It’s difficult to describe the cultural whiplash, the immaculate jet set disorientation, that accompanies any traveller finding themselves in Bora Bora one day, and Sudbury Ontario a few days after that.  As usual, I’m going to give it a go.      
It was my first time in French Polynesia, although the coconut islands of Tahiti, Mo’orea and Bora Bora have long haunted my dreams, having featured in the pages of a paradise calendar that I cut out and plastered across my dorm room wall.  I’d long heard about lagoons so clear you’d think the sea was an infinity pool, about beaches that squeak and opulent overwater villas.  In truth, a week in the Maldives had made this nothing new.  I’d also encountered Polynesian culture before through travels to New Zealand, Hawaii and the Cook Islands.  I’d even explored the oddness of a French Overseas Territory before,  on the island of New Caledonia in the Pacific and the Atlantic island of St Pierre and Miquelon off the coast of Newfoundland.  Yet it’s the people you meet who create the paradise you find, and the people you travel with too.

Researching a story for an upcoming Islands and Wellness issue of Dreamscapes Magazine, I had set sail to capture the essence of multi-generational travel, how knowledge and attitude is transferred through experience.   Joining me on this assignment was my mom and my daughter, completing a three-generation arc.  We’d travelled together before, on a fantastic cruise around Atlantic Canada which resulted in a wonderful story for the Vancouver Sun, save for one critical detail: the cruise company went bankrupt shortly after our trip.  Our days aboard One Ocean’s RCGS Resolute exploring Sable Island, Gros Morne National Park, St Pierre and the Magdalen Islands - and kitchen party nights in the ship lounge with the wonderful Barra MacNeils of Cape Breton - was truly a once-in-a-lifetime deal. On the other side of Covid, the time felt right to find a new ship, a different ocean, and see if magic can repeat itself.

Cruising on a small ship is a world away from cruising on a big ship.  I learned this on the Star Flyer in the Caribbean, on the Scenic Eclipse down the coast of South America, and onboard the Wind Spirit as we anchor in Mo’orea surrounded by the island’s sharp granite peaks.  Unveiled in 1988 as one of Windstar’s original vessels, the old girl – as her affable captain referred to her – is a beautiful ship:  four towering masts, a fantastic crew, plenty of water toys, and just the right mix of luxury and adventure.  We shared a cabin on the lower deck, and as the only child on the ship, my daughter quickly stole the show, running about as if she owned the boat.  We visited a vanilla plantation and pearl farm, hired a scooter to circle Bora Bora (twice), kayaked and stand-up paddle boarded, and took advantage of some of the best snorkelling on the planet.  Chats with the kids about shark conservation bore fruit when I watched my daughter jump into the sea with dozens of black-tip reef sharks, the first passenger to do so.  The next day, my mom was molested by lovable stingrays in search of a cuddle.   We listened to local storytellers, devoured fresh tropical fruit, did the cha-cha on the pool deck, and conversed with a diversity of personalities from around the world. 

A few days later - luggage successfully retrieved after being lost in-transit between Tahiti, Los Angeles and Vancouver - I took my second red-eye of the week to catch an early morning flight from Toronto to Sudbury.  The last time I was in the Big Nickel was for a book tour in 2013, when I spoke at the local Chapters bookshop.  This time I had arrived to deliver a closing keynote at the Travel Media Association of Canada’s Annual Conference, which gathered over 200 of the country’s top travel writers, PR pros, influ..content creators, destination marketing organizations, and other professionals that make the business of travel media tick.  It’s one of the few opportunities my profession has for stories to be told and sold, for connections to be forged, and destinations to be discovered. Workshops and panels inspire professional and personal development, and this year’s host city of Sudbury put on a show for our travelling circus. 

​Still bombed from the red-eye, I could have fallen asleep on the bed of nails inside the excellent and interactive Science North centre (a few minutes in the gyroscope woke me up and turned me green).   An outstanding meal at the highly-rated Kouzzina was the first time I’ve had my appetite for carpaccio truly satiated.  The event was an opportunity to reconnect with colleagues I haven’t seen since the pandemic, all of us bearing a few scars of that fever dream.  It was an opportunity to chat about our industry, to learn, to gossip, to grow, and to plan the adventures you’ll be hearing about in the future.  It was also an opportunity to taste fine Irish Whiskey (courtesy Tourism Ireland) and participate in the best karaoke party this side of Osaka.  Sabrina Robson of Destination BC belts a version of Amy Winehouse’s Valerie that kicked up a storm and left the veteran karaoke DJ speechless.  I did my part with perhaps the best karaoke performance of my career:  Home for a Rest by Spirit of the West was simply the right song, delivered at the right time, for the right crowd.

​My closing keynote addressed the past, present and future of travel media.  I told everyone that we’ve been at the crossroads of change for so long I’m surprised nobody’s opened up a hotel resort at the intersection to take advantage of it.  I looked back to the remote and recent past, discussing the transformations of mediums, the growth of tourism, overtourism, and the challenges and opportunities awaiting us around the corner.  Stitched throughout was my own journey, discovering how to travel as an awkward teenager (Lawless Rebel!), learning how the media works as a student, and how I used curiosity to recognize potential.  My goal was to celebrate our unique profession, and celebrate our good fortune to live and work in Canada.  Receiving a standing ovation from my peers, colleagues and friends was truly humbling, making Sudbury yet another trip I’ll remember for a lifetime.   Proving yet again:  a bucket list experience is only as special as the people you share it with.

There are many things that could be on a Canadian bucket list, as Canada is a vast and diverse country with a lot to offer. Some possible items that could be on a Canadian bucket list include:

•  – Visiting the stunning national parks, such as Banff and Jasper in the Rocky Mountains, or Algonquin Park in Ontario
•  – Seeing the beautiful Niagara Falls, which straddles the border between Canada and the United States
• –  Experiencing the vibrant culture and history of Canada’s major cities, such as Toronto, Montreal, and Vancouver
• –  Taking a road trip through the Canadian countryside, with stops at small towns and scenic locations along the way
• –  Enjoying the great outdoors, with activities such as hiking, camping, fishing, or skiing in the winter
• –  Discovering the rich First Nations cultures and traditions that are an important part of Canada’s heritage
• –  Trying some of the delicious local cuisine, such as poutine (French fries with gravy and cheese curds), maple syrup, or Nanaimo bars (a type of no-bake dessert).

Canada offers many unique travel experiences, due to its vast and diverse landscapes, rich culture, and abundant natural beauty. Some of the most unique travel experiences in Canada could include:

• –  Taking a boat tour through the spectacular Niagara Gorge to get a close-up view of the mighty Niagara Falls
• –  Going dog sledding in the snowy wilderness of the Canadian North, where you can see the Northern Lights and explore the frozen tundra
• –  Going whale watching off the coast of British Columbia, where you can see orcas, humpback whales, and other marine life in their natural habitat
• – Visiting the Bay of Fundy, where you can see the world’s highest tides and explore the unique ecosystems of the tidal mudflats
• – Going on a safari in the Rocky Mountains, where you can see bighorn sheep, grizzly bears, and other wildlife in their natural habitat
• – Visiting the First Nations communities of Canada’s West Coast, where you can learn about the cultures and traditions of the indigenous peoples of Canada
• – Going ice fishing on one of Canada’s many frozen lakes, where you can try your hand at catching fish through a hole in the ice.

​That’s a decent variety GPT, but travel writers like myself write stories, so let’s try one of those:

Once upon a time, a couple decided to take a trip to Canada to explore the beautiful landscapes and rich culture of the country. They packed their bags and set off on an adventure that they would never forget.
As they flew over the vast expanse of the Canadian wilderness, they were awestruck by the stunning views of snow-capped mountains, deep forests, and crystal clear lakes. They landed in Toronto, a bustling city known for its vibrant arts and culture scene. They spent their first few days in Toronto exploring the city’s many attractions. They visited the CN Tower, one of the tallest buildings in the world, and enjoyed breathtaking views of the city from the observation deck. They also visited the Royal Ontario Museum, where they marveled at the vast collection of artifacts and exhibits.
After a few days in Toronto, they decided to rent a car and drive west to the beautiful province of Alberta. As they drove through the countryside, they were mesmerized by the stunning views of the Rocky Mountains and the vast expanses of untouched wilderness.
In Alberta, they spent their days hiking in the mountains, marveling at the breathtaking beauty of the landscape. They also visited Banff National Park, where they saw stunning glaciers, waterfalls, and wildlife.
After a week in Alberta, they continued their journey east to the province of Quebec. In Quebec, they were enchanted by the charming French-Canadian culture and the beautiful architecture of the old city of Quebec. They spent their days wandering the cobbled streets and enjoying delicious French cuisine. Their trip to Canada was an unforgettable adventure that they would always cherish. They returned home with a newfound appreciation for the beauty and diversity of the country, and a desire to explore more of its wonders in the future.
​
Once a upon a… zzzzz.  Only a robot that never sleeps would drive from Toronto to Alberta and then head to Quebec City. Check your itinerary ChatGPT!  Where’s the colour, where’s the personality, where’s the real-life funny stuff?   So I asked ChatGPT to have another go.

There was once a group of friends who decided to embark on a journey to complete their Canadian bucket list. The first item on their list was to visit Niagara Falls and take a boat tour through the spectacular Niagara Gorge.
As they arrived at the falls, they were greeted by a gruff and weather-beaten tour guide who seemed to have seen it all. “Welcome to the Mighty Niagara Falls!” he boomed. “Are you ready to experience the thrill of a lifetime?”
The friends nodded eagerly, eager to get started on their adventure. The tour guide led them to a small boat that was moored at the edge of the falls. As they climbed aboard, the tour guide gave them each a yellow raincoat and a safety briefing.
“Now listen up!” he yelled over the roar of the falls. “If you fall out of the boat, don’t panic! Just grab hold of one of the life rings and we’ll fish you out!”
The friends exchanged nervous glances as they donned their raincoats and prepared for the ride of their lives. The tour guide revved up the engine and the boat set off into the heart of the Niagara Gorge. As they made their way through the swirling mists and roaring waters, the friends were awestruck by the beauty of the falls. They cheered and shouted with excitement as they passed under the powerful Horseshoe Falls, getting drenched by the mist and spray.
But just as they were beginning to relax and enjoy the ride, disaster struck. A sudden gust of wind caught hold of one of the life rings, sending it flying out of the boat and into the raging waters below.  Without hesitation, the tour guide leapt into action. “Man overboard!” he yelled, diving into the water after the life ring. The friends watched in amazement as the tour guide fought against the powerful current, finally emerging triumphantly with the life ring in hand. “And that, my friends,” he said with a grin, “is how you survive a tour of the Niagara Falls!”
The friends laughed and cheered as the tour guide helped them back aboard the boat, grateful for their brush with disaster and the unforgettable experience of a lifetime.

Holy maple syrup, that’s a lot more exciting than my visit to Niagara Falls!  Never mind the rapids, readers of that story must be careful to avoid drowning in thick and deadly cliches. 
​
This has been an entertaining exercise to reassure myself that real writers add authentic, creative flair to their stories, the kind of unpredictable twists that AI bots – no matter how sophisticated – will always struggle with.  We will either become more valued as a result, or future advances in the technology will be able to mimic our voices to make us redundant. 

As a travel writer, I have had the opportunity to visit many amazing destinations around the world. But there is one country that always manages to surprise and delight me, no matter how many times I visit: Canada.
From the breathtaking natural beauty of the Rocky Mountains and the Bay of Fundy, to the vibrant culture and history of its cities, Canada has something for everyone.
One of my favourite things about Canada is its diverse landscape, which ranges from icy tundra in the north to lush rainforests in the west. This diversity is reflected in the wide variety of outdoor activities that are available, from skiing and snowboarding in the winter to hiking and fishing in the summer.
But Canada is more than just a paradise for nature lovers. It is also home to some of the most vibrant and exciting cities in the world, such as Toronto, Montreal, and Vancouver. These cities offer a wide range of cultural attractions, from world-class museums and galleries to lively music and arts scenes.
But what really sets Canada apart from other destinations is the warmth and hospitality of its people. Canadians are known for their friendly and welcoming attitude, and they are always happy to share their country’s rich history and culture with visitors.
Whether you are looking for adventure or relaxation, Canada has something to offer. So pack your bags and head north to experience all that this amazing country has to offer.
​
With that generically vanilla, paint-drying editorial effort, I think my job is safe.  For now. 

The mountains overlooking Vancouver have several rockstars. There are the three ski resorts, the gondolas of Grouse, and the choppy crest of Crown.  Perhaps the most distinctive peaks are The Lions, named in the 1880s because they resemble two sleeping lions (and because nobody back then deferred to Indigenous names).   The East and West Lion peaks (reaching 5269ft and 5400ft respectively) inspired the BC Lions football team, Lions Gate Bridge, Lions Gate Hospital, and Lions Gate Entertainment.  They also inspire ambitious hikers to brave a knee-punishing ascent with a memorable day-hike or overnight trek, complete with a challenging summit free climb.  I am not an ambitious hiker, but conquering the Lions has been on my bucket list for years.   This year, all my excuses finally ran out.
 
Before we get to the hike, it’s important to recognize that these are not Lions at all, they’re actually twin sisters.  According to the Squamish people, the Twin Sisters are markers of peace between the Squamish and Haida, formed by the Creator to honour a treaty, or as a result of twin Squamish sisters captured by a Haida raiding party.   Dismissing Indigenous legends and name places to honour colonial heroes and symbols has fortunately run its course,  so this blog post would like to acknowledge that it takes place on the unceeded territory of the Squamish people, and is grateful for the opportunity to visit the hallowed peaks that mean so much more than a great view and a hiking adventure.  I’ll call them Lions moving forward, but continue to pay my respects to the Twin Sisters and their cultural legacy.

​There are two ways to hike the Lions.  Park at Cypress Mountain Ski Resort and hike up and across the mountains, or park in Lions Bay and hike up… and up…and up.  The Cypress route adds a few kilometres and requires some parking and driving coordination, especially if you’re descending on a one-way route through Lions Bay. The Lions Bay route requires a lucky parking spot in the few public spots available at the trail head, or get ready to add some asphalt road ascent to your journey.   Be on the lookout for unimpressed NIMBY Lions Head neighbours who don’t appreciate hikers visiting their secluded mountain community.   At least they didn’t seem to appreciate me, perhaps because I had arranged a parking pass and my Kia brought down property values for a day.  Signs at the trail head to West Lion make no mistake what’s in store:  Difficulty: Strenuous.  Only be attempted by properly equipped and experienced hikers. The sign states it is 15km round-trip to the summit, with a hefty 1525m elevation gain. It suggests you budget an ambitious 7 to 8 hours.  There are also bears in the area, along with cougars, bobcats, coyotes, lynx and even snakes (although the local snakes are harmless).   As I started up the trail, encountering any wildlife would instantly become the least of my concern.
 
Up we go.  And up. And up. And up further still.  Ah, what’s this?  A flat section!   Through fairy beds of green moss and lush tree tunnels, beautiful, I needed that welcome breather, and…. nope, it’s up again. And up, up, and up further still.  Poles are essential, as are frequent water breaks (I slugged through 2.5 litres of water on my hike, and I don’t drink that much).  Loose rocks are waiting to roll your ankle, and slippery roots waiting to trip you up.  We cross a bridge over a fetching cascade, which invites a cool dip in the rock pools, but there’s no time to dally.  It’s an unseasonal warm and dry October, which means a lovely cool temperature and few bugs, but also shorter days.   We were on the trail by 7:45am.  The parking lot, incidentally, was already full.     
 
The West Lions is a popular hike, and everyone I passed seemed in better physical and mental shape to do it.  A group of bro’s (shirtless, tanned, bleached hair, ripped, backward baseball caps) were already on their descent. These are BC’s hiking equivalent to California’s surfing dudes.  I encounter groups and couples, and a quick-footed solo teenage boy with parents that should be proud and worried.  Up and up, over and up, until almost 4 hours in, we crest at a viewpoint and finally see the mighty Lions up close.  Solid rock (hornblende diorite for you geologists), the two peaks are more imposing and intimidating when you stand beneath them, casting a shadow into the valley below.  As we continue our ascent, the rocks become bigger and more challenging, remnants of several millennia of rockslides.  Tears are flowing from my knees, and I’m cursing the weight of snacks I thought I’d need in my daypack.  Finally,  we reach a large outcrop where most sane people stop to enjoy the incredible 360-view of the Lions, the Howe Sound, and on a clear day, Vancouver far below.  Most sane people will reach this point, say they’ve hiked the West Lion, and call it a day.   The rest of us might continue on the 29-kilometre Howe Sound Crest Trail from Cypress Mountain to Porteau Cove, or decide it’s worth the risky free-climb up the rock to the West Lion summit.   Cramping legs, blistered ankles, heavy breathing, no fitness whatsoever…of course I’m going for the top. 

Other than one handy rope to assist with a 5 metre drop at the start, there are no chain ladders or ropes.  I had to navigate up and over sheer rock face, balancing on narrow ledges while desperately searching for rock holds, doing my best not to think about the 30m – 50m plummet below.  Some hikers brought helmets and climbing shoes. I had a flask of rum.  Remember:  three points of contact!   It’s been a while since a physical challenge intersected so concisely with my mental fear, and several times I paused to breathe, stay calm, and recollect myself in that special place we all visit sometimes.   It doesn’t take very long to get to the summit, but after a challenging 5-hour ascent, it’s tough as hell.  My thighs cramped up just in time to collapse in a heap by the West Lion’s rock cairn, the only sign that you are indeed, as high as you can go. Oh, and the sweeping, spectacular view that surrounds you.  It’s almost enough to make me forget that I now have to scale down the dangerous rock, and then hike down a trail so steep it could snap a shock absorber. 
 
A few Band-aids, a swig of rum, some yummy sandwiches, painkillers, candy and nuts, and we’re on our way down.  It’s always much quicker hiking down than up, but it’s also hell on your knees and tricky for your ankles.  Yet with fine company, fine weather, and the intangible joy that accompanies any sense of accomplishment, we slowly made our way down to Lions Bay.  You do not want to descend this trail in the dark, but we timed it perfectly, arriving at the parking lot at 5:45pm.  With plenty of breaks and time to enjoy the views (and factoring the state of my fitness), it was a very long, 10-hour hike, and the second most challenging hike of my life (here’s looking at you West Coast Trail).
 
It took a few days for me to stop walking like a stepped-on spider, and yes, it definitely would have helped to have prepared with more than just a few games of pickleball.   There’s plenty of reviews of the West Lion hike on various hiking sites, and yes, I can confirm the last scramble is as challenging as everyone says it is.  Unless you’re that ten-year old girl who passed us on the way down, carrying her stuffy Snow Leopard.   

As I lay in bed that night groaning with stiffness, my wife asked me why on earth anybody would ever want to do this to themselves?  My reply was simple: “Every time I see those Lions, I can think ‘I’ve been to the top of that!’  It’s a personal accomplishment that just keeps on giving.”  

Special thanks to Jon, Revelie, Mike and Stephanie.  

I’m late to this particular highway, but I expect that many readers are.  With sky-high gas prices and increasingly dire climate projections, I can’t help but look at electric vehicles with increasing curiosity.  There’s little doubt EV’s are the future of automobiles, with everyone from Volkswagen to Volvo ditching gas to go all electric.  Yet there’s as many misconceptions as there are die-hard acolytes, fanatics on both side of the fossil fuel divide.  I figured there was only one way to get to the bottom of it:  do some research, and get behind the wheel.
 
I’ve worked with Ford Motors over the years (they sponsored a couple of my speaking tours as well as my 22,000km drive around Australia to tick off The Great Australian Bucket List) so naturally I reached out to them first:  would it be possible to take an EV for a spin?  My 6 year-old son is also crazy about Mustangs, which he confused for whatever yellow muscle car Bumblebee happened to be during his short but intense Transformers phase. 
 
This is how I came to fly into Montreal and hop behind the wheel of a 2022 Ford Mustang Mach-E:  a 346 horsepower fully electric sports car that rockets from 0 to 100 km/hr in 3.7 seconds.  There’s no space for 346 horses on the Mustang logo, just one, but plenty of space for myself, two kids, 3 carry-on suitcases, our day packs, and the various crap that stick to parents like Velcro on any family road trip.  Barf bags for the 6-year-old included.  

There’s bells, whistles, and then there’s the settings in a Mustang Mach-E.  A huge 15.5 inch swipe screen sits in the middle, serving as an on-board super-computer to power all the sensors.  I don’t know how the roof camera works to provide a birds-eye view when I reverse, or the rain-sensing wipers, or how they get the handle-less doors to Star Trek swish when they open.  It’s a neat trick that the car parks itself, and it has a Co-Pilot system that allows the vehicle to drive itself on the highway (although another sensor pinged when I took my hands off the steering wheel for longer than a few seconds).  
 
The feel and response of the accelerator made the biggest first impression.  Instead of braking, I could just decelerate into a full stop, although later I discovered an option to drive with the brake like a typical car.  By that stage, I’d become quite accustomed to just using one pedal, and the intense boost of speed at my disposal.  It was difficult to stick within Quebec’s 90 - 100 km/hr speed limits, and I used the intelligent adaptive cruise-control feature to drive with my hands more than I usually would.  No combustion engine means more cargo space, an unnervingly quiet ride (great for wildlife stops when we spotted deer) and all sorts of other car stuff you’re welcome to geek out with if that’s your jam.   But let’s get to the misconceptions:
 
1. If you’re burning fossil fuels to create electricity, how can an EV be good for the planet?
 
True, if you’re in a country or region that predominately burns coal to generate electricity.  In Canada this is not the case.  Quebec generates 94% of its power through hydro sources.  BC is at 87%.  Manitoba 97%, Newfoundland and Labrador 96%.  Ontario’s system is 94% emissions free.   In these cases, you’re using clean energy to power your vehicle, which is very good for the planet.  On the other hand, your EV vehicle uses steel, silicon, and all sorts of rare minerals needed to create today’s computers and sensors.  There’s always a cost. But in terms of emissions and climate action, driving an EV in Canada is a sustainable bet, as opposed to Australia where the electrical grid is just 24% clean, India (14%) or China (43.5%).  Encouragingly, renewable clean energy sources continue to make dramatic in-roads worldwide.  
 
2. It’s OK for the city, but I can’t go on a big road trip in a remote region, I’m going to run out of juice!
 
This is exactly why I chose my first EV road trip to be in the Lanaudière region of Quebec, spending a week exploring less-trafficked country roads, small towns, parks and lakeside resorts.  Even with our souped-up Mustang’s projected 445km range, I fully expected to be searching for chargers wherever we went.  This proved to be the case, but more out of curiosity than necessity.  Just about everywhere we stopped, there were chargers. Most hotels, attractions and resorts offered free Level 2 charging stations for guests, which charges about 30 km per hour, or fully charges in 6 to 14 hours if left overnight. There were even chargers in La Mauricie National Park at the most popular beaches and attractions. ​   

Fast Level 3 chargers (which charge 100 km per 30 minutes, or fully charges the battery to 100% in 1 to 4 hours),  were also available along the major routes.  Quebec has over 7000 public chargers,  more than any other province, with more are being added every day. The one time we actually needed power, it took just one hour over dinner to charge from 40% to 100%, and cost a whopping $20 on a sliding scale after we hit 80%.  Given the savings, it was odd to find the Fast Charger  at a Shell gas station. 
 
Admittedly, there’s a slight mental adjustment watching the car battery drain like it does on your cell phone, as well as getting over the distrust of deteriorating cell phone battery life, largely due to the ridiculous “planned obsolescence” strategy of Apple, Google and Samsung that essentially update your phone until it bricks and you have to buy a new one.   Given the cost, EV batteries are designed to last the life of the vehicle, which is about 10 years, but that’s how long most owners now keep their vehicles anyway.   You can charge your batteries at any point, and while there are simple tips to increase your battery life, don’t let it stop you from a road trip. 
 
I met an EV owner who drove from Ottawa to Vancouver in a Nissan Leaf with no problems whatsoever.  We got chatting with a happy Hyundai Evoque 5 owner at the two free guest chargers outside the outstanding Hôtel-Musée Premières Nations in Quebec City.  There’s a lot of interest and curiosity in EVs, and the Mustang sure turned a lot of heads.  There were always chargers available, but I expect it will get interesting when there’s more EV’s on the road then there are chargers.  If you’re pulling into a public lot and four chargers are being used for an indefinite charging period, it would be understandably frustrating and problematic.  Charging would have to be limited to 80%, etiquette would have to give way to formal restrictions, and of course, there would have to be more superchargers to accommodate the demand.   And all this will be happening as better battery technology makes charging faster and more efficient. 

My conclusion:  You can certainly go on an EV road trip now, and most definitely in the future.  If you’re in Canada or anywhere running on hydro, wind, solar, tidal or nuclear energy, you’re not killing one forest to save another.  The Quebec region of Lanaudière and La Mauricie between Montreal and Quebec City is simply gorgeous. The Mustang Mach-E had plenty space for the road tripping family, and is altogether one impressive steed.  My son, who gets car sick playing with Hot Wheels, never complained once about needing to puke, confirming his approval for the smooth ride.  My current car is not an electric vehicle.  My next one will be. 

Note:  Thanks to Ford Canada for providing the Mustang Mach-E.  The company did not review or approve of this story.   
Read my Bucket Listed column in Can Geo Travel for more about what we discovered during our electric road trip adventure in Quebec. 

This month I attended a conference in Victoria ​dedicated to sustainability in tourism.   Speakers discussed the virtues of authentic, community based tourism,  regenerative practices, decarbonization, and tourism as a force for reconciliation.   All very inspiring, especially hearing from companies and organizations that are putting these ideas into practice.  You can read what I distilled from the IMPACT conference in my Bucket Listed column for Can Geo Adventures: Is Canada on the cusp of a tourism enlightenment?  

Some key lines to share: 

• "After two years of lockdowns and restrictions, Canadian tourism has returned with a sonic boom. Yet an industry supported by excessive growth, left unchecked and unmanaged, is simply not sustainable."
• "If cities, attractions and tour operators collaborate with the community, locals become enthusiastic travel ambassadors, and a positive reflection for the visitors they wish to welcome. "
• "Tourism is a powerful cultural and economic tool to engage and directly benefit Indigenous Peoples in Canada, and reconciliation must extend beyond land acknowledgments and advocacy into the realm of action."
• "More and more businesses recognize that a promising future lies in the rapid growth of clean technology."
• "With governments, operators and corporations making large investments in low carbon futures, individual travellers don’t necessarily have to pay more, but we can choose to give our business to those that do."
• "Leisure tourism is fun; eco-tourism is educational and sustainable. Regenerative tourism restores land and communities to their natural state for the enjoyment and appreciation of future generations. "
• "There are going to be screw-ups, but the underlying key has to be deep community relationships. It’s called leadership, not status-quoship.”
• "As travellers, we have the power to force real change in the industry by spending our dollars with operators, agencies, companies and destinations that take community engagement, decarbonization, reconciliation and sustainability seriously."
• ​ “We’re not waiting for the world to change. We must change the world.”

Nobody needs reminding that the world is changing dramatically.  It’s become a daily ritual to read about extreme weather events.   Within the past year, most of Canada (and many parts of the world) had some sort of run in with heat waves, floods, droughts, wildfires, extreme cold snaps, or intense storms.   What does this mean for tourism, and what does it mean for bucket lists?
 
I’m on a Tundra Buggy exploring the permafrost outside of Churchill, looking for hungry polar bears emerging from their summer dens as they migrate north to the frozen ice of the Hudson Bay.  Problem is, warmer temperatures mean the ice is taking longer to freeze, and the biological clocks of the polar bears cannot keep up with the sudden shift in seasonal weather.  More and more Churchill bears are not surviving into the winter months to feed, which makes the world’s most southerly population of polar bears also the world’s most threatened.  This explains why Churchill’s bear population has declined by 30% since the 1990s.  As the buggy slowly make its way forward, I see the tattered remains of a bear on the ground. It either starved to death, or was attacked and eaten by other bears in order to survive.   I still see dozens of healthy bears on this trip, but that dead bear is a sign of things to come.
 
It was one Jasper National Park’s star attractions:  the Ghost Glacier, a dramatic, hanging wall of ice perched above Edith Cavell Pond.  On the morning of August 10, 2012, that heavy ice wall crumbled into the lake, creating a tsunami that washed out trailheads, parking, and quite fittingly, a Parks Canada interpretive board about the impact of climate change.  Not too far away is the famous Athabasca Glacier.  It has long attracted visitors with the promise of exploring the glacier on foot or on customized buses.  The Athabasca glacier has lost over half its volume in the last century, and receded over 1500 metres.  Along with up to 90% of Alberta’s glaciers, Athabasca is projected to disappear entirely between 2040 and 2100, and once it’s gone, it’s gone.  Visitors are well aware of this, resulting in a boom of what one study calls ‘Last Chance Tourism.’  It reminds me of Douglas Adam’s book, Last Chance to See.  Back in 1990, the popular author visited unusual and endangered animals around the world. Unfortunately, some of the species he discovered, including the Northern White Rhino, are now functionally extinct. 

Red sandstone cliffs are eroding in Prince Edward Island and the Bay of Fundy, while rising sea waters are predicted to swamp Nova Scotia’s iconic Peggy’s Cove.  Wildfires are devastating forests and national parks from Banff to Vancouver Island.  The Dempster Highway and other northern roads are crumbling as the permafrost – ‘the glue that holds the northern landscape together’ – melts with warming temperatures.  Ski resorts in Western Canada will suffer with changing alpine conditions, losing a quarter of their current seasons as temperate cities like Vancouver turn dryer, hotter, and begin to mimic present-day Southern California.  Icesheets will collapse and icebergs will melt, animals will change their migration habits if they can, heat domes will cripple major cities in summer. Wetlands will dry up and the parched prairies will wilt. 
 
I could go on, but there’s enough depressing news already.  Instead, let me conclude with opportunities.  Traditionally cold, northern locations will welcome more tourists and enjoy longer summer and shoulder seasons.   Canadian tourism will boom because snowbirds won’t be flocking to the scorching south, although get ready to lay out the welcome mat for sun-birds migrating north.   Tourism activities will adapt, innovate or fail, and new, previously unimaginable experiences are guaranteed to emerge.  Billions of dollars will be spent as we adapt, protect, and evolve to a new climate reality.   As I’ve written previously, Canada has an opportunity to emerge as one of the planet’s premier tourist destinations, both post-pandemic, and into the foreseeable – and now largely unavoidable – future.
 
Still, the reality of the Canadian bucket list hit me when I saw that dead polar bear on that cold November day outside of Churchill.   Fact is: it’s no longer a case of us ticking off something special before we kick the bucket, but rather, before it disappears forever.  ​

Wouldn't it be fun to go on a bucket list adventure with some of Canada's top photographers, explorers and travel journalists?   Yes, it would. 

I'm delighted to become a Royal Canadian Geographic Travel Ambassador, continuing the great work of this illustrious society to promote the natural and cultural wonders of Canada.   This means I'll be hosting select, exclusive trips that tick my own storytelling and adventure boxes, and belong on anyone's Canadian Bucket List as well.   

Working with fantastic companies and brilliant guides, I'll be enhancing your experience with stories, advice, support, a bucket list presentation, and the knowledge you're indeed enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime adventure.  

August 23 - 30, 2022:  Prince Edward Islands Culinary Delights by Bike
Cycling across PEI is pure bucket list: incredible scenery, spectacular coastline, literary and Indigenous history, and the best seafood on the planet.   Foodies and adventurer's rejoice!   This amazing itinerary combines it all together, as our bags are shuttled ahead to lovely inns and lodges, and our carefully curated itinerary delivers the best experiences on the island.  The terrain is mostly flat, and you can even choose to do this week-long trip on an e-bike.    I've been working with Ottawa-based Great Canadian Trails for years, and they've perfected the art of a quality, bucket list outdoor Canadian experience.   It's going to a blast, culminating with a stay, farm tour and feast at rockstar Chef Micheal Smith's countryside inn.   Click here for information, and bring an appetite! 

August 24 - 30 / August 31 - September 4, 2023:  Discovering Banff by Horseback
Discovering one of the world's most spectacular alpine landscapes on a 6-day horse ride, staying in luxury yet rustic backcountry lodges, sharing wild stories with fine wine by the crackling fireplace, SIGN ME UP!   They did, which is why I'll be hosting two trips in partnership with the fantastic Banff Trail Riders. We'll be riding along a historic pack trail and up Allenby Pass, crossing jagged rock formations and hitting altitudes above 8000 feet.   Mountain air, bubbling rivers, wildflowers, soaring peaks, and a great chance t encounter wildlife along the way.  Let's tick this one off the bucket list together.  Click here for more information and giddy up! 

Can Geo Adventures are working with fantastic tour operators and other fine Travel Ambassadors to showcase the very best adventures across the country.    Check them out, and I hope to see you on the road!

​T’was a time when chasing a bucket list did not necessitate cracking an Enigma code of shifting Covid tests and requirements, juggling what’s needed to board a plane, to enter a country, to embark on a boat, to disembark, to return in transit. T’was a time recently where nobody was allowed to travel at all, but it looks like we’re finally done with that bit.  There’s still too much friction when it comes to global travel, the legacy of Covid lingering like a suds stain around a student’s bathtub.  The good news is that much of the world has collectively decided to move on, focusing efforts on protecting the vulnerable while living with Covid the way we live with other problematic viruses.  It just took time and money, which tends to solve most problems. The better news:  last month I returned to both my Canadian and Global Bucket List after too long a hiatus, and I returned in style.   I’ve always wanted to sail in the Caribbean, and I’ve waited over a decade to once again experience to the deep virgin snow of backcountry skiing.  March presented the opportunities, and so I grasped them, tightly, with the wind at my sails, and a smooth path from peak to gully.

​Part One: The Caribbean
 
It started with a thought about sailing as an eco-friendlier form of cruising.  Then I got lost in the fascinating real-life history of pirates, and distracted by the pool-clear waters of the Caribbean.  Putting it altogether, I found the perfect itinerary on board one of the world’s largest passenger sail boats, a towering old-world tall ship operated by Swedish-owned, Malta-flagged Star Clippers.  My experience will get its full due in an upcoming issue of the Vancouver Sun, but I will say this:  Star Flyer – a 4-masted tall ship that swivels the head of even the saltiest sailor – is out of this world.  It carries up to 166 passengers served by 74 crew, sailing the trade winds and ocean currents in the Caribbean, Mediterranean, Central America and across the Atlantic. Unlike cruising, you feel the ocean (sometimes a little more than you’d like, but that’s part of the adventure), visiting bays, islands and beaches beyond reach of the cruise ships.  It’s a luxury sailing adventure for those who don’t know anyone with a luxury sailboat, which I’m assuming describes most of us. 

​Staff and service is fantastic, the meals top notch, the cocktails smooth and the onboard amenities (two pools, a massage therapist, deck chairs, an open bridge, stocked library, water sports etc) most accommodating.  Time slows down, and people read books, not feeds.  You can do bucket list things like hang out on the bowsprit, sprawled on the netting as it dips over rolling waves above playful dolphins (yep, that happened). You can climb up the rope ladder to an 18m-high viewing platform, gazing over islands and ocean. You can bake in the sun like those fried European passengers who don’t seem to know about skin cancer. You can dance at night, request tunes from the pianist, dress like a pirate, or ask a thousand questions of the patient crew as they pull ropes and release topsails with special names that I forgot the moment I heard them.   Pop into the Caribbean’s most legendary beach bars (the Soggy Dollar, Foxy’s etc) for a souvenir headache, nap in your cabin, listen to stories of fellow passengers, snorkel into sea caves, paddle-board, ogle at super yachts parking in St Barts.  It’s everything one would expect the good life to be, and a very different kind of cruise experience. The more I travel on a small ship – a luxury river barge in the Amazon, a catamaran in the Galapagos, an expedition ship in the Antarctica – the more I fall in love with boats as a bucket list form of travel.  If you can burn just 15% of the fuel of a regular ship, as the Star Flyer does under sail, it feels like the future of cruising, and the responsible way to go.  As time progresses, I hope to add more small ships to my growing, curated bucket list cruise collection.

​Part Two: Catskiing in the Skeena
 
The last and only time I cat-skied was on a private mountain in Chile.  We were filming an episode of Word Travels, and my single biggest memory of that adventure is nervously watching our cameraman Sean ski backwards while he filmed my descent with a large six-figure camera on his shoulder.  It was the only true bluebird ski day I’ve ever had, when the sky is crystal clear after a big dump of white snow.   Skeena Cat Skiing in BC would be my second, and this time I wouldn’t have to worry about my TV show crashing with a wipeout (I can do that all by myself, thank you). 

I had one day to switch my Caribbean bag for my snow gear, catching a prop flight north from Vancouver to the town of Smithers BC.  Here I met a group of elite ski journalists, gathering at the helipad for our memorable ride into base camp.   Any day you get to ride a helicopter is a good day.  Skeena Cat Skiing is a family-run affair and clearly a passion project of immense love and hard work.  Many hours away from anything, guests stay in heated dome tents buried in snow, which is a cool experience unto itself.  The comfy, wood-fired heated lodge tent is loaded with fine beer, snacks, worn couches, and a friendly chef who prepared outstanding hearty dinners and desserts.  We’re surrounded by the Thomlinson and Gail Creek mountains, 30,000 hectares of fresh powder and skiable glades in every direction.  Our ski chair is a customized Piston Bully snow grader, with a large heated cabin for 14 passengers on the back.  This ‘cat’ can go anywhere and everywhere it pleases, and it does.  Skirting a steep ride, it deposited us at the top of runs that funnel into valleys where we would be collected by the cat for another ascent.   Backcountry safety is taken seriously:  we’re all equipped with avalanche kits, air bags, walkie-talkies, and given a tutorial in rescue.   Veteran guides know what they’re doing and accidents are rare to non-existent.  Any nerves dissipate after the first run, replaced with elation and joy and wowzers because this is the skiing you dream about, every time you strap in, and every time you head up a mountain.  I was easily the weakest boarder of the group, and I’m no slopestyle expert (especially in the company of Olympic skier Yuki Tsubota).    But even at my own pace, I was able to keep up, sharing the pinnacle of what snow sport can deliver.   Cat skiing is more affordable than heli-skiing, and you can read more about both in my Bucket Listed column for Can Geo Travel.  Suffice to say:  it’s going to be hard going up a local ski hill again, but there’s always something to aspire to, and something to look forward to next time.

You might also be a fan of the late author Douglas Adams, who wrote Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency and the genius dictionary of made-up words, the Meaning of Liff.  In 1992, he wrote a book called Last Chance to See, a travelogue about his journey to visit animals on the verge of extinction.  Although the book has dated (some rare creatures have now completely vanished), I’m struck at how ahead of his time Douglas Adams was.  Not only did he give us the meaning of life (the number 42, in case you forgot), but he foresaw the sad reality that a modern bucket list is not so much about doing something before you die, but before it disappears.  

I write these words in the midst of a second unprecedented heat wave in a normally mild British Columbia summer.  The first claimed over 500 lives in just three days, a staggering number that’s largely slipped under the flood of the 24-Covid news cycle.  Meanwhile hundreds of wildfires are burning in the interior, smoking our skies sepia, evacuating thousands of people and torching the entire town of Lytton, a popular destination for river rafting.  Scientists estimate over a billion marine animals cooked in the first heatwave, and more are undoubtably boiling in their shells this weekend as the temperature and humidex approach the mid 40°Cs.   Climate change has come home to roost, and techno-evangelism (technology will save us!) suddenly rings a little hollow for Pacific Island nations soon be underwater, communities going up in flames, loved ones burying their dead or biodiversity battered by urban encroachment, poaching and agriculture.   I know you come here for good news, but since I’m a pragmatic optimist, we have to accept that the near and far future will suffer increasingly extreme weather events, causing unparalleled environmental, financial and cultural devastation.  All I can hope is that this finds you in a safe and stable nation with enough progressive foresight and resources to prepare for this eventuality.  All I can hope is that my bucket list books do not become works of history – much like Last Chance to See -  a review of destinations that also no longer exist.  Unfortunately,  not much has been gained in thirty years since Douglas Adams sounded his convincing warning bell, and so much has been lost.   

My new ‘Bucket Listed’ column for Canadian Geographic Travel combines commentary with my travel recommendations.  Each column is short and punchy and well worth reading, especially my second column about Indigenous tourism.   My joyous and poignant Celebration of Canada column was sunk by the sombre nature of this year’s Canada Day, which coincided with horrific discoveries of residential school graves,  sparking outrage at the nation and Catholic church’s complicity in an obvious attempt at cultural genocide.  It’s a heavy topic for non-Indigenous Canadians to grasp, which is why I highly recommend reading Peace Pipe Dreams: The Truth about Lies about Indians which uses a lighter touch to help us understand the many challenges and injustices that Indigenous communities face today.  Next,  I explored risk tolerance with a column entitled:  Is it Safe to Travel Again?  before jumping into practical tips for planning bucket list road trips and revealing some of my favourite, less-known experiences in every province.  

Speaking of road-trips, I recently returned from a little adventure of Vancouver Island with the kids, ticking off some must-do experiences along the way.  The new Malahat Skywalk was spectacular, with a few unexpected offerings (like a slide, boardwalk and adventure net) to elevate the experience well above just another roadside attraction.  I’ve long heard about caving on Vancouver Island, so I’m a little shocked it took me so long to get to the Horne Lake Caves.  I just assumed they were typical show-caves, but it’s more aligned with my best spelunking adventures abroad:  hardhats, overalls, scrambling, twisting, ducking and climbing.   Letting the kids hammer away for fossils under the guidance of an enthusiastic and experienced dinosaur museum curator was a stroke of genius, and we finished off at a fun camping festival in a forest near Courtenay.  After 60 days of no rain, the heavens opened up and drowned us with the heaviest rainfall in years, soaking the thirsty fields and farms, and maintaining my 85% record of a mud-soaked fiesta whenever I camp at a festival.  The Canadian government should just drop me off with a tent, a band and a DJ in the country’s most drought-impacted regions:  statistical probability will take care of the rest.  You can read about my Vancouver Island road-trip in my latest post on the newly relaunched www.canadianbucketlist.com
​

​Finally, I want to give a shout-out to the team at Great Canadian Trails, who are also passionate about remarkable Canadian outdoor adventures.   You don’t need to be a hardcore backcountry explorer, cyclist, hiker, or paddler to experience the joys of a true bucket list adventure.  GCT offer guided and self-guided tours that take care of all the logistics and make these kind of adventures far more achievable, accessible and enjoyable than you’d ever expect.   We’ve been working together for years, they’re great people, and I’m thrilled they’ve managed to endure the challenges of Covid to emerge even more determined to help me build your lifetime highlight reel.    

Travel’s appeal is broad and encompasses varied experiences -adventure, food, history, romance – but I’ve always felt it keenest with the sense of discovery, of being absorbed in unfamiliarity.  It’s personally invigorating to have to decipher a new set of rules, laws and cultural norms.  Locals around us seem perfectly at ease, but we can’t shake the feeling that we are other, visitors, not from around these parts.  Travelling alone further isolates us outside our comfort zones, as there’s nobody to share our experience with, no one to point out the wonders and absurdities. Disorientation can be challenging and difficult, which is why it’s not for everybody.   I recall quite vividly my first few steps within it, in London 1997.  I’d moved to the city on a two-year work permit with lofty ambitions to excel in online media.   Tubing around, just another faceless face in a sea of commuters, I’d never felt so empowered and helpless at the same time.   Several years prior,  I had bought a small Robin the Boy Wonder figurine at a flea market in Grahamstown, South Africa (now Makhanda).  Bashed, scarred and a little bashed and bruised, it quickly became a lucky charm and has joined me in the over one hundred countries I’ve visited since. ​

Alone in London, I popped into a pub near Angel to steel myself with a flat pint and escape the sensation of being overwhelmed.  In my daypack was a little black notebook with addresses of companies to drop off my resume, and the Boy Wonder of course, anything to increase my odds.  For reassurance, I grasped my figurine and noticed that Boy Wonder was pointing to his eye, as if to say: “open your eyes, look around, observe.”  And so I did: noting the sticky carpet beneath my feet, pot lights reflecting off brass beer taps, the clientele of day-drinkers and office skirters.  I penned these observations in my notebook, which I still have somewhere, and a travel writer was born.    I now have dozens of these same little black notebooks (bought from the CNA newsagent in South Africa, others just don't cut the mustard)  filled with scribblings and interviews, observations and thoughts.  Viewers around the world have seen me writing in these same books in almost every episode of my TV show (Word Travels is now available on Prime Video in Canada).  This week, I finally went travelling again, but I had forgotten my black notebook, its virgin pages eager to capture thoughts as I wandered about aimlessly.    I was opening my eyes in a new world that felt alien and awkward yet fascinating and alluring at the same time.   Most bizarre of all, this strange new destination was downtown Vancouver, the city where I live.  ​

It’s been well over a year since I strolled the blocks of Granville, Davie, Hornby and Howe. This used to be my hood.  In a former life I could tell you the names of most of the stores, and a funny anecdote to go along with them (I think I snogged someone in the alley behind The Moose / that’s the joint where I ate late-night soft-shell crab with a rock band, etc).  These days I live and work 25 minutes’ drive away in a forested suburb, and even if Covid hadn’t come along, there’d be little reason to visit the music venues, offices, restaurants and coffee shops that line these particular blocks.  Since leaving my apartment downtown, I’ve been harbouring an image of downtown Vancouver’s urban liveliness: it’s vibrant streets jiving with crowds and colour.   Today, I found an inner city ravaged by the pandemic.  Almost every third store was boarded up, tagged with graffiti or heartbreaking farewells from its broken proprietors. Homeless were sleeping in shoddy entranceways (wasn’t that an upmarket restaurant? wasn’t that a boutique?) some were shooting up as I walked by.   Coffee shops were open but empty, except for the Starbucks on Howe which was boarded up and gone for good (a Starbucks closing, in Vancouver?) ​

There was an unusual abundance of street parking, and the few people walking around – some masked, some not - carried a heaviness about them, a sense of sorrow and guilt.  Among this decay towered proud new condos that didn’t exist a year ago.  Unlike Toronto or Montreal, construction has never ceased in development-mad Vancouver.  The hip art gallery and cheap-eat restaurants on the corner of Robson and Seymour have been bulldozed, awaiting another glass tower jammed with million-dollar 600 square-foot studios.  Opposite the city library -  looking even more ancient than its bold Coliseum-influenced design - new buildings are transforming the city’s skyline, including a massive development in the former post office to ironically house a new headquarters for Amazon.  The streets were familiar, but everything else?  I may as well be walking Doha or Dallas or Derby or any other modern city I’ve yet to visit.  ​

Tragic as it was discovering the cracking shell of my own city, I was nonetheless jolted by the nostalgia of discovering some place new, alone and lost, with only my thoughts for company.   I may not be going anywhere for some time yet, but even if Boy Wonder is gathering dust on top of my bookcase, it continues to remind me, and all of us, to keep our eyes open as we observe the changing world around us. 

I compiled this definitive list with two very simple rules: 
​
a) The items mentioned below should be available to members of the paying - and no doubt occasionally insane - public
b) To qualify, the thought of each dish should make my stomach swill over, my throat seize up, my nose twitch, and my eyes rattle.

This list demonstrates that we will devour whatever we are culturally conditioned to consume, and whatever creature with the distasteful misfortune to be around us if we are hungry.  Presenting my global menu for those of iron will and titanium gut: ​

Deep Fried Hairy Spiders
​
Personally, I just didn’t have the stomach for arachnoids when I was travelling by bus through Cambodia.   A popular roadside snack, the large spiders are eaten in big bites, or pulled apart, leg by leg, and consumed like French fries.  Black bug juice dribbles down the chin as you reach the best part of meal, the pincers and the bulbous back.   All the poison is removed when the spiders are fried, and apparently the appeal lies in its crunchy-chewy texture.   Along came a spider, and sat down beside her, and so Muffin just ate the damn thing. ​

Honorary Mentions: Lutifisk is a fish Norwegian weapon of mass culinary destruction.  Laos Snake Whiskey is sold with farm-bred cobras at the bottom, some with scorpions for extra zing.   We should also leave room for cockroaches, haggis, and cuy (deep-fried guinea pig).  And how can I forget my delicious fruit bat stew in beautiful New Caledonia? ​