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. Some of my selections are world-famous, others are little-known, a few are acquired tastes, and this one celebrates the most persuasive city in the land...

Whenever I hear Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day,” I think of Old Montreal.

After a not-too-early wake-up call on the 34th floor of the Marriott Château Champlain, I admire the views of leafy Mount Royal through my suite’s enormous curved windows and then make a bee-line for Tommy — a gloriously light-filled and high-ceilinged cafe next to the Place d'Armes square — where a cappuccino, fresh-squeezed OJ, and Montreal bagel slathered in cream cheese and smoked salmon await.

I rent a Bixi bike from a nearby docking station and pedal north up the Main — a.k.a. Boulevard St. Laurent — to Schwartz’s Deli. Visiting this culinary icon is almost a cliche, but I couldn’t care less: One bite of the signature smoked-meat-on-rye sandwich — the medium cut is my go-to — and the “Perfect Day” earworm returns with a vengeance.

Returning to Old Montreal via Rue Berri, I roll past wall after wall of striking street art, and then stop for a not-especially-well-deserved flight of Quebec microbrews on the sunny patio of Pub Brewskey in the silver-domed Bonsecours Market. The refreshments convince me that I’ve also earned a visit to the Scandinave Spa Vieux-Montréal, the fourth and newest outpost of the sybaritic chain. First I hit the eucalyptus steam bath, then the Finnish sauna, and then the cool plunge pool to complete the invigorating hot-then-cold circuit. A few repetitions later I kick back in the beanbag-filled lounge before finally succumbing to a 60-minute deep-tissue massage.

I emerge squinting into the daylight, and wander the meandering cobblestone streets until my blissed-out brain again turns its attention to sustenance — this time, in the form of a heaping shrimp poke bowl at Venice MTL. I wash down the herbaceous, coconutty blend of rice, noodles, shrimp, veggies and peanut sauce with a bourbon lemonade (or three), which prolongs my meal and practically forces me to order a double chocolate brownie.

It’s a good thing there’s a 9pm showing of Aura, the dazzling new sound-and-light show in the nearby Notre-Dame Basilica.

During the 20-minute introductory walk-through, dozens of projectors enhance the Basilica’s abundant Christian iconography. Christ’s radiant heart is compelling enough in an oil painting, but when it starts glowing, and then beating — complete with audio effects — my own pulse kicks into gear.

As with any visit to this Gothic Revival masterpiece, my gaze keeps returning to the illuminated high altar, choir stalls and altarpiece, what with all the saintly statues, decorative woodwork and soaring vault festooned with angels and stars.

But all this is nothing — nothing — compared with what follows. After taking a seat in the pews, my attention is directed to the ornate sanctuary in front of me where, basically, the Basilica goes off.  

It starts quietly enough, with spotlights falling on various works of art and animating the statues. As the orchestral music swells, the vault suddenly morphs into a giant glass dome mottled with falling leaves and dancing snowflakes. The rain, thunder and lightening of spring dramatically conclude the seasonal second act, with rising waters appearing to inundate the Basilica and then shatter the virtual glass high above. My head feels like it’s on a swivel when dozens of laser beams shoot out from near the altar toward the back of the nave, where the 32-foot-tall Casavant Frères organ dutifully unleashes its 7,000 pipes upon me.

The sensory pleasures of this perfect day aren’t finished just yet. On the way back to the Marriott, I can’t help but notice a lineup forming outside the Place Ville Marie. I join the queue, and am eventually rewarded with an elevator trip to Les Enfants Terribles, a stunning new restaurant on the skyscraper’s 44th floor.

I grab a Moscow Mule from the buzzing bar and make my way out onto the enormous glass-walled outdoor patio to conclude the evening with head-spinning views of the glittering Montreal skyline. Then, in my mind’s ear, I hear it:

“Oh, it's such a perfect day
I'm glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on…”

​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 once again home to some of the finest milkshakes on the planet.

As I approached the summit, one final hurdle lay ahead. It wasn't the steep, crumbling slope under my feet. Nor was it the blazing midday sun. No — as I climbed the dune in Eastern Ontario's Sandbanks Provincial Park, my greatest challenge was the all-dressed bacon cheeseburger, onion rings and chocolate milkshake I had just devoured outside the snack bar.

Just as mountaineers acclimatize to altitude, I stopped and waited for the grease rush to subside. Then, heartened by what awaited beyond the dune's 10-metre peak, I scrambled up the sandy mound, paperback in one hand, towel in the other.

I had seen the view from atop the dunes dozens of times before, either on a sand-seeking expedition out of Toronto, or on "Picton Day," the June exodus of class-cutting teens from my former hometown of Kingston. On this perfect summer Saturday, it encompassed blue skies, calm Lake Ontario waters and white sands framed by stands of eastern cottonwood trees, a picture that solidified Sandbanks as my favourite Canadian beach. The sand and scenery of some East and West Coast beaches may compare — PEI's Cavendish and Vancouver's English Bay spring to mind — but Sandbanks' summer is reliably hot and sunny, and the water is fresh, calm and surprisingly warm. If, like me, you often crave a splashy game of paddle ball — that free-form, co-ed pursuit of the Frisbee-fatigued — you'll only be up to your waist in water more than 100 metres offshore, owing to the three beaches' gentle, child-friendly slope out of East Lake (which is actually a bay).

Unlike much of surrounding Prince Edward County, which has seen a spate of development in recent years, little has changed at Sandbanks since I first arrived here in someone else's parent's minivan more than 25 years ago. The drive past the main entrance still winds pleasantly through thick maple forest. The aforementioned snack bar still serves up the thickest milkshakes around thanks to the staff's perennial lack of blender-awareness. And on a prime summer weekend, the park's Outlet, Sandbanks and Campers beaches are still busy, but not maddeningly so. After all, there's plenty of real estate: The 11 kilometres of beaches and dunes form two of the largest freshwater bay-mouth sandbars in the world.

Arriving at noon, it was easy to find a sunny spot devoid of errant Frisbees and sand-encrusted toddlers. Spreading out mats and towels, and unfolding lounge chairs — my wife Angela and I are confessed beach-accoutrement addicts — we settled into an afternoon of doing very, very little.
Once again, I noticed that time and sound perform strange tricks when one is prostrate on the beach. A lively conversation among a group of nearby teenagers — "Dude, man, my wakeboard is sick!" — soon became a melodious trickle interspersed with the noise of splashing kids and squawking gulls. This was followed by an irresistible snooze, a groggy awakening and feigned surprise that two hours had passed in what felt like five minutes.

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

WHERE TO STAY
If camping or B&Bs aren't your thing, the TownePlace Suites Belleville is 45 minutes away by car and features suites with full kitchens, an indoor pool and hot tub, and free Wi-Fi and breakfast.

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, and a few are acquired tastes. This open letter, meanwhile, is addressed to Nigel, the God of Snow...
 
Dear Nigel,
 
You are known by many names: "Khione" by the ancient Greeks, "Kun Aymara" by Bolivian tribes, and "Ullr" by both Norse cultures and that Rastafarian dude on the chairlift. But you have shown me great favour when I call you "Nigel," so I’ll stick with that, OK?
 
Take my ski trip to Kicking Horse and Revelstoke a couple years back. Over those five days, oh great and powerful Nigel, you blanketed the resorts’ respective slopes in 25 and 47 centimetres of powder.
 
As is my custom upon arriving at Calgary International Airport, I sacrificed a frosty local microbrew in your name – a Last Best Show Pony Ale to be exact – and humbly requested that you focus your benevolent, exuberantly-bearded powers on Kicking Horse, my first stop on the northern section of B.C.'s aptly-named Powder Highway.
 
But in your infinite and fleecily-vested wisdom, you held off. You waited until I had crossed 280 kms of Trans-Canada Highway, and dined upon some mind-blowing poutine at Peaks Grill, before unleashing your powers of precipitation. Indeed, no sooner did the curds caress my lips than fat flakes started falling from the sky. You may not have unleashed your full powers, but your efforts that night, and again two days hence, were joyfully received on the north ridge of the Terminator 2 peak (pictured above). That must have been why the Rastafarian dude never stopped grinning.
 
Your powers were not quite as joyfully received during my white-knuckle drive west across Roger’s Pass, home to the world's largest mobile avalanche control program. On the plus side, the double-edged sword you wield fell heavily upon Revelstoke Mountain Resort that night, turning Greely Bowl into a snowy paradise I'll never forget. It was so sublime, oh portly and fashionably-bespectacled Nigel, that I saw fit to dedicate anywhere from two to five Mt. Begbie microbrews to your glorious, polysyllabic and relatively common name.
 
Which leads me to the thrust of this letter: Would you like nachos next time?
 
Sincerely,
 
Your most humble and achingly-legged servant,
 
Adam
 
WHERE TO STAY
Late-night arrivals to YYC can’t do much better than the Delta Hotels Calgary Airport In-Terminal, which is connected to the terminal buildings via a skywalk and features three eateries, a saltwater pool and a roomy hot tub. Your aching legs will thank you.

Dear Nigel,

You are known by many names: "Khione" by the ancient Greeks, "Kun Aymara" by Bolivian tribes, and "Ullr" by both Norse cultures and that Rastafarian dude on the chairlift. But you have shown me great favour when I call you "Nigel," so I’ll just stick with that, OK?

Take my ski trip to B.C. this past week: Over those seven days, oh great and powerful Nigel, you blanketed the respective slopes of Sun Peaks, Kicking Horse and Revelstoke in 26, 25 and 47 (!!!) centimetres of snow.

I may have arrived too early to partake of the recent favours you granted Sun Peaks, but with Canada’s best groomers at work it was no big deal. Besides, your powdery handiwork was still plentiful and pristine in the newly in-bounds and hike-accessible "Gil's" terrain atop Mt. Tod (pictured above).

As is my custom, I "sacrificed" a pair of frosty local microbrews in your name – Okanagan Spring 1516 Lager, to be exact – and humbly requested that you focus your benevolent, exuberantly-bearded powers on Kicking Horse, my next stop.

But in your infinite and fleecilly-vested wisdom, you held off. You waited until I had crossed 360 clicks of Trans-Canada Highway – including Roger’s Pass, home to the world's largest mobile avalanche control program – before unleashing your powers of precipitation. This not only made for a relaxing ride, oh merciful and transcendentally-trousered Nigel, but it allowed me to pause while passing the Enchanted Forest, 3 Valley Gap and the Burner Restaurant (pictured below), as well as the various other roadside attractions that make this stretch of highway the quirkiest in all the land. Also, it gave me both the time and courage to dine upon a very large cinnamon bun (pictured below) at Sprockets Cafe near Salmon Arm.

Very large cinnamon buns, it turns out, are also worthy "sacrifices" to your gloriousness, for no sooner did I partake of the outdoor hot tub at Kicking Horse’s Palliser Lodge than fat flakes started falling from the sky. You may not have unleashed your full powers, but your efforts that night, and again two days hence, were joyfully received on the north ridge of the Terminator 2 peak. (That must have been why the Rastafarian dude never stopped grinning.)

Your powers were not quite as joyfully received as I retraced my route along Highway 1 en route to Revelstoke. But at least you didn’t cause an avalanche closure. On that note, the timing of the Rogers Pass shutdowns –  the day before I arrived at Kicking Horse, and again the day after I departed – did not go unnoticed.

The double-edged sword you wield also fell heavily upon Revelstoke Mountain Resort that day, turning Greely Bowl (pictured below) into a powdery paradise I'll never forget. It was so sublime, oh portly and fashionably-bespectacled Nigel, that I saw fit to "dedicate" anywhere from two to five Mt. Begbie microbrews (pictured below) to your glorious, polysyllabic and relatively common name.

Sincerely,

Your most humble and achingly-legged servant,

Adam

PS: Do you also like nachos? Just wondering…

There’s no need to panic if you forgot all about World Tourism Day. Unless, of course, your blender is kaput…

According to the UN World Tourism Organization, the purpose of tomorrow’s annual ode to travel “is to raise awareness on the role of tourism within the international community, and to demonstrate how it affects social, cultural, political and economic values worldwide, and to…”

Sounds like a thrill a minute, right? At least you know why you forgot about it.

In my neck of the urban jungle, these worthy-yet-tedious themes were given a shot in the arm earlier this week at G Adventures’ fourth-annual Future of Tourism event, which featured a lively panel discussion and presentation by the Toronto-based tour company’s energetic founder, Bruce Poon Tip.

The WTO, for its part, offers a list of “suggested WTD activities,” ranging from on-the-road electricity and water conservation efforts (viable on such short notice) to hosting special events like concerts and art exhibitions (maybe next year).

It’s all very earnest, in a United Nations sort of way, but at least the tips wrap up on an obvious note: “Take a trip.”

“Whether it’s around the world or within your own country,” the WTD website says, “read the Global Code of Ethics for Tourism before you go to make sure your trip is as sustainable and responsible as possible.”

So, if you don’t have the time or resources for a last-minute getaway, you can always celebrate WTD by breezing through eight pages of bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo.  

Another option, however, is to fake it. Here, then, are five ways to feel like you're exploring the globe without leaving your home base, or even your home:

1. Speak in a foreign language or with a foreign accent all day. I’ve always loved International Talk Like a Pirate Day, so this is really just another excuse to sound like I’ve suffered a brain injury.

2. Replace that TGIF beer with a TGIF blender drink (ideally served by a flying monkey). Speaking of brain injuries…

3. Use your passport as ID. Works great in combination with a North Korean accent.

4. Go out for an exotic meal. In Toronto, I recommend Mengrai Thai, which also offers Thai cooking classes.    

5. Visit a tourist attraction in your hometown. Does Honest Ed's sell miniature umbrellas? Two birds, one stone….

1. The good: August. Paris? In high season? Quel horreur! Rarely do I venture into a world-class destination at the height of tourist season, but in this case the free downtown accommodations offered by my parents via a Geenee.com house swap proved impossible to resist. Still, jam-packed cathedrals, museums and Metro cars are not my thing -- are they anyone's? -- and even though many Paris vets told me the locals free the city en masse in August, I wondered if this would make much of a difference. Well, it did. Yes, major sights like Notre Dame Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower and Versailles were jammed with camera-toting internationals, but a two-minute stroll in any direction yielded plenty of peace and quiet (and empty brasserie tables). The 15th Arrondissement, where my extended family was conducting a week-long reunion of sorts, was a ghost town, and provided a welcome haven from the pricey tourist areas. 
The bad: Sundays. Many businesses shut down for a week or two in August -- some for the entire month -- and depending on where you are it can make life tricky. The busy tourist areas were mostly open, but our neighbourhood's ghost-town status made it close to impossible to buy anything -- wine, groceries, pastries, wine -- after 1 p.m. on Sundays. After one frustrating day of rest, however, we started planning ahead. It was annoying on a practical level, but idealistically I support the idea of a universal city shutdown. If you can't beat it, join it...   
The encroyable: Paris-Plages. Many Parisians head for coastal sands in August, but a relatively recent addition brings the beaches to Paris. I scoffed at Paris-Plages at first, when I saw the blue parasols, deck chairs and imported sand strewn along the banks of the Seine. But that was before I strolled along the Left Bank with my family. Just west of the Eiffel Tower, a kilometre-long section has been transformed into a fin du siecle-style playground, with a mask-making craft station for the kids (their unidentified parents are pictured above), other fantastic child diversions, including a Via Ferrata-style installation bolted to the concrete embankment (pictured below), several leafy lounge areas, a tetherball court, and even a series of neck and shoulder massage stations (yes please!). And it was all free. Encroyable indeed! 

2. The good: The Velib bicycle-sharing system. Speaking of freebies, this launched a few weeks after my last visit in 2007, and I was happy to see it thrive. It encompasses around 14,000 bikes and 1,230 stations, and the city was thick with Anglophones wobbling around. My dad seemed especially pleased that riders can pedal between stations and, so long as they don't sign any one bike out for more than 30 minutes, pay nothing (other than the $2.50 signup fee). The system is not perfect: It takes at least three minutes to sign a bike out, they can only be deployed one at a time, and there are no real-time updates on bike supply. But anything, anything, to cut down on motor traffic and give visitors a break from budgetary stress is a very good thing.
The bad: Parking. If you are foolish enough to rent a car for inner-city sightseeing, don't expect to be able to get out of your vehicle. Even when loading our luggage into a rented Renault for an out-of-town trip, it was impossible to park legally. Every single spot was taken around our apartment on the outskirts of the city centre, so I was forced to pull into a loading zone that became jammed with surly delivery drivers in a matter of seconds. "Your mother is a hampster..." etc.
The encroyable: The Metro. For about $2 a trip (half that for kids over the age of three), you can get anywhere in downtown Paris quickly, easily and fairly pleasantly. True, you will probably be serenaded by a pan-handler -- some of those guys can really sing! -- but the incredibly extensive system and shockingly cheap fares make any Canadian transit system look like a joke. I'm looking at you, Toronto...

3. The good: Anything baked. Pastries. Croissants. Baguettes. Just when you think you've had the best pain au chocolat ever...you have another one. And it's better. How do Paris bakeries produce such consistently delicious, fresh fare? And for so little: baguettes are less than $150 -- half what I pay in Toronto and 17 times as tasty. Further proof that every French person has a lipo-suction machine at home.  
The bad: Soft drinks. Restaurant prices in the Marais, for example, are exorbitant. $6 for a scoop of ice cream? Are you kidding me? You could buy 40 litres of Neapolitan back home for that. Elsewhere, however, food prices are more reasonable...except when it comes to soft drinks. Why must a can of Coke cost at least $4? Maybe it's because of this next item...
The encroyable: Wine. I did not have a mediocre glass, carafe, bottle or barrel of wine in Paris. Red, white or rose, it was all either good or great, always French, mostly from Bordeaux (you can't go wrong), and always at least a third of what it would cost in Toronto. During the ubiquitous 4-6 p.m. happy hours, a refreshing/fortifying glass went for as little as $2. After a few of those, it was almost possible to forgive the soda prices... 

4. The good: Automatic washrooms. They may not always be there when you need them, but the free, self-cleaning washrooms scattered around downtown Paris are a welcome relief from most of the WCs in brasseries and around major sights. I'm looking at you, Pere Lachaise cemetery. Bad enough to raise the dead!
The bad: Le dog poop. Paris has come a long way since I backpacked around Europe in the mid-1990s. On that year-long trip, at least 75 per cent of my missteps in la merde took place in the French capital. On this trip, however, I never once had to scrape doo-doo off my shoe. The aforementioned mass exodus may account for some of this -- I saw very few poodles parading about -- but the French also appear to have embraced cleaner sidewalks. Bag dispensers were available in many parks, and a campaign has even taken root in which vigilantes stick tiny French flags in abandoned turds (pictured below, sorry!), presumably to warn walkers, induce patriotic shame, and inspire visiting Canadians to employ new and innovative lawn-protection strategies at home.
The encroyable: City parks. If nothing else, two weeks in Paris made me appreciate the mind-blowing parks system. There are more than 420 municipal parks and gardens, ranging from the deservedly famous Tuileries and Luxembourg gardens (pictured below) to quaint little neighbourhood havens of tranquility like the one around the corner from our apartment. Across the board, the parks are clean, beautifully landscaped, and equipped with creative, challenging play structures. Walking past a 600-year-old church and suddenly spotting a stegosaurus-shaped climbing wall saved me from taking out a line of credit for ice cream on more than one occasion...