not to see a shark today,” laughs Mimi.  At this remarkable spot in a remarkable country, nobody is going home disappointed.

Cold water diving is a different experience from the tropics: not better or worse, just different.  Fresh off Papua New Guinea, Hawaii and the Philippines, it was time to see for myself, and fortunately, I happen to live near one of the best places in the world to do it.    The waters off the coast of Vancouver, where I live, are renowned for their excellent diving.  Perhaps not as mind-blowing as sites further up the inlet off Vancouver Island - home to giant octopus and huge wrecks - but certainly a great place to start.
 
Greg McCracken’s Ocean Quest dive shop provided dry suits with all the trimmings.  Greg was our cold-water divemaster, and he’s one of the top instructors in Western Canada.   We hopped aboard Topline, the flagship vessel of Sea Dragon Charters.  Everyone on board, including experienced pros, sang nothing but praises for the large, comfortable boat.  There was plenty of space for gear and squeezing into those dry suits.
 
As I descended my first dive at a site called Pinnacle, I was amazed how comfortable I felt in my suit, and also how buoyant I was.  Visibility was pretty murky until we hit a ledge about 15 metres down and holy moly…a forest of huge, white plumose anemone exploded to create a complete otherworldly experience.  Thousands of brittle stars pulsed on the rock floor.  Massive cucumbers, starfish, nudibranchs…it was all there.  Greg explained that everything you’ll find in the waters of British Columbia is pretty much the biggest in the world.
 
Second dive was Halkett’s Wall, along the sheer rock face that descends off Gambier Island, one of dozens of islands that dot the waters off Vancouver’s Horseshoe Bay.   Descending 18 metres (the rock wall goes down about 70 metres) I encounter rockfish, ling cod, various sculpins, cloud and chimney sponge, and a curious quillback rockfish. Jurassic-like orange sunflower starfish are as big as dining room tables, and a true feast for the eyes.
 
If you’re nervous about cold water diving, don’t be.  I found my dry suit easy to operate and maintain buoyancy. Definitely learn how to operate a dry suit and get certified before jumping in.  My two dives introduced me to just a fraction of what’s on offer in the waters off Vancouver.  The local community are friendly and supportive (this is Canada, after all), and you can’t ask for better instructors than Ocean Quest.  Sea Dragon charters run year-round from Horseshoe Bay, about 20 minutes from downtown Vancouver. 

More great dives to come...

Every skier at every ski resort has faced the same conundrum: where do you find the best runs? In a resort like Whistler Blackcomb, with its 8,171 acres of skiable terrain, 270+ trails, 36 lifts, and 16 bowls, the choices are overwhelming, and analysis paralysis is a real thing. Standing in the line-up for the gondola at Creekside on a powdery Friday morning, I overhear the conversations of skiers and boarders planning the day’s attack. Opinions are floating around like the falling snow, with the debates continuing inside the gondola, all a variation of: “we could go here, or we could go there.” Or, you could keep things simple, easy, and just follow one of the Wonder Routes.
​
To celebrate its 60th Anniversary, Whistler Blackcomb has launched a curated network of seven Wonder Routes to help guests of all abilities navigate the best of both mountains. The premise is simple: visit the website, download (or copy and paste) the suggested itinerary onto your phone, start at the first step, and let it guide you forward. The genius of this idea is evident by the enthusiastic response we receive when we tell people about it in the gondola and on various chairs. It’s all self-guided, so you don’t have to book anything in advance or pay anything more. What’s more, you can tackle the Wonder Routes by the letter, or amend, edit, and reference them as a starting point. With conditions clearing up, our group of two adults and two kids decided to go for the views first, with the aptly named: Top of the World.

From Roundhouse Lodge, the Top of the World Route guides us to the Peak Express where we exit the chair to a panoramic view. Some skiers are obsessed with powder and thrills, others with the natural outdoor spectacle. On a hike, I’m always telling my daughter to stop and smell the pine trees as opposed to running to the trailhead. Now at the top of Whistler Mountain, I encourage her to stop and smell the alpine views. We head down Matthews Traverse to Burnt Stew, connecting onto Jeff’s Ode to Joy—two greens and a blue ushering us to Symphony Express. It’s another chair up high into the peaks and a gorgeous connection of runs to the bottom of Harmony Express. Instead of debating where to go and what run to take, we let the 3-4 hour Wonder Route take the lead, sending us to the Peak 2 Peak Gondola and over to Blackcomb Mountain, where we take the easy Expressway to 7th Heaven Express and conclude our first Wonder Route with a hot lunch of poutine and Thai. The whole experience was efficient, easy, and wondrously devoid of FOMO.  

​The Après Route starts from Blackcomb and hits all the patios and lodges. The Glade Stashes Wonder Route guides you into the best tree runs, like Gnarly Knots, Gun Barrels, Outer Limits, and Raptors Ride off the 7th Heaven Express. This one is for advanced skiers eager to chase down black and double-black diamonds. Also for experienced skiers and boarders is the Gold Medal Route, which visits slopes and runs used during the 2010 Winter Olympics and 2025 Invictus Games. Kicking off the new 8-person Fitzsimmons Express lift, connect onto the Garbanzo Express to access the Dave Murray Downhill, which hosted the Olympic Men’s Downhill competition as well as the Super G course. Above the Timing Flats, look out for individual signs honouring gold medal winners from the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games.

For advanced skiers with 6-8 hours on their hands, the Alpine Sampler keeps things above the trees and in the bowls. You’ll take on legendary runs like Spanky’s Ladder, Overbite, and Garnet Bowl. It’s an epic day out. For our part, we decided to go with the all-green Family Certified Route as well as the more challenging Super Blues. With the flexibility of the routes, we figured we might as well enjoy the best of both worlds, linking the blue Cloud 9 to the green Expressway before taking the Peak 2 Peak back to Whistler (scoring the glass-bottom car with our timing) and continuing down Ego Bowl through the Enchanted Forest to the bottom of Emerald, before concluding our big Whistler ski day with a lovely run called Pony Trail to the top of the Creekside Gondola. At this point, the kids were committing mutiny for hot chocolate, so we downloaded, returned our rentals at Can-Ski Creekside, and rewarded them with extra marshmallows.

The Wonder Routes removed a lot of the guesswork, providing much-needed direction that we quickly came to trust and enjoy. Along the way, we discovered new sections of Whistler and Blackcomb mountains, and the kids enjoyed the treasure hunt of finding and completing both routes. Here’s hoping more routes are added in the future for different scenarios, like a Powder Route, a Surprise Route, or a Have-it-All Route. Maybe other mountains will get inspired to create their own Wonder Routes too. 
 
Click here for the latest conditions on Whistler-Blackcomb
Click here for more family-friendly activities on Whistler

June

Things kicked off early this summer with a family adventure house-boating down the historic Rideau Canal.  You can read all about that adventure on Canadian Geographic – or watch the super fun video above – and either should get the point across.   Le Boat, Europe’s biggest houseboat rental company, have a range of boats stationed at Smith Falls Ontario, catering for 2, 4, 6, 10 and 12 passengers.  For this to work, the waters need to be calm, there needs to be ports to call on, and it’s all about the locks.  Later in the summer I went on another luxury houseboat experience, this time in France, but as with the rest of Canada, this Le Boat experience is an entirely different experience.  Forget the cheese and wine,  when you cross Big Rideau Lake or take on hundreds of lake islands, this houseboating trip is more rugged, adventurous, spacious that anything you’ll find in Europe, and you won’t have to worry about parking the boat with millimetres to spare in the locks. You also have the friendly lock masters from Parks Canada guiding you along the way.   My extended family joined me on this one, and we had a ball, spending a couple nights in Ottawa on the way.  I love Ottawa in summer.  The festivals, the buzz, the views… it just might be my favourite city under the sun.

July

Somewhat unusually for me, July was dominated by international travel to France and Ireland, where I could finally compare the Wild Atlantic Way to Newfoundland, and back up my claim that you’re simply not comparing Apples to Apples!     Only one will give you a much better appreciation about the country in which you actually live!   We had a fantastic road trip to Sligo, Derry, Belfast and the rock star attraction of Giant's Causeway. You can read all about our adventures in Ireland here.   Taking on active summer kid duty, I did shuttle the kids to Squamish for a wood-working lesson at Create Makerspace they both thoroughly enjoyed.  Teach my kids (and myself) how to use power tools.   You don’t have to travel far to tick off something on your bucket list.   I also took my aunt, visiting from Florida, to see Flyover Canada, as it’s a goose-bump inducing experience for any visitor to Canada, to get a sense of the overwhelming size and beauty of this country.  Given the high cost of everything these days, it’s also very well priced.  My aunt absolutely loved it.

A few days later, I found myself on a plane to Cusco, Peru.  It's a long way to go and yet I felt like I was merely travelling full circle.  20 years ago, Peru was my first port of call on my first big journey around the world, when I was just another backpacker with a wild dream for adventure and the discipline to somehow record it along the way.  I've been to Peru a few times since, but this was my first time back in Cusco, and now I was accompanied by my 12-year old daughter.   We had arrived to do a shortened version of the Inca Trail with an Indigenous-owned local company called Alpaca Expeditions.  I'd also be doing another story about the amazing food in Peru, taking a cooking class and a fabulous street food tour.  I brought along the kid with the adventurous appetite, hoping she'd be able to cope with the altitude and the pace of an assignment.  As you can see in the video, she did more than cope, she thrived.  Cusco looked exactly the same as it did 20 years ago, but a lot has changed too: the crazy traffic, the smart phones, the high-end restaurants and hotels.  Sprinkled among it all were the scraggy backpackers, heading to the Andes for the adventure of a lifetime.  Thinking back to my own adventure in 2005, I could never have imagined returning to Sun Gate - older, wiser, fatter - with so many once-in-a-lifetimes I've lost count, and with a beautiful daughter to keep me company.  Full circle indeed! 

Luxury river boats in France.  Road tripping Ireland.  Hiking in Peru. Racing horses (and a Mustang) in the Cariboo.  Helicopters to the island, Harley Davidsons and a Gold Rush.  How was my summer?   Epic, as always. 

​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. 

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.

​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.

The chef presents a burrito cigar, filled with chicken, salsa and guacamole, resting on a thick glass ashtray you haven’t seen since 1978.  Next up is a slice of marbled Jack’s Creek Australian steak sizzling on hot pebbles, blow-torched to order, medium rare.  Now the glazed fois gras lollipop, served on candy floss which is melted with chili-infused vinegar spray. There will be ten of these courses, each accompanied by a crystal glass of fine wine from every major wine-producing region.  Am I in one of Vancouver’s new Michelin-star fine dining restaurants?  No, I’m a passenger on the world’s most luxurious passenger yacht cruising off the Pacific coast of South America, and this is not even the most memorable meal of the week. 

​In the wake of the pandemic, cruise ships appear to be sailing in two different directions.  There are the massive floating resorts appealing to the masses (MSC’s new Wonder of the Seas can accommodate a record 6988 passengers).  Then there are the small, extravagant vessels that promise comfort and decadence beyond imagination.  With just 114 suites housing 228 guests across five decks, the 168-metre long Scenic Eclipse sails firmly into this harbour, billed as The World’s First Discovery Yacht.  This means it can safely navigate Antarctica and the Northwest Passage just as easily as it can cruise the Mediterranean or South Pacific. It also means that each extra-large, sound-insulated cabin has its own butler, electronically customizable beds, Dyson hair-dryers, all-inclusive mini-bar, balcony, gourmet coffee maker, and oversized rain shower bathroom.

-​Boarding the Eclipse in Lima on a 9-day sailing to the Chilean capital of Santiago, the lush expansive lounge, beaming staff and towering bar all look impeccable.   Doting, attentive and highly trained international crew outnumber guests three to one.   The Eclipse was inspired by the Australian owner’s desire to offer his non-billionaire friends the billionaire luxury yacht experience.  Forget the tiresome nickel and dime cruise dance, because everything is included:  all premium alcohol, wifi, offshore excursions, all nine dining options, entertainment, kayaking, paddle-boarding, even your crew and driver tips.  You do however have to pay to ride the two on-board helicopters and comfy submarine, along with expansive spa services that include a range of massage, hair styling and nail services. Considering the pricey rack rates for this bucket list cruise experience, those costs might feel like a drop in the ocean.

​“Honey, there’s a sperm whale chilling off our balcony!”  My wife is enjoying her long hot shower (the ship desalinates up to 200 tonnes of seawater every day) and misses the unexpected wildlife moment. Gathered for their daily wildlife briefing in the lounge, the ship’s marine biologists, naturalists and guides are suitably impressed.   A sense of discovery, immersion in nature, and taking advantage of the ship’s many toys are baked into the Scenic Eclipse experience.  Our particular itinerary, an annual repositioning called Latin American Delights, offers mostly land-based cultural excursions as the Eclipse makes her way south for another busy Antarctica season.  In Paracas, Peru, zodiacs take us to the Ballestas Islands, where pungent guano is mined for fertilizer and hundreds of thousands of seabirds nest in dramatic cliffs reminiscent of the Galapagos. The following day, flamingos and migrating birds await us in the protected Meija Lagoons, an hour’s drive from the historic town of Matarani.  Relieved to welcome the first cruise ship to visit the port town in two and half years (Covid and political unrest battered regional tourism in Peru), locals pull out all the stops in appreciation.  We dance, drink pisco, and smile for local media.   Sailing into Arica, Chile, we leave the ship to explore the culture and alien landscapes of the Atacama.  Life is in constant battle with the elements in the world’s driest desert.  In a small desert village called Codpa, the resident shaman’s blessing over smoke, sweet wine and coca leaves feels deeply authentic.  Each afternoon, we return by bus to the Eclipse’s decadent bubble of luxury, greeted with hot towels, spotlessly clean rooms, twinkling live piano music, courtly service, and a complementary cocktail bar of dreams. Whatever region of the planet you explore on this striking vessel, expect a jarring contrast onboard to the world you’ll discover onshore.  

There are 135 different types of Scotch and whiskey at the bar, and recognizing the opportunity, I’m determined to taste as many as I can.  Each dinner menu is a conversation starter, each dish over the top.  Even at full passenger capacity, the Eclipse is designed to accentuate opulent space and comfort, hence her ten dining experiences when the outstanding Yacht Club buffet could easily suffice.  Hell, the 24-hour room service menu would easily suffice.  Smiling staff are eager to satisfy any guest request.  Truffle fries at 1am in the morning?  Yes sir!  Changing one of the six types of available pillows before turning in?  Yes sir! ​

Expect indulgent French cuisine in Lumiere, melt-in-the-mouth sushi at Kokos, grilled rib-eye steak and lobster in Elements, and expensive wine that just doesn’t stop flowing.  My favourite meal is the Night Market, where a wonderful chef named Strawberry (yes, that’s her real name) exhibits her culinary creativity across eight courses of Indian, Middle-Eastern or Asian-inspired dishes that defy description. Her blueberry folded gelato served with curry-buttered popcorn and compote will haunt my tastebuds forever.  Corporate Executive Chef Tom Götter’s commitment to sustainability and reducing food waste permeates everything:  food scraps like vegetable peels and kitchen castaways are dehydrated and turned into fragrant ‘dusts’ and spices.  All the gelato and baked goods are made onboard, while fresh herbs grow in specialized cabinets inside Epicure, which hosts cooking classes and beverage tastings.  The Eclipse burns low sulphur diesel, and when liquid natural gas starts powering cruise ships, I expect Scenic – which operates luxury river cruises in Europe and has more ocean ships under construction - will be among the early adopters.  Initiatives like digital labels updated daily in guest cabins might eliminate paper, although any readers seeking a sustainable vacation won’t find it on an engine-powered cruise ship, at least for now.​

​As we approach our final port of Valparaiso, heavy wind and high waves pound the ship, so I head to the bridge to see how our affable captain is dealing with it.  The technology and engineering inside the Eclipse is mind-boggling.  Oversize six-metre-long stabilizers have been deployed on either side, large enough to keep passengers steady on much larger ships. There’s no rudder, as each prop can rotate 360-degrees, while the ship can maintain her position without dropping anchor thanks to GPS positioning.  Bridge crew welcome guest visits from 8am to 8pm, patiently explaining to us how the ship works, and allowing the obligatory captain’s chair photo.  I can’t stick around though, I’ve got a manicure booked, and want to iron out my back in the infra-red sauna before tackling a half-dozen fragrant Speysides at the bar.  

“Who the hell lives like this?” I ask my wife, busy scrolling on-demand movie selection on our cabin’s wall-sized flat screen TV.  We need a few hours to digest the 10-course Chef’s Table dinner, featuring that burrito cigar, as well as coconut ceviche, braised BBQ rib, smashed mango-curry lamb chop, and a literal homemade chocolate fudge explosion.   In fact, we’ll need a few years to digest the overall Scenic Eclipse experience.  Together we’ve come a long way from our first cruise onboard a typical floating hotel with packed pools and excessive buffets. Luxury small ships like the Scenic Eclipse cater to a different clientele chasing unique and exclusive experiences.  Pricey it may be, but passengers will delight in that rare opportunity to get far more than what you pay for. 
 
Visit www.scenic.ca for more information about Scenic Eclipse itineraries.

“Don’t you ever just read a Grisham?” comments one of my friends.  It’s been a busy summer, making up for summers past as travel returns to its pre-pandemic boom.    After Tahiti and Sudbury, I dropped my bags, picked up my six-year-old son Galileo, and hopped over the Rockies to see what Calgary is up to these days.   In a city accustomed to booms and busts, the boom is back.  We’d spend a few days researching the urban and regional attractions that met my ‘bucket list’ criteria, chasing columns and new chapters for the upcoming second edition of The Great Western Canadian Bucket List.   There would be time for bedtime stories, but that’s about it. .

We kick off with the Yamnuska Wolf Dog Sanctuary outside of Cochrane, a facility that rescues and shelters hybrid animals that belong in neither a domestic or wilderness environment.  That doesn’t stop idiots breeding wolf-dogs, for idiots who think it would be cool to own a wolf.  What they get are shy yet aggressive animals that make terrible pets, with untamed instincts requiring constant attention and secure zoo-like enclosures. Breeding wolf dogs is, inexplicably, legal in Alberta.  The sanctuary does a fantastic job educating the public, looking after the animals they rescue, and advocating for both wolves, canines and hybrids.  Next we drive into the foothills of the Rockies to spend the night with Tracey and Tim at Painted Warriors, a hands-on Indigenous cultural and wilderness experience that invited conversation around the campfire, archery in the forest, star-gazing, and nature walks.  Among many other things, I learn I’ve been aiming with the wrong eye all my life (no wonder I always miss), how aspen makes natural sunblock powder, and that a professional archer can hit the top of a golf tee from fifty yards.  Above all else, I learn yet again that meeting good people always results in a good time.

We drive back to the city, pick up outrageously good smoked meat sandwiches and ice-cream at the Calgary Farmers Market, and head across the highway for Downhill Karting. It’s the same luge contraption I discovered many years ago in New Zealand outside of Rotorua, and it’s fun to share the experience with my delighted kid. It’s the first time we’ve done a trip just the two of us together, and while Gali doesn’t have gunpowder energy of his Tahiti-toting sister, he’s observant, measured, and willing to give everything a go.

We’re here for a good time, not a long time, so it’s off to Lazy Day Rafting Rentals to float down the Bow River and experience one of Calgary’s more iconic summer activities.  Gali super-soaked ducks and geese as the river gently floated us from our entry point to the Bow River Pathway Bridge.   Drop off the boat, check-into the Residence Inn, and stroll over to The Mash, which upcycles grain from a microbrewery into delicious pizza dough.   My pizza had everything on it, Gali ordered plain cheese.  One day he will order toppings, add Tabasco, and say: “So this is why you order pizza with everything on it.”  I look forward to that day.
 
We’re heading out the city again, but before we do, we pop into the National Music Centre to see Randy Bachman’s insane guitar collection, learn about Canada’s outsized role in the history of popular music, mix some beats, and gawk at the 64-foot one-man orchestra known as the Kimball Theatre Organ.   We pop into the Hangar Flight Museum by the airport, and hit the road for the Good Knights Medieval Encampment for an evening of medieval glamping.  This is an actual thing, and as you can read in my column for Canadian Geographic, it’s a very fine thing indeed!    We dressed up, threw fake axes, jousted with real swords, and watched lords and ladies dance under the big prairie sky.  We’d immersed ourselves in a fun, family-friendly world that is one-part history and one-part Lord of the Rings / Game of Thrones / Dungeons and Dragons fantasy.   The things you can do in Canada never cease to amaze me.  

​A few days later, we’re out the country so I can take my kids to a place I swore I’d never take them to.  You can read all about it here, with an honest column that I hope captures the parent’s experience of Disneyland.  I’m not a theme park kinda guy, but visiting Disneyland was never going to be about me: it’s all about the kids, and the kids had a great time.  We stayed the Grand California over the 4th of July weekend, when the park was heaving with visitors.  The Genie + pass was essential to avoid the line-ups, but we probably should have eased Gali into the rides before kicking things off with a dark rollercoaster of Space Mountain. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.   His sister, meanwhile, gravitated to the fastest, loudest, scariest rides.  It’s remarkable these kids came from the same womb.  I turned a shade of lime after the rollercoaster and falling elevator rides in Disney Adventure Park.   In truth, the ride I was looking forward to most was a Harley Davidson Road King waiting for me back in Vancouver.

Last year I researched a story about renting a Harley from EagleRider Rentals in Vancouver, joining a bike crew on a road trip up Vancouver Island, ferrying to Bella Coola, and back through the BC interior.  A year later, I join most of the same group (which happen to include the excellent Daniel Cook Band), and we roar off for a four-day loop of Vancouver to Osoyoos to Nelson to Lillooet to Vancouver.  Once we got out of the congested city and past the summer construction, our bikes could blitz through the sweltering, rolling countryside.  Motorcycles were out in full force, giving the eponymous biker wave when passing each other.  Daniel and his band busted out their instruments in the evenings, which added a wonderful dimension to the trip, and delighted large groups of bikers with an impromptu roof top party at the Adventure Hotel in Nelson.    We swam in the warm waters of Christina Lake, did a long, knee-cramping day in the saddle, played obligatory games of cribbage and did a memorable sidewalk jam in Lillooet.   The diverse landscape and excellent roads of British Columbia delivered the goods.   I’ve joined EagleRider’s membership program, and look forward to making this an annual tradition.  

​A weekend in Birch Bay, Washington (or as I like to call it, Canada in the USA), back across the Rocks for a wonderful wedding at the River Café in Calgary, and we’re up to date! I’m leaving early tomorrow morning to hike the East Coast Trail in Newfoundland.   July has been one for the books, but it’s going to get really busy in August.  Reading a Grisham can wait. 

​

I’m not a particularly big fan of soccer, but I love the FIFA World Cup.  Every four years, countries clash on the football pitch in a proxy war for cultural supremacy, creating a spectacle that delivers controversy, thrills, and the illusion that the world can truly come together every once in a while, even if only to focus on a beautiful game.  When would the nations of Denmark and Tunisia join together over anything, much less Mexico and Poland, Switzerland and Cameroon, Uruguay and Korea, Portugal and Ghana?  That was only in the first round. 
 
Imagine if Ukraine could play Russia on the pitch, or Israel kick-off against Iran?   The matches themselves run back and forth on the spectrum of boredom and excitement.  This year Canada made the finals for the first time since 1986, announcing itself as a true soccer nation (alongside other underrated teams like Australia and the USA).   It was a close opener, losing to the world’s #2 ranked Belgium.  Our second match was against Croatia, and I tuned in from 35,000feet on a Lufthansa flight that screened the game live.  Technology, eh?  When Alfonso Davies scored Canada’s first ever World Cup goal in the opening minutes, I screamed "YES!" scaring the crap out of my fellow Airbus 330 passengers, the vast majority of whom had little interest in this particular game.   We were, after all, en-route to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

It's not a country I ever thought I’d visit, but I received an invite to the prestigious WTTC Global Tourism Summit, and an opportunity to explore some of Riyadh and Jeddah in the process.  Yes, I’m fully aware of the problematic international reputation of Saudi Arabia, just as I’m fully aware that what we hear in the media can differ starkly from reality on the ground.  Among critical news coverage are whispers of a great cultural reformation, a dialling back of religious extremism, and a massive investment in mega-projects to attract international tourism.   I’ve written more about that in an article I hope someone will publish, which gets into the contradictions and controversies.    Here, I thought I’d focus on moments and vignettes without getting too much into the weeds. I expect some readers will take offence regardless.  
 
As a Jewish journalist, I was a little nervous heading to the highly-controlled kingdom, of course, but I had been provided with a new online tourist visa, and an invitation.  I was greeted with the first of many small cups of Saudi coffee, a blonde elixir spiced with cardamom, saffron, ginger, and others spices, and always served with sweet dates.  Saudi Arabia is trying to get its coffee tradition recognized by UNESCO as a unique cultural heritage, a similar designation as baguettes to France or Balsamic vinegar to Italy.  My first impression leaving the airport was similar to my first impression visiting Dubai.  Endlessly straight, flat roads lined with neon malls, minarets, unusual skyscrapers, and heavy traffic.  I see a large neon sign advertising the Human Rights Commission, as if proudly defying international criticism.   There’s Starbucks, H&M, Dunkin' Donuts, major hotel chains, gas stations (about 80c a litre, in case you’re wondering).   We pass the world’s largest female-only university, villas and palaces, glitzy car dealerships.  My hotel room at the Jareed Hotel was huge and modern, surrounded by upscale restaurants, and overlooking two giant screens showing the World Cup.  A bottle of wine with fruit sat at the foot of the bed, only the wine bottle held Italian sparkling water. There would be no wine, beer or spirits this week, and it would take some getting used to. Although I’m told there is a black market, alcohol is illegal across the kingdom, and so it will be a rare, dry week of hot, exotic travel.  

I grab an excellent burger from a nearby food truck, and sit with the locals as Spain draws with Germany. Mostly men, but women too, some of whom wear the full abaya, others just a headscarf, and a few with no head covering at all.   Under the leadership of the millennial Crown Prince Muhammed Bin Salmon (simply called MBS), the regime is stepping away from the hardcore extremist Islam that denied women rights, and locked up the kingdom to western visitors.  They don’t call it modernization, they call it restoration, and while culture still dictates very conservative values, the kingdom has passed laws to allow freedoms unthinkable a decade ago, and religious authorities have had their wings clipped. In the hotel, I bump into a young Canadian kid here for Middle Beast, a massive desert rave that will attract some 200,000 people, with acts including Carl Cox, Swedish House Mafia, Nervo, Eric Prydz, DJ Khaled, and other electronica superstars. Sounds too good to be sober.    “Oh, there will be drugs and alcohol,” he tells me confidently.  “Possession is okay, you just don’t want to be caught selling it.”   Not for the first time, I catch myself saying: are we in Saudi Arabia?
 
The Chair of the Royal Geographical Society’s Younger Member Committee and I wander up to the Hollywood actor Ed Norton, who is at the travel conference to speak truth to sustainability bullshit.  We have a great conversation about my first impressions of the kingdom.  He reassures me that it's very different to what most people see and hear in the news.  We trade details, which is when I discover that Ed Norton is actually an affable British venture capitalist named Justin Cooke.  The real Ed Norton is on stage tomorrow, and turns out he’s a travel ambassador for Kenya, who knew?  Just about everyone I speak to at the luxe World Travel and Tourism Council Global Summit is interesting and worth the words.  This includes Carnival Cruises CEO Arnold Donald (a name that just rolls off the tongue) and Mexico’s former Minister of Tourism and now Special Tourism Advisor to Saudi Arabia Gloria Guevara. I ask her if she’s supporting Mexico or Saudi Arabia in the World Cup, and like an experienced politician, she doesn’t provide a definitive art.  

​Walking the palatial and fragrant hallways of the Ritz-Carlton Convention Centre among traditionally robed Arabs, Asians, Africans and Europeans leaves me feeling optimistic. It’s a true melting pot of culture, gathered to tackle major issues in the realm of hospitality.  I expect it must feel the same at COP Climate Conferences, or the United Nations, except with 250 CEOS and 52 Ministers of Tourism in attendance, something concrete might actually get accomplished here.  Canada is notably not in attendance, likely because of an on-going diplomatic spat with Saudi Arabia.  This intersection of tourism, politics and commerce can be controversial. Although I expect I’ll be heavily criticized for visiting the kingdom, I’m here with an open mind, and an open heart, full of questions which I’m not afraid to ask.  Over the course of the week, I have a dozen terrific conversations with Saudi men and women, all of whom speak of a country transforming itself at rapid speed, eager to modernize, and ready to welcome the world.

We fly to Jeddah, the Saudia Airlines in-flight entertainment interrupted when we fly over Mecca for a special prayer.  There are R-rated movies in the system, in case you were wondering.  Jeddah is hot and humid, and the traffic is bonkers, especially at night when Saudi Arabia comes alive. Our business hotel is opposite the Red Sea, with a wide lane for bike and walking traffic, and concessions on the beach. Most women are fully covered up in their abayas, some not. 
 
I had picked up a SIM card at the airport, and unlike China, all foreign media is available, including articles highly critical of the regime.  Reading about beheadings, death squads and brutal royal purges makes for disturbing reading. MBS sounds like an ambitious guy you simply do not want to cross.  He also sounds like an autocrat who will do whatever it takes to realize his goal of reaching 50% GDP from non-oil revenues by 2030.  He’s also a millennial, so I wonder what show he’s currently binging on Netflix.  You can go down Saudi Arabia's Vision2030 rabbithole here.  The giga-projects are mind-blowing. 

Huge public art exhibits line the highways, and the glitz of the Jeddah Ritz Carlton is staggering. The Royal guest house looks bigger than Buckingham Palace. We dine in fantastic restaurants, visit a floating mosque, and then skip a museum to watch Canada play Morocco on an outdoor big screen, with a pro-Morocco crowd gathering on hundreds of bean bags.  The crescent moon is out, the sea breeze is warm, the mosque is lit up behind us…it’s one of those unexpected choice travel moments.   Along with fellow Canadian journalists we cheer for our team, but it doesn’t help. Canada loses all three group stage matches, and crashes out of the World Cup with its beaver tail between its legs.  Locals are friendly though, somewhat bewildered by the fact that a group of Canadian tourists are here in the first place. At least tonight, because we’re alongside a Formula One race track, and Jeddah already receives millions of tourists a year on their way to make the Hajj and Umrah in Mecca, located about an hour’s drive away. That’s still off limits to non-Muslims, at least for now.

​For all the construction and moonshot tourism developments (check out this wild vision for The Line), my week’s highlights are the old towns of Jeddah and Riyadh, which feel more authentic with their wooden windows, mud-houses, souks, galleries and mosques.  I learn about Saudi clothing, their customs, coffee ceremony, their homes and lavish feasts. Gradually, my overall discomfort with the regime gives way to the truth of all travel, which rears up whether you’re visiting a highly-controlled regime or permissive democracy: cultures are different, and not every culture wishes to emulate our own. Where we see oppression, they see tradition; where we see a gin and tonic, they see decadence. Neither has the right to judge and convict, but we all have the right to engage, listen, and learn.    In sha’Allah, we can all come together – men, women and children - over coffee and glazed dates, with mutual respect and understanding of our differences. 
​In sha’Allah, may tourism continue to drive positive change on the planet we all call home.  

​Now, let’s get back to the football.