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. 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 30 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. Speaking of acquired tastes...have you ever played Watermelon Scramble?
 
As miffed as I am at Mother Nature over the Toronto Islands situation, I have to give her credit for warming the lakes of the Laurentides.
 
Unlike Ontario cottage country, which is mostly flat and relatively useless in winter, this region north of Montreal encompasses the verdant Laurentian Mountains, which are home to major ski resorts such as Mont Tremblant and Mont Saint-Sauveur. In summer it has it all too: Dock-dozing, paddle-boarding, fly-fishing, keg-standing, water-skiing, Watermelon Scramble...
 
Watermelon what now? The rules of this barely-controlled chaos are detailed in The Family Book of Sports and Games, which was unearthed one summer afternoon at my cousins' lakeside chalet near Tremblant. Guides like this 1954 gem have been replaced by web searches that can dial up family diversions by the dozen, but plug "Watermelon Scramble" into any of them and you won't get this back: "The group should be divided into two equal teams. Each team marks a spot on the water's edge for its goal. One player swims out with a greased watermelon and leaves it in the water. Both teams are lined up at the shore. At a signal, everyone jumps in the water and races toward the melon. The object is to bring the melon back to goal."
 
Suffice to say that Watermelon Scramble is loads of riotous fun. If The Family Book of Sports and Games was still in print, however, I would email author Helen Joseph (or the executor of her estate) and suggest that she include these points in the next edition:
 
1. Don't try to catch the watermelon, unless you want a watermelon-shaped bruise on your chest.
 
2. Don't spike the melon on the shore after scoring, unless you want the game to end with a splat.
 
3. Give shorter players a wide berth, unless you want a disconcerting welt on your...you get the idea.
 
These days, instructions for a game like this would be rife with disclaimers about beach safety, water contamination and genetically modified melons. Back in '54, however, these issues were the least of parents' concerns, what with "Johnny, Jump the Fence" on the menu. As described by TFBOSAG:
 
"A penknife should be stuck a little way into the ground on a slant with the head leaning toward the 'fence,' which is formed when the player puts his left hand on the ground, with his little finger lying on the ground, and his palm facing the knife. With his right hand, he slaps the knife upward toward the fence. The object is to make the knife jump over the fence and stick in the ground on the other side..."
 
I'm pretty sure Children's Aid would be called within seconds if someone saw my kids playing "Johnny, Jump the Fence."
 
To be fair, the book does include a few disclaimers. But they are mostly hilarious. For the various knife games, it cautions players to "remember that any game with knives can be dangerous unless the players are careful at all times." (The same goes for chainsaw and grenade games, right?) It adds that by playing slowly, the "chances of being hurt are fewer." (Read: Stab wounds are inevitable but less frequent.)
 
Then there's the addendum to the self-explanatory "Pie Eating Contest," which reminds contestants that "the pies should be edible."
 
Last but not least, the "Javelin Throw" is described as "a measure of throwing ability to keep the men busy while the women prepare the food."
 
Come to think of it, maybe the cottage games of 1954 weren't so bad after all…
 
WHERE TO STAY
You won’t have to resort to "Johnny, Jump the Fence” at Lac Tremblant’s gorgeous beach club, which is a short walk from the Residence Inn Mont Tremblant Manoir Labelle in the lively resort village. The beach is an ideal spot for Watermelon Scramble, but the Javelin Throw isn’t such a good idea...

Dear Moment Factory,

First of all, congratulations on Aura. Your new sound-and-light show in Montreal’s Notre-Dame Basilica is the trippiest thing I’ve seen since the Division Bell Tour. To be fair, that ‘93 Floyd show was, ahem, enhanced somewhat, so Aura may well be the most mind-boggling spectacle I’ve ever witnessed. And I went to Kosmic three times in the nineties!

Aura was spellbinding in the same way that The Exorcist is terrifying. I’m not a religious person, but by augmenting the Basilica’s abundant Christian iconography with your nifty projectors you established a suitably reverent tone. I mean, Christ’s radiant heart was striking enough in an oil painting, but when it started glowing, and then beating — complete with audio effects — I started looking around for a crucifix to brandish during the 20-minute introductory walk-through. When I couldn’t find one, I asked for directions to the chill-out room.

As with any visit to the Basilica, my gaze kept 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 was nothing — nothing — compared with what followed. After taking a seat in the pews, my attention was directed to the ornate sanctuary in front of me where, basically, the Basilica went off.  

It started quietly enough, with spotlights falling on various works of art and animating the statues. As the orchestral music swelled, the vault suddenly morphed into a giant glass dome through which falling leaves and dancing snowflakes could be seen. The rain, thunder and lightening of spring dramatically concluded the seasonal second act, with rising waters appearing to inundate the Basilica — rather presciently, it turns out — and then shatter the virtual glass high above. My head felt like it was on a swivel, à la Linda Blair, when dozens of laser beams shot out from near the altar toward the back of the nave, where the 32-foot-tall Casavant Frères organ dutifully unleashed its 7,000 pipes upon me.

Honestly, I’m feeling a bit buzzed just writing about it! As you’ve already done with the Atlantic City Boardwalk and the Sagrada Familia Basilica in Barcelona — and, more recently, with the wintry Lumina Borealis in Kingston — you really hit this one out of the park.

Trust me, I’m not trying to flatter you. Aura was a sensory treat I’ll never forget. So, on that note, I have a favour to ask: Can you help with my Halloween decorations this year?

Think of it as a challenge. Aura was impressive, sure, but the Basilica gave you plenty to work with. Now, imagine how you could transform the plain brick facade of an outrageously overpriced Toronto semi!

Aura’s widely venerated setting probably prevented you from doing everything you wanted. (I can only imagine the conference calls with the Archdiocese.) At my place, however, you’ll have full creative license to traumatize young and old as you please! Why stop at a roof-shattering flood when sharks, zombies or even shark-riding zombies could come pouring in? Throw in a couple of orange-haired vampire presidents, and...

Sorry for getting ahead of myself. I’m sure you have your hands full with your upcoming $39.5-million illumination of Montreal’s Jacques Cartier Bridge, so I don’t expect an immediate reply. And if you’re somehow unable to complete our project by Oct. 31, please don't worry: My saggy inflatable Santa could use your help, too.

Sincerely,

Adam “Roland Doe” Bisby

If only my globetrotting missteps were as prosaic as dingy hotel rooms and getting bumped off flights.     

"Write what you know," the saying goes, and this certainly applies to the overall theme of my recent Globe and Mail guide to dealing with holiday travel chaos.

That said, there's a lot I couldn't fit in. Over the years I've faced many travel challenges I couldn't overcome using conventional methods (press credientials, bribes etc.). And this being the season of retrospective round-ups, I've assembled a few of them here. You know, for fun!
  
1. Car brakes down, complete stranger lends me his truck for the weekend. Yes, this happened (at the modest Quebec home pictured above).

2. I pay Air Transat $80 so I can sit with my wife and kids on a flight. Sounds simple, right? Wrong.

​3. Laotian barge insurance does not cover "posterior damages." You've been warned!

I have to tip my hat to Mother Nature for the stellar pre-Labour Day weather in Southern Ontario. The forecast for the weekend is glorious, and yes, I am now knocking on a hideous desk that must contain at least a small amount of vegetable matter. 

Then again, Mother Nature has fooled us before. But if she pulls a dirty trick this weekend, it's comforting to know I have The Family Book of Sports and Games to fall back on. 

The 1954 guide to "rules and inside strategy for over 500 games" was unearthed during a particularly damp summer afternoon at my cousins' Quebec chalet. Books like this little gem have been replaced by search engines that can dial up diversions by the dozen, but plug "Watermelon Scramble" into any of them and you won't get this back:

"The group (in our case, four desperate parents and four kids on the verge of meltdowns) should be divided into two equal teams. Each team marks a spot on the water's edge for its goal. One player swims out with a greased watermelon and leaves it in the water. Both teams are lined up at the shore. At a signal, everyone jumps in the water and races toward the melon. The object is to bring the melon back to goal."

Suffice to say that Watermelon Scramble is loads of chaotic fun. If The Family Book of Sports and Games was still in print, however, I would email author Helen Joseph (or the executor of her estate?) and suggest that she include these points in the next edition:

1. Don't try to catch the watermelon, as evidenced by the watermelon-shaped bruise on my chest.
2. Don't spike the melon on the shore after scoring, unless you want the game to last less than 42 seconds.
3. Children tend to heave the melon at groin level, as evidenced by the disconcerting welt on 
my...you get the idea.

These days, instructions for a game like this would be rife with disclaimers about beach safety, water contamination and the use of genetically modified melons. But back in '54, these issues were the least of parents' concerns, what with "Johnny, Jump the Fence" on the menu. As described by TFBOSAG:

"A penknife should be stuck a little way into the ground on a slant with the head leaning toward the 'fence,' which is formed when the player puts his left hand on the ground, with his little finger lying on the ground, and his palm facing the knife. With his right hand, he slaps the knife upward toward the fence. The object is to make the knife jump over the fence and stick in the ground on the other side..."

I'm pretty sure Children's Aid would be called within seconds if someone saw my kids playing "Johnny, Jump the Fence."

Likewise with "Mumblety Peg," in which "all the children sit around in a circle. Each has his own jackknife..." I won't describe all the game's "trials," but they involve holding a blade in various finger- and ear-endangering positions and trying to stick it in the ground (and not in your friend's foot).

To be fair, TFBOSAG does include a few disclaimers of its own. But they are mostly hilarious. For the knife games, it cautions players to "remember that any game with knives can be dangerous unless the players are careful at all times." (The same goes for chainsaw and grenade games, right?) It adds that by playing slowly, the "chances of being hurt are fewer." (Read: stab wounds are inevitable, but less frequent.) 

Then there's the addendum to the self-explanatory "Pie Eating Contest," which reminds contestants that "the pies should be edible."

Last but not least, there's the "Javelin Throw," a beach-picnic standby that "can be a measure of throwing ability to keep the men busy while the women prepare the food."

Come to think of it, maybe the cottage games of 1954 weren't so bad after all...

Does anything say "Summer in Ontario" like cliff-jumping into a lake? For the record, I've never backed down from one of these leaps, but not because I'm some kind of fearless daredevil. (To my credit, I am one of the few men who has survived a "Mystical Water Ride.")

The key: I know my limit. I never want to be that guy -- and I'm personally acquainted with a few of them -- who hums and haws at the top of a drop only to end up opting for the "balk of shame."

I've jumped off countless cliffs into dozens of lakes and rivers across Ontario and Quebec cottage-country -- Kahshe and Go Home lakes are two of my personal favourites -- but none have topped out at more than 20 feet. Then there's Rick's Bar in Negril, Jamaica, where I plunged 35 feet from the famous cliffs upon which the tavern is perched. It was there that I officially established my cliff-jumping (and Pina Colada) upper limit, and realized that some jumpers appear to have no upper limits, as evidenced by locals who nearly doubled the drop by leaping from spindly trees topping the cliffs.

This brings me to Devin “Supertramp” Graham, who has made something of a career out of acrobatic cliff-jumping around the world. Indeed, Contiki Tours' new Contiki Legends campaign includes a video of Graham doing his thing along Italy's glorious Amalfi Coast. Check it out above. It is...bonkers.

Contiki also posted a list of "8 Amazing Cliff Diving Spots Around the World," which I've pasted below. Turns out Rick's Bar is one of them, so I left it out. That means there are seven jumps remaining on my bucket list. The photos alone (in the gallery at the end) are worth the price of admission. Which just happens to be zero dollars and zero cents. You can thank me by refraining from heckling if you ever see me make the balk of shame...

FURORE BRIDGE, FURORE, ITALY
Furore, known locally as "Neverland," is a small village on the steep cliffs of a fjord. The Fjord of Furore is easily one of the most striking things about the area, where water erosion has created stunning cliffs that overhang the ocean. Then there's the Furore Bridge, where diving championships are held annually and where you can jump 90 feet into the water.

SERPENT'S LAIR, INIS MOR, IRELAND
This 92-foot drop attracts cliff divers from around the world, and even played host to championships in recent years. It's been described as a "leap of faith," because all you see is rock until a few seconds after you've jumped.

CRATER LAKE, CRATER LAKE NATIONAL PARK, OREGON
Crater Lake is the deepest lake in the U.S., so you don't need to worry about hitting the bottom nearly 2,000 feet below the surface.

THE AZURE WINDOW, GOZO, MALTA
This 92-foot-high arch consists of yellow to pale-grey limestone, and was used as a shooting location in Season 1 of Game of Thrones.

GEOJE ISLAND, SOUTH KOREA
Have your pick of impressive granite rock faces to throw yourself from. If you're in to that kind of thing.

LAKE VOULIAGMENI, GREECE
This amazing spot, locally referred to as "Sunken Lake," maintains a 24°C water temperature year round and is said to be haunted by numerous mystical creatures (just to make it even scarier).

STARI MOST, MOSTAR, BOSNIA
Nestled within the Bosnian city of Mostar is the Stari Most, or "Old Bridge," over the river Neretva, where for decades locals and tourists alike have jumped into the freezing water to the applause of those on the banks of the river below.

Round 2 of the Great Canadian Travel Draft kicks off amid a storm of controversy and recrimination. Himmelsbach is stuck in a meeting. Smith is juggling 17 deadlines. Esrock is surreptitiously calling from the cabin of a taxiing aircraft, and Byers is still a bit miffed about not being able to pick McDavid. I’m still smarting from Smith’s Round 1 Tofino pick, but not matter: With so much at stake – and the actual stakes yet to be determined – these battle-hardened travel writers won't back down without a complimentary upgrade to first class or something!

(To see how Round 1 of this fantasy travel draft went down, click here. For an explanation of what the heck is going on, click here. For a photo of a man in a narwhal costume, click here.)

ROUND 2
Robin Esrock: “Cycling across PEI. Gentle slopes, great seafood, the Confederation Trail, luggage shutte service, sweet coastline. Who needs Tuscany?  Shuck me an oyster...”

Adam Bisby: “A skeleton run at the Whistler Sliding Centre: I spent the scariest 30.45 seconds of my life hurtling down the 2010 Olympic track at nearly 100 kilometres an hour and pulling four Gs in the turns.”

Karan Smith: “Dancing under the red and white striped big top during the Dawson City Music Festival in this dusty Yukon town.” 

Vawn Himmelsbach: Beamsville Bench along the Niagara Peninsula, where you can walk or bike between small, charming wineries. Well worth a visit: Tawse, Malivoire and Daniel Lenko.”

Jim Byers: "For all the amusement park atmosphere around the town of Niagara Falls, there's also an immense beauty to the falls. The majesty and power of the billions of gallons of water that come thundering over the Niagara Escarpment every day is truly awe-inspiring, especially when seem from below on a boat excursion or from inside the rock on the Behind the Falls experience.

ROUND 3
Byers: “Alberta’s Icefields Parkway. The majesty of ageless, dark brooding mountains capped with the fiercest and most pure white snow imaginable. Deep canyons filled with gushing white water in spring. Summer time visits from elk and deer and, yes, powerful black bears. Fall colours that sparkles in the autumn sun. There's a reason the drive from Jasper to Banff is considered one of the finest in the world.”

Himmelsbach: “Montreal! Hanging out at my favourite spa-sur-l'eau in the old port ... on a boat ... with a bar ... and a DJ.”

Smith: “Okay, I think Ontario needs a little more love. Canoe camping in Algonquin Park.” 

Bisby: “Well then how about Ottawa’s Carleton Cup, aka ‘the Ultimate Canadian Triathlon.’ Skating the eight-kilometre length of the world's longest skating rink, running through the Byward Market, and sipping a ‘victory quart’ at a local dive bar.”

Esrock: “Spending one chilly night in the Hotel de Glace in Quebec City. If you can handle it. Many guests don't make it all the way through.”

Stay tuned for the draft’s dramatic conclusion on Wednesday…

Tube parks are practically mandatory at ski resorts these days. Blue Mountain, for instance, couldn’t live without one.

Eight years after closing its original venue for sliding down snowy slopes on inner tubes, Ontario’s largest mountain village has unveiled Hike N’ Tube, which features four undulating lanes on a hillside overlooking the Westin Trillium House hotel.

Hike N’ Tube is just one more diversion for Blue guests who don’t ski or snowboard, and offers reliable family fun for anyone who can pull a tube up a hill (it’s designed for sliders over the age of two). I’m pretty sure that Grace, my five-year-old daughter, would have climbed the 100-metre-long hill until the snow melted – and even then would have kept going, as she does – while my wife Angela (pictured above) agreed with the general consensus that the spinning descents were “speedier than expected.”

Hike N’ Tube may elicit squeals of glee, but you’d have to have lived an extremely sheltered life to feel even a hint of fear on its gentle slopes. The same can’t be said for the other venues on this list. Just as ski hills have beginner and black-diamond runs, tube parks also range from tame to hilariously terrifying, and the five spots below lean toward the latter: 

Glissades des Pays d’en Haut, Piedmont, Que.
Quebec embraces tubing like nowhere else on Earth, and this 50-year-old park halfway between Montreal and Mont Tremblant represents the pinnacle of the pursuit in La Belle Province. Billed as the largest tubing centre in the world, its 32 runs max out at 250 vertical feet and are serviced by five lifts, including one chairlift. “Snow rafts,” meanwhile, accommodate as many as 12 riders (pictured below), while four-person bobsleds mimic the Olympic sport (but on snow). The direct English translation of the park’s name is unclear, but let’s just go with “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” for now… 

Coca-Cola Tube Park, Whistler, B.C.
Like every venue on this list, Whistler’s (pictured below) uses a lift to help guests reach the top of its seven 400-metre-long lanes. Once sliders get there, however, there’s a unique variety of options: They can careen down in a group (as long as conditions permit); there’s a “kids’ lane” halfway up where parents can hang onto their child’s tube (for the child’s sake, of course); and there are even child-sized tubes. Plus, Beaver Tails and poutine – together at last! – are served in the on-site snack bar.  

Chicopee Tube Park, Kitchener, Ont.
No snowfall around March Break? No problem: A snowmaking system keeps these six 300-metre-long lanes open all winter long, high-powered halogen lights keep them open till 10 p.m., and for refreshments there’s a splendid log chalet overlooking the hill.

Valcartier Vacation Village, Saint-Gabriel-de-Valcartier, Que.
What happens when snow coasts this waterslide park just north of Quebec City? Simple: It becomes “the largest winter playground in America.” Its 35 snow slides have fear-inducing names like Himalaya and Everest, and reach speeds of up to 80 km/h. Snow rafts, meanwhile, let groups of 12 scream in unison, while the unique Tornado whirls parties of eight down the slopes.

Thunder Valley, Horseshoe Resort, Barrie, Ont.
There are no official speed records for tubing in Canada, but these five 200-metre-long lanes are as steep as they come. And if guests need a few hundred extra calories, or a few ounces of liquid courage, to take the plunge, Horseshoe’s tube park theme nights include specialty cocktails in the Crazy Horse tavern or hot chocolate and s’mores by a bonfire.