Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences — and in this case, the kind, generous people — that make my country the greatest on Earth.

It was late in the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, 2004, and I was stranded on the icy stretch of road between the Outaouais towns of Plaisance and Papineauville. I was travelling alone from Ottawa to my cousins’ chalet near Mont Tremblant, and with Quebec’s liquor-store workers on strike I was hauling most of the party supplies.

A half-hour earlier, I was motoring down Route 148 when my Volkswagen Golf suddenly stalled near a roadside poutine stand. With much cursing and spraying of WD-40 I managed to revive the (expletive deleted) vehicle, which a few minutes later gave up the ghost for good on the gravel shoulder.

With hazards blinking, I took stock of the situation. The road was deserted and I was still several kilometres from Papineauville, where any garages were undoubtedly closed. My cellphone was taking cues from the VW. I was beginning to wonder if I should have stayed at the poutine stand.

Just down the road, glowing windows — and strains of Bachman-Turner Overdrive’s “Takin’ Care of Business” — beckoned from a modest country home. I rang the bell three or four times — the folks inside were clearly in fine Dec. 31 form — before a stocky, beer-toting 20-something opened the door. “Hey, buddy!” he cried, to which I responded with a feeble, “Bonjour . . . parlez-vous Anglais?”
He nodded, introduced himself as Johnny Gauthier, and let me in.

A break in the BTO allowed me to explain my predicament. Johnny immediately suggested we get my car into the driveway, so he called to his cohorts and a group of young men — along with Johnny’s father, the grey-haired head of the household — donned winter gear and set out into the snowy Friday evening.

Ten minutes later, exhausted, I called my wife, Angela, who had made her way to Tremblant a couple of days earlier. Neither of us were thrilled that she would have to retrace her route for more than two hours in the snowy darkness.

Despite my hosts’ relentless hospitality, my Anglo-Saxon temperament insisted that I was imposing. “Is there somewhere I could wait in Papineauville?” I asked. “Would you mind if I called a cab?”

That’s when Johnny’s father, Étienne, stepped in. He looked me up and down, exchanged a few words with Johnny in French, and then said, “Why don’t you take my truck?”

“Thank you so much,” I replied, “but a cab would be fine. I really don’t want to impose and . . . ”

Étienne laughed and held up his hand. “No, no, I mean, why don’t you take my truck to Mont Tremblant?”

Now that was an imposition.

I was dumbfounded. My first instinct was to turn down the offer. “That’s very kind, but I couldn’t possibly . . . ”

But Saint Étienne, as I now think of him, would have none of it. “How long do you need it?”

“Well, till Monday, I guess . . . ”

St. Étienne reached into his pocket and pulled out several sets of keys — turns out he ran a trucking business — and detached one. “Here you go. Call your wife and tell her to stay put.”

At this point, the exchange felt surreal. I watched in elated shock as my disembodied fingers dialled the chalet’s number.

“Hi — have you left yet?” I asked.

“Clearly not,” Angela replied. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s unbelievable. Guess what: You don’t have to pick me up.”

“Why? Did you get the car started?”

“No. Étienne, the guy who lives here, is going to lend me his truck for the weekend.”

Silence. Then, “Well, you obviously can’t accept it. That’s crazy.”

That’s when I realized I had to take the truck. “Look,” I said. “When somebody shows this kind of faith in someone they just met, their offer can’t be refused. I mean, would I lend a complete stranger my car for three days? No way! So you have to wonder: Why is he doing this? He’s doing this because...”

Read the rest of the story in the Toronto Star

WHERE TO STAY
Two words: Free poutine. You can savour some of your own at the Ottawa Marriott Hotel and the Residence Inn Mont Tremblant Manoir Labelle, and you can savour it for free by exchanging Marriott Rewards for a dining gift card.   

Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are world-famous, others are little-known and a few are acquired tastes. The insights offered below, meanwhile, may come in handy for the 4.2 zillion people converging on Canada’s capital tomorrow...

​It’s fitting that Ottawa’s skyline is still dominated by Parliament Hill’s Peace Tower. Many other trappings of federal and international government are prominent in the home of my alma mater — Go Ravens! — such as the Royal Canadian Mint, the Prime Minister’s official residence, and the Governor General’s estate. Combine all this history and ceremony with the country’s densest collection of world-class museums, and Ottawa succeeds in making Canadians proud — and visitors a little bit jealous.

Don’t leave without...
...climbing the Peace Tower on Parliament Hill. Free elevator trips to the observation deck below the four 15-foot-wide clock faces resume July 2, and provide glorious panoramic views of the region from 200 feet up. Guided tours of the Hill’s Centre Block, meanwhile, allow visitors to explore the neo-Gothic Senate and House of Commons, as well as the ornate Library of Parliament and stirring Memorial Chamber.
...visiting the National Gallery of Canada. A short walk from Parliament, this soaring architectural masterpiece is home to six expansive gallery spaces, including a Canadian collection featuring iconic works by the Group of Seven, and a European gallery filled with paintings by geniuses like Van Gogh, Cezanne and Rembrandt. There’s a lot of artistic glory to take in, so it’s a good thing the place is so comfortable, with a pair of peaceful landscaped courtyards, a relaxing cafeteria and intimate bookstore tucked behind the skyscraping glass windows of the Great Hall.
...strolling or skating along the Rideau Canal. Before it spills into the city’s namesake river via a spectacular flight of eight locks, this 190-km-long engineering marvel and World Heritage Site is lined with cycle paths, restaurants and pubs, parks and gardens, all of which provide ideal vantage points for admiring many of the landmarks on this list.

What we overlook
The aspects of Ottawa that aren’t all about Canada tend to fall by the wayside. Just across the river in Quebec, for instance, leafy Gatineau Park is a hiker’s, cyclist’s and skier’s dream, while the Casino du Lac Leamy is an adults-only playground with gaming galore, top-notch dining, decadent spas and a 1,100-seat theatre. In the city itself, the diversions that get plenty of attention from locals — the beaches and volleyball courts of Mooney's Bay Park, for instance, or the recently revamped Lansdowne recreation complex — tend to get skipped by visitors.

Locals only
Waterfront holiday homes abound just outside of Ottawa, but you don’t need to own recreational real estate to get in on the action. Gatineau Park is home to dozens of sandy beaches, and you can take a relaxing dip in “The Pond,” a secret swimming hole tucked into the ritzy Rockcliffe Park neighbourhood off the aptly named Pond Street. Then there's the Capital Pathway network, one of the largest multi-use trails in North America with more than 600 kilometres of car-free goodness connecting many of the attractions on this list.

Family
Why cross the Atlantic to get a taste of royalty when you can sample its trappings at Rideau Hall, the official residence and workplace of Canada’s Governor General? The Queen’s representative in Canada has some pretty sweet digs: The opulent public rooms and multi-million-dollar art collection will impress grown-ups, while the expansive outdoor grounds, complete with cricket pitch, skating rink and Alice in Wonderland-style Rose Garden, will enthral youngsters. Children will also get a kick out of the changing of the guard — and the towering headgear worn by the guardsmen. 

Hip Hoods
Convenience and charm collide in the Byward Market, a 26-block shopping district sandwiched between Parliament Hill, the Ottawa River and the multi-storey Rideau Centre shopping mall. It’s home to one of the oldest agricultural markets in Canada, but don’t expect just farmers and fishmongers here. Depending on the season, the market building itself often overflows with stands selling everything from wild blackberries to hand-made bracelets. The surrounding streets, meanwhile, are lined with boutiques, restaurants, clubs and taverns, which spill into a series of open-air courtyards that will be rocking on July 1.
Bank Street, one of Ottawa’s main thoroughfares, is also the principal artery running through the Glebe neighbourhood south of downtown. Boutiques, pubs and restaurants line the streetscape here, with the multi-purpose Lansdowne Park — home to the CFL’s Grey Cup Champion Redblacks — bordering the Glebe to the south and the picturesque, park-lined Rideau Canal marking its eastern border.

Culture
The stark modern design of the Canadian War Museum evokes a bunker, the grass-covered roof a battlefield, and small windows on a towering rooftop fin spell out "Lest we forget" in Morse Code. Inside, the permanent galleries display items including one of Adolph Hitler’s Mercedes limousines, while covering conflicts ranging from First Nations battles and the War of 1812 to the Cold War and Afghanistan. The highlight, however, is the Memorial Hall, a space for remembrance and contemplation containing a single artifact: the headstone of Canada’s Unknown Soldier from the First World War.

Read the rest of the story in International Traveller magazine

WHERE TO STAY
The Courtyard Ottawa Downtown, located in the heart of the Byward Market, features an on-site Bistro where you can turn a Marriott Rewards dining card into the most patriotic of Canadian beverage. (Hint: It’s beer.)

Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth.

As much as it is a celebration, Canada 150 is an opportunity to understand the modern and historical injustices faced by First Nations, Inuit and Metis peoples. Truth and reconciliation starts with education and awareness, and here travel can play a role. Hundreds of experiences across the country provide unique insight into indigenous history and culture. A few have already been covered by the Canada 150 Countdown, and more will be highlighted by the Canada 200 Countdown starting on July 4. (Yes, this is happening.)

Consider these two places on the prairies of southern Alberta. As a teenager growing up in Calgary, where First Nations culture is much more visible than in my adopted hometown of Toronto, they made a profound and lasting impression:

Writing-On-Stone Provincial Park
Why did indigenous people, coming and going over the millennia, pick this particular spot to amass the greatest concentration of rock art on the North American Plains? My repeat visits to this compact park deep in southern Alberta revealed the allure: A sea of towering sandstone hoodoos for spiritual inspiration, and a dip in the gently meandering Milk River for delicious relaxation. A wealth of wildlife — pheasant, partridge, deer and antelope — must have delivered dinner back in the day, but in the late 1980s we dined on grilled Alberta steaks — a spiritual experience all its own. Likewise, modern guided tours explored the 50-plus sites where, centuries ago, images of warriors, hunters and dancers were carved into the hoodoos.

Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump
Standing atop this gravity-powered abattoir, I could almost hear the thunder of hooves and the crunch of skulls. For 6,000 years, the region’s Blackfoot people hunted buffalo en masse by driving herds of the beefy beasts off 35-foot-high cliffs. My imagination had already been ignited by the World Heritage Site’s interpretive centre, where I had witnessed a demonstration of drumming and dancing and learned to craft my own moccasins. But with nothing but rolling prairie between myself and the horizon, it was mainly the emptiness of the place that made it so evocative of a way of life — and death — that will never return.

​Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are world-famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one celebrates the ski resort where I grew up — and learned to duck the rope.

“Trapper” Jerry Kernen, the 93-year-old local legend who’s been skiing Sunshine Village for the past three decades, simply tips his alligator-tooth cowboy hat and heads downhill when he’s hailed near the bottom of the Banff resort’s revamped Strawberry chairlift.

Behind him, the soaring windows of the Sunshine Mountain Lodge’s new west wing reflect the brilliant remnants of the afternoon.

This moment of contrast encapsulates the changes at Sunshine, as well as at Marmot Basin in Jasper, during the 2011 ski season. Together, the two Rocky Mountain resorts have seen more than $50 million in new development in the last decade, all while complying with strict Parks Canada regulations that favour conservation over expansion.

Indeed, Sunshine’s limited on-hill accommodations prevent what spokesman Doug Firby calls “mountain sprawl.” Most of Canada’s large ski areas — Whistler, Big White, Mont Tremblant and the like — are located outside of protected areas and have been able to grow aggressively, adding condos, hotels, shopping plazas and other amenities.

Sunshine, however, offers just one large day lodge, the aforementioned 84-room boutique hotel, and a single saloon — Mad Trapper’s, named after Kernen — once skiers step off the 4.3-kilometre-long gondola ride that connects the parking area to the resort’s nine chairlifts and 3,000-plus acres of skiable terrain. Fact is, for overnight guests seeking rows of souvenir shops and non-stop nightlife, Sunshine won’t fit the bill.

It’s the “Champagne powder” and jaw-dropping national park scenery that keeps Kernen and millions of other skiers and snowboarders coming back, Firby says. “There’s nowhere in the world that has this snow, these views, and we don’t make you wait in lift lines. It’s not a sea of condos up here, so it never gets too crowded.”

From the top of Mount Standish, the smallest of Sunshine’s three peaks, the panorama seems little touched by the hands of man. To the west, beyond a sea of alpine meadows, looms 3,620-metre Mount Assiniboine, which straddles the Great Divide separating North America’s continental watersheds. To the east, the valley cradling the resort winds toward Goat’s Eye Mountain, which nearly doubled Sunshine’s size when it opened to skiers in 1995. Lookout Mountain soars into the clear northern sky, providing access to the legendary Delirium Dive extreme-skiing area and a 15-acre terrain park.

Read the rest of the story in the Toronto Star

WHERE TO STAY
With its full-service Grotto Spa and locally-sourced Evergreen Restaurant – both of which can be enjoyed for free with enough Marriott Rewards points – the luxurious Delta Hotels Banff Royal Canadian Lodge is the ideal place to ease tired muscles and refuel after a day at Sunshine Village.

​Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are world-famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one just cleaned up at the All Canadian Wine Championships.

There’s nothing like the first T-shirt sighting of the season.

Having just arrived from winter-weary Toronto, I pull an abrupt double-take when three sleeveless Kamloopsians stroll into view in early April. They too seem surprised, but not by my woolly sweater. It’s my ride – Tastefull Excursions’ new wine-touring van – that turns their heads.

​“Must’ve taken a wrong turn in Kelowna,” one says, referring to the Okanagan Valley, an hour down Highway 97, where 120-plus vintners comprise “the northernmost serious wine region in the world,” according to Travel + Leisure.

It soon becomes clear the magazine should have looked further north. Granted, viticulture is new to the Thompson River basin around Kamloops, with 2010 marking the first vintage year in what’s known as Thompson Country. “Wine region” is a stretch, even with more wineries rumoured to be joining the four already in place.

That’s where the neighbouring Shuswap comes in. The Thompson-Shuswap, as the B.C. Wine Institute calls it, is home to a dozen licensed vintners that are winning awards with rare cool-climate varietals such as Ortega, Maréchal Foch and siegerrebe. Travellers familiar with better-known terroir won’t believe where these grapes thrive – on pine-covered mountainsides and in hoodoo-lined valleys – not to mention the calibre of what’s bottled.

Combine this burgeoning route with an astonishingly active farm-to-table scene encompassing eateries, bakeries, markets and a wide-ranging “Full Circle Farm Tour” guide, and, well, let’s just say my T-shirts have become noticeably tighter.

Read the rest of the story in the Globe and Mail

​WHERE TO STAY
The Fairfield Inn & Suites Kamloops offers 114 spacious rooms and suites, complimentary breakfast, and a roomy patio for sampling what you bring back from a wine tour. As well as getting free accommodations, you can also use Marriott Rewards on "Moments" that include wine tastings, culinary festivals and private dinners by award-winning chefs.

Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are world-famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one is a shout-out to my distant simian ancestors.

As I lunge into thin air on Blue Mountain’s new Timber Challenge high ropes course, I can’t help but wish I was back on my Segway.

A few hours earlier, I took a 90-minute Mountaintop Segway Tour, another of the Collingwood resort’s new summer diversions. Since June of 2012, a small fleet of the two-wheeled, self-balancing oddities — fitted with knobby tires for off-road rides — has been whisking visitors along gravel paths and forest trails atop the Niagara Escarpment.

These quirky excursions, along with an 18-hole mini-putt course carved into Blue’s ski slopes and the child-friendly Woodlot low ropes course, represent the biggest expansion in summer activities at the resort since the Monterra golf course opened in 1989.

By Hole 7 of the Cascade Putting Course, my two year old daughter finally learns not to run ahead on every hole, pick up all the golf balls, and deposit them in the various water hazards. For the remaining holes she agrees to tee off with our family foursome, but swings her putter with such abandon that it makes contact not once, not twice, but thrice, with my groin. 

The Segway tour is much less stressful. Apart from some good-natured ribbing by passing mountain bikers — “Dude, you lost your pedals!” — it is a serene, near-effortless experience punctuated by the occasional need to steer around a tree root or wedding photo shoot.

“It’s something most people have never tried before, and just about anyone can do,” says Blake Beauchamp, my enthusiastic 20-year-old guide who, after just a few weeks on the job, has honed his Segway skills to the point where he can navigate the entire 7-kilometre route “with no hands.”

The high ropes, however, require the full use of my extremities. After another twenty-something shows me how to buckle my safety harness and use a pair of carabiner-style clips to stay secured to safety cables, I set out on the confidence-boosting wooden catwalks of a beginner course, one of seven increasingly difficult routes, graded green, blue and black, that serve up more than 75 aerial obstacles.

To move up to the blue level, I must complete at least one green track, which, once I get into the Zen-like rhythm of clipping and unclipping, is a fun yet easily surmountable challenge. I consider trying another green course but, with my family freshly arrived to cheer me on, I whiz down the concluding zip line and head straight for Blue No. 1.

Read the rest of the story in the Toronto Star.

Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are world-famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one takes hiking, and hot-tubbing, to new heights.
 
“Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying…”

Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” reverberates through my headset as our soundtrack-equipped helicopter soars over the bluest lake I've ever seen. At that moment, the lips in question belong to the awestruck passenger next to me. But it’s easy to see what she’s saying: “Wow!”

Her mic isn't working, but no matter. All six passengers in the West Coast Helicopters chopper are clearly dumbfounded by the Coast Mountain scenery assaulting their senses.

An hour earlier, our mid-morning lift-off from Nimmo Bay Resort shattered the misty serenity of the luxurious eco-lodge. Here on the southwestern edge of B.C.’s remote and rugged Great Bear Rainforest, exploration is only possible by sea or air. We would soon discover why helicopters are so well-suited for the latter.

If the tiered waterfall powering the resort, the bronze grizzly bear statues in its effluence, and our towering breakfast skillets had seemed like aspects of a wonderful dream, then the next seven hours push the experience into died-and-gone-to-heaven territory. Indeed, I expect “Stairway to Heaven” to continue the classic-rock theme as our chopper veers away from Corsan Peak and its impossibly blue kettle lake, and returns to a wide river valley where larch trees mottle the banks with their autumnal yellows.

We’ve touched down just once so far: On a parking space-sized boulder near the base of a gushing waterfall, where Dave Wigard, our good-natured pilot, demonstrates the chopper’s remarkable versatility.

His point is driven home emphatically as we approach Silverthrone Glacier. As its jagged expanse unfolds below us and its namesake peak looms ahead, I half expect to see Superman emerge from what looks like his Fortress of Solitude. I also realize just how lucky we are to admire scenery that would otherwise require some serious mountaineering skills to reach.

Wigard skilfully lands the chopper on a moraine flanking the glacier, where we rendez-vous with the tour’s other two birds. Within minutes our guides cover a flat-topped boulder with a decadent lunch spread, which tastes that much better 8,000 feet up.

After cramming our memory cards with “I’m King of the World!” snapshots, we climb back into the choppers and leave the glacier in dramatic fashion. We fly low over the ice, past sinewy waterfalls and towering cliffs, then suddenly swoop upward. Within seconds, we’re looking down on Silverthrone Mountain, its snowy peak punctured by dark pillars of volcanic rock that resemble giant claws bursting from an icy lair. Forget Superman: This is more like something out of Lord of the Rings.

Read the rest of the story in the Globe and Mail

WHERE TO STAY
Most Nimmo Bay guests arrive via YVR, where the nearby Vancouver Airport Marriott Hotel provides free shuttle service, elegant accommodations, and 24-hour room service.

Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are world-famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one has truly earned its status as “the Ultimate Canadian Triathlon.”

Does it get any more Canadian than portaging a canoe? It does when the craft in question is carried down the Rideau Canal Skateway during the Carleton Cup.

One week before the start of Ottawa’s annual Winterlude festival, a motley lot sets off down the world’s longest skating rink. With numbered bibs pinned to their toques, parkas and kilts, dozens of competitors navigate the 6.5-kilometre-long skateway, run through the Byward Market to a predetermined pub, then finish the race with the final event: A drink from a "victory quart" of beer.

As part of my pre-wedding fitness regimen I trained especially hard for the 2002 Cup. (Cue Rocky theme.) I showed up at shinny early to work on my skating and endurance. Afterwards, I practiced swapping my blades for boots as quickly as possible. I even jogged to work a few times. (The horror!) So when I reached the end of the Skateway, legs and lungs burning, the exhortations of onlookers convinced me I was in the lead. 

No one passed me as I lumbered across the Byward Market, and when I burst into the Chateau Lafayette pub I fully expected a hero's welcome. But the hero was already standing at the bar, enjoying a pint while being showered with praise. Apparently his stature as a champion triathlete, Olympic speed-skater and member of the Justice League also gave him enough time to hack a quick Players Light before the runner-up, yours truly, arrived.

Second place in the "Ultimate Canadian Triathlon" represents one of my proudest moments. But why couldn't Lex Luthor have found something evil to do that day?

With a few global warming-induced exceptions, the charity event has been staged every year since 1989. It gets going at a watering hole on Carleton University campus, where racers register and exchange bravado, loudly predicting finishing times that tend to defy the laws of physics. A bagpiper gets the adrenaline flowing — and ratchets up the patriotism another notch — with a rousing rendition of the Hockey Night in Canada theme.

As racers march down to the canal, it's easy to pick out those who will earn "pioneer status" for completing the Cup in unique fashion. Pioneers to date include someone who portaged a canoe down the canal, a racer who finished the triathlon in a wheelchair, and a woman who took part while seven months pregnant.

As competitors lace their skates, posturing reaches a fever pitch. When the group reaches the ice, the mystique of the event truly hit home, says co-founder and director Jonathan Knowles. "There's a real feeling of camaraderie," he says, "a realization that winter is easier to take if you embrace it instead of hibernating and pushing it away."

Finally the starter's pistol sounds and the skaters disappear in a cloud of ice crystals. It may be unlikely to appear in the Olympics any time soon, but the Carleton Cup requires endurance, skating skill and knowledge of the canal's twists and turns. Once the exhausting skate is completed, competitors must switch footwear and sprint another 800 metres to the bar, where they are greeted with cheers and a sip from a victory beverage of their choice. The male and female winners take a ceremonial swig from the Carleton Cup trophy, and are elevated to celebrity status — at least for the evening.

The record time is 18 minutes, 56 seconds, set by Cup director and co-founder Robert Millar in 1992. The slowest time ever: More than four hours, Knowles says. "Actually, in some cases, we're still waiting."

Read the rest of the (rather outdated) story in the Globe and Mail

WHERE TO STAY
The Courtyard Ottawa Downtown is within easy walking distance of the skateway, and you can complete your own skating triathlon at the on-site Bistro by exchanging Marriott Rewards for a dining (read: beer) gift card. 

Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the dozens of places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one features 280 metres of mountain air beneath a shiny glass floor.
​
“Do you want to jump?”

I wouldn’t usually accept this invitation when standing on an alpine lookout high above a rushing river. But I jump anyway … and again, and again. Turns out my guide and I both have to keep hopping to achieve the desired effect: Making the Glacier Skywalk in Jasper National Park tremble like a suspension bridge.

This isn’t the first thrill I encounter on the award-winning catwalk, a cantilevered structure that juts 30 metres out from the cliff face. It takes me a minute or two to venture out onto the glass floor, which, like the ones at the CN Tower in Toronto and Grand Canyon Skywalk in Arizona, delivers the disconcerting impression of stepping into thin air. It’s also one of the few lookouts in the world where visitors will immediately stare at the floor, rather than out a window or over a railing at the beauty beyond.

Here along the Icefields Parkway, the 230-kilometre ribbon of asphalt linking Banff and Jasper, that beauty is world-renowned. Each year, about a million travellers come by car, bus and bike to admire its glacier-clad peaks, turquoise lakes and rushing waterfalls. Thousands of these visitors venture deep into the surrounding wilderness, but they are the exception. According to Parks Canada, less than a third leave a paved surface.
​
Fostering deeper connections with the outdoors is one of the main goals of the Skywalk, explains David McKenna, president of Banff-based Brewster Travel Canada, which owns the new attraction. “We’re luring people into nature in a very controlled, safe environment that also educates and cultivates respect for the park,” he says, adding that the Skywalk allows visitors to explore independently and “take a step into the wilderness that feels a little bit daring.”

Still, the seven-year project has drawn plenty of opposition, even after Parks Canada approved Brewster’s environmental assessment in 2012. Given the project’s scale, visibility and $21-million price tag – McKenna calls it “the first significant attraction to be built in a mountain national park in 50 years” – this controversy is unlikely to disappear any time soon, what with a tiny percentage of Jasper zoned for outdoor recreation projects like the Skywalk, which opened in 2014.

Read the rest of the story in the Globe and Mail.

WHERE TO STAY
A relentlessly spectacular 2.5-hour drive south of the Skywalk, the luxurious Delta Hotels Banff Royal Canadian Lodge features a mineral pool and full-service spa.

​Travel elicits many emotions, from awe to anger and from upgrade ecstasy to gift-shop remorse. But over the course of my Canadian wanderings there’s something more: Pride. That's what this daily series is all about: Sharing my proud perspective on the dozens of places and experiences that make my country the greatest on Earth. Some of my selections are famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one covers a wonderfully weird, and weirdly lascivious, NWT attraction.

The shuttle bus pulls over to the side of the winding, bumpy road leading to the Aurora Village in the boreal forest outside Yellowknife. A passenger feels nauseous and needs some fresh air – there’s no shortage of that around here – and as we idle the driver calls the rest of us to the windshield.

Directly ahead of us, shimmering amid a blanket of stars, is a vivid veil of greenish-white light that pushes the “probability of aurora” from 70 to 100 per cent.

Thousands of visitors come to Yellowknife each year, especially in fall and winter, to catch a glimpse of charged particles colliding with atoms in the upper atmosphere. So, based on cloud cover and recent aurora activity, hotels provide a daily POA.

We file out of the bus and gaze into the cold night sky. I’m thrilled to get a full dose of the main attraction before even reaching the world’s largest northern lights viewing complex. But it makes me wonder: Does the world really need the Aurora Village? Like stargazing, all I have to do is cast my eyes skyward, right?

To be fair, the village’s lounge, gift shop and dozens of woodstove-heated tepees – the latter reserved for groups of two to 20 – provide a welcome respite from the chill. 

But it gets weird in a hurry. The lounge, for instance, resembles a rustic small-town Legion, except that it’s occupied mainly by taciturn couples. Turns out the Japanese visit Yellowknife, and the Aurora Village, in droves. In Japanese culture, seeing the northern lights is considered auspicious, and a child conceived under them is believed to be lucky and healthy. The takeaway here: Do not wander into the wrong tepee.

In the garishly-lit gift shop (pictured above), jewelry and aurora-themed apparel are available for princely sums, while a stuffed elk (in repose) oversees the transactions from an elevated platform. When I inquire about purchasing the taxidermal wonder – my kids have always wanted one – I’m politely rebuffed by the Japanese clerk.   

“Does the elk have a name?” I ask.

“Elk,” comes the stone-faced reply.

And the tepees? They glow alluringly, and delicious maple-buttered bannock is served inside. But the fluorescent lighting and folding chairs – also like something out of a Legion – don’t encourage stove-side relaxation.

The sensible-versus-surreal theme continues onto rocky hilltops and wooden platforms connected by lantern-lit pathways. On one hand, these provide unobstructed views of the wonders overhead, and are crowded with murmuring groups carting camera equipment worth considerably more than a whole herd of stuffed elk. On the other, two of these vantage points are outfitted with swivelling viewing pods that look like abandoned back-woods bumper cars. 

All this quirkiness culminates in the “Giant Slide.” It’s exactly as advertised: After taking some slippery stairs up a two-storey tower, I peer down the precipitous plywood chute. Sadly – or perhaps thankfully – the top is boarded up. 

Could it be that the slide is designed to entertain guests when the probability of aurora is zero per cent? A reindeer launch pad, perhaps?

That night, I vow to discover the true purpose of the Giant Slide. And then, to kidnap the elk…

WHERE TO STAY
Many flights to Yellowknife connect through the Alberta capital, where the Renaissance Edmonton Airport Hotel offers both an ideal spot to relax between flights.