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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When it comes to staying safe on the road, everyone always talks about common sense, as if it's a force field that will protect you and keep the zombies at bay.   What exactly are they talking about?   Well, since you're asking: ​

Don’t Flash Your Wealth
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In nature, predators hunt the easiest targets, the lowest hanging fruit.   Those who target tourists do the same.  If they see you walking around with expensive jewelry and cameras, or thumbing through rolls of cash, you become the easy mark.   This is especially true in developing countries, where signs of wealth are displayed less flagrantly.   Leave your $10,000 wedding rings at home or in the hotel safe.  Keep your camera in its bag unless you feel safe in the environment.   Draw as little attention to yourself, and try to blend in.  It’s the simplest and easiest way to avoid the unwelcome attention of predators. ​

Don’t Go Where You Shouldn’t
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It sounds so simple, and yet it’s amazing how often this is the cause of unfortunate incidents.  Every city has places you should avoid.  If you don’t know what they are, just ask a local who will gladly tell you. Meanwhile, if it’s avalanche season and you’re advised not to go venturing into the backcountry, heed the warnings.  Official government alerts are often over the top, but do some research before you dismiss them outright, and unknowingly find yourself in a conflict zone.  If you are visiting a hot spot, make sure you’re in regular contact with friends, and let a government office know. A little bit of knowledge goes a long way when it comes to ensuring you’re not in the wrong place, at the wrong time. ​

Trust your gut
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Our intuition has always been there, we’ve just forgotten how to hear it clearly.  When you’re travelling though, it can yell a little louder than normal.  You’ll hear it telling you:  Don’t eat that chicken, it looks undercooked!  Don’t walk down that street, it looks too dark?  This taxi is taking too long, I’m being ripped off!  Common sense means knowing when to trust that little voice in your head, and dismissing it when it’s being too paranoid.   It takes practice, but many of the unfortunate stories we hear in the news could have been avoided if people just listened to their gut.   Your intuition is a crucial tool for staying safe.  ​

When it comes to your safety, you get what you pay for
​
In La Paz Bolivia, a very popular activity is to bike downhill a 67km road from the mountains into the jungle.  A New Zealander who put safety first created it, but once it became a must-do activity for tourists, competitors popped by the dozen with other priorities in mind.  They offer a cheaper price, but on cheaper bikes, without maintenance records. Subsequently over 15 tourists have died.  The original company has had zero fatalities.  Saving a few bucks is simply not worth your life when it comes to choosing between competing services.  This is especially true for adventure outfitters, but also for transportation companies.   Is the company reputable?  Do they look and feel professional?   Accidents still may happen, but cutting corners too often might lead to you flying off an edge. ​

Watch our for Common Scams 
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Read up on some of the most common scams so you’ll know what they are and how to avoid them.  Fortunately, I’ve compiled a handy list for you right here.   Crowded tourist attractions or markets are popular with pick pockets, so make sure your wallet is safely zipped up, and be vigilant about checking it’s still there.  Carry your bags securely and be aware of your surroundings.  Never, ever leave your luggage or bags unattended, especially in train or bus stations.   Be friendly but weary of random people who approach you on the street. ​

Act Like You Belong
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Scammers and thieves look for tourists displaying obvious signs of wealth, and also those who look nervous and uncomfortable.  They might just say hello, but how you answer the question will determine whether you’re an easy mark.   The key is to look relaxed and in control, no matter how freaked out and nervous you actually feel.  Smile, make eye contact, be assertive but not aggressive. The goal is make it look like you’re too much work to bother with.  I once found myself on the wrong bus and had to walk my way out of a South American slum.  Inside I was panicking, but I kept my cool by strolling in the streets, smiling, looking like an out of place gringo who nevertheless knew where he was going. Locals are always more willing to help someone who’s behaving rationally than someone in a panic. ​

As heartbreaking images and stories are being shared by friends of and in Israel, I am compelled to say something, in particular to my non-Jewish friends. In particular to those who don’t know too much about the history of the region.

People in Gaza desperately needed a Nelson Mandela. Someone who believed in a future, someone who was incorruptible. They initially voted for and have since been autocratically ruled by Hamas, an organization with an extreme ideology and official mandate to "obliterate Israel."    Nelson Mandela didn't have to deal with religious fanatics, but still.  

Israel is the only Middle Eastern country that supports free press, freedom of religion, the right to protest, LGBTQ+, full political representation for its Jewish and Arab citizens, and other rights familiar to those who live in a western democracy. That seems to get lost on a lot of people. LGBTQ protests in support of Palestine is like watching chickens marching for KFC.

Israel also has its own share of corrupt politicians and religious extremists, and it is far from perfect. But name another democratic country that has been at war since its inception, subject to suicide bombings and indiscriminate missile attacks. Name another democratic country repeatedly demonized, de-legitimized and condemned by double-standards in the UN. Name another democratic country with genocide hanging over its head, in the past, and in the future. There isn't one, and if there was, it wouldn't be perfect either.

Most of Israel's diverse population are descendants of victims from another mandate that called for genocide. Jews the world over have learned, to our horror, that attacks on our people and homes are not isolated incidents. We know where it can lead, and we know that all racism is cut from the same fabric.

There is simply no excuse for the Hamas attack. Blaming Israel in any way is victim-shaming at best, antisemitic at worst. Innocent people in Israel did not 'deserve' this anymore than a victim of rape or violent crime 'deserves' it.  On that topic,  it's worth pointing out that the popularity of the BDS/anti-Zionism movement is rooted in antisemitism (and if you follow the money largely funded by Iran).  Student groups are oddly quiet about Iran, you know, that country that massacres its citizens at protests and beats women to death for not following Sharia Law.  Venom appears strictly reserved for those  damn free-thinking Israelis and their progressive trance music.

Zionism, you should know, refers to the right of all Jews to have a homeland they can be safe in.   Condemning Zionism does not condemn Israeli leadership (who many Jews disagree with). It condemns all Jews, everywhere.  Iran and Hamas are proudly and rabidly anti-Zionist.  They don’t fight for a new Jewish leadership that will commit and compromise for a peaceful resolution.  They fight so that there will be no Jews.  Period.  

Meanwhile, calling Israel an Apartheid state is insulting to all South Africans. I know, I am one, and lived through it.  It's even more insulting to people of colour who suffered during Apartheid.  Why?  Consider:  Arabs in Israels can vote, run political parties, own businesses, sit on the Supreme Court, work across all industries, marry whomever they want, and travel freely throughout the country.  Arabs in Gaza who are vocally committed to Israel’s destruction face restrictions, because, I repeat, they are vocally committed to Israel’s destruction.  Did you forget the suicide bombers that killed children, women and elderly on buses in Tel Aviv?   Do you see what happens what happens if Israel doesn't take security seriously? 

Even so, Israeli businesses offer gainful employment, non-discrimination, and hope to both Jews and Arabs.  To those who disagree with me, I invite you to actually visit Israel, and to speak to Israeli Arabs.  Ask them if they feel like second-class citizens.   Then read up about the horrors of Apartheid, and while you’re at it, who funds and promotes the BDS movement.  Then ask yourself: can people who are indigenous to a land actually colonize it?   Jews have been living in this region for thousands of years, they didn’t just arrive on boats from Europe and say, “we’ll take it!”  It’s hip to follow a campus cause, I get it.  It’s not hip to be an uninformed bigot.

BDS would very much like you to boycott all Israeli products, including Sodastream, an Israeli company.  Have you looked at a Soda Stream box?  It says:  “Made in Israel:  This product was made by Arabs and Jews working side by side in peaceful harmony.” Those protesting a cause they know nothing about would rather this not be the case.  They would rather Israeli businesses that employ Arabs and Palestinians shutter and lay everyone off.   Their misguided intentions would be ironic if it weren't so devastating.   I understand it’s fashionable to have a cause, although every single crime Israel has been accused of has also taken place in countries like China, Pakistan, the United States, Canada, Australia and many others.  Why go after Israel and only Israel?  Might it have something to do with, you know, the Jews?  

It is also important to stress that innocent people in Gaza do not deserve this either. They want to live in peace and watch their children succeed like the rest of us.  Yet what are we to make of Israeli corpses being dragged through the streets of Gaza, of Palestinians and those sympathetic to their cause celebrating this massacre around the world?   Can you imagine Israel using its women and children as human shields?  Can you imagine the Israeli Army raping and massacring young women at a Palestinian Peace Festival?  There is no moral equivalence between a brutal, authoritarian death cult and a democratic society.  Hamas not only kicked a tiger, they poked its eyes out and killed and kidnapped its babies.  Israel’s response has been brutal, as a tiger’s response would be brutal.  As for Hamas leaders, they fully anticipated this, and are hunkered down safely while their people suffer the consequences.   Every time you see a sign or graffiti that reads “Free Palestine”  please add just two words:  “From Hamas.”

Sam Harris is perhaps the smartest, most reasonable thinker out there. In this excellent treatise about the sin of moral equivalence in this conflict,  Harris writes: 
    “Simply the counting the number of dead bodies is not a way of judging the moral balance here. Intentions matter. It matters what kind of world people are attempting to build. If Israel wanted to perpetrate a genocide of the Palestinians, it could do that easily, tomorrow. But that isn’t what it wants. And the truth is the Jews of Israel would live in peace with their neighbours if their neighbours weren’t in thrall to genocidal fanatics”

By taking hostages, hiding militants in hospitals and using children as human shields, Hamas - supported by a brutal regime in Iran deeply threatened by an Israel-Saudi Arabia peace deal - has once again relegated the people of Gaza to cannon fodder. Hamas has long profited off violence and misery. Iran relishes the chaos. War and human tragedy is inevitable. They kick the tiger, the tiger lashes out, they condemn the tiger, then kick it again. The cycle has to stop. 

If there is any silver lining to the current tragedy in Israel and Gaza, it is that a new leadership might emerge to clear the debris and aspire to a lasting peace.  That, inshallah, the people of Gaza will finally resist and oppose the horrors of their Hamas leaders, and that Israelis will clear out their own broken leadership and galvanize around a secure, peace-committed future.  Even then, it only takes one deranged religious lunatic on either side to derail everything.   Yet thanks to Nelson Mandela (and his largely forgotten and overlooked counterpart, FW de Klerk) South Africa was able to somehow forge a lasting peace. Where is the Palestinian Nelson Mandela?   When is the Israeli FW de Klerk?  We could really use them when all this is over.  

To my Jewish, non-Jewish and Muslim friends, please know:  I mourn the suffering on all sides. I welcome debate.  I feel your pain, anger, frustration and exhaustion.   Inshallah and baruch hashem,  we will one day get the leadership - and the peace - we so desperately strive for. 

Ps: If you want to read a balanced book that is sympathetic to both Israelis and Palestinians as it explains the history of the conflict, I highly recommend Israel: A Simple Guide to the Most Misunderstood Country on Earth by Noa Tishby.