“We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain
Moor and mountain
Following yonder star…”

​The Crash Test Dummies’ baritonal rendition of the holiday classic jingles out of the rental-car stereo just as Sommet Saint-Sauveur’s starry lights come into view. It’s just past 4pm on Dec. 23, and as usual I’m driving from the Central Train Station in Montreal to the family chalet near Mont Tremblant.

Sauveur’s night-skiing operations, and others like them, have been lighting my way along the Laurentian Autoroute for years. But unlike the biblical Magi, who famously followed a star, I have always bypassed the valley’s beckoning beacons.

Not so this year. With ski gear in the trunk, fresh flakes on the highway and a few hours to spare, some warm-up laps sound like just the thing before hitting the slopes of Eastern Canada’s largest ski resort.

It turns out to be one of the best pit-stops I’ve ever made. So great, in fact, that I’ve taken three more detours along the Corduroy Highway, as I’ve come to call it, since then. There’s certainly no shortage of options: With a dozen impeccably-groomed hills lining the 70 kilometres of blacktop between between Sauveur and Tremblant, the Riviere du Nord valley is home to Canada's densest concentration of ski areas, all of which are making the most of 2019 spring skiing thanks to one of the best snowfall seasons on record.

This ski-area abundance goes back to the late 19th century, when the P'tit Train du Nord railway line — now Canada’s longest multi-use rail trail — first linked Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts and Montreal. This made it much easier for city-dwellers to explore the region, which became even more popular when one of North America’s first mechanical ski lifts was installed on Mont Saint-Sauveur in 1934. In those early years local hotels tended to operate their own lifts, many of which serviced single runs. No wonder more than 220 ski operations are said to have opened in the valley since 1900.

Another pleasant surprise: Despite their proximity and shared Laurentian setting, the four resorts I’ve sampled so far are pleasingly varied, with histories, personalities, terrain, cuisine and quirks all their own. What makes each worthy of much more than a pit-stop? Here’s what I’ve discovered so far:

Sommet Saint-Sauveur
The record-setting extent of Sauveur’s nightskiing hits home as I stand at the top of the L’Atomic Expresshigh-speed quad. Radiating outward like the spokes of a massive whitewashed wagon wheel, the six wonderfully groomed runs below me might account for the full extent of evening descents at many much larger ski areas. At Sauveur, however, more than 70 per cent of the 40 trails are illuminated, yielding 48 hectares of floodlit terrain — reputed to be the most extensive on Earth.

My nocturnal opportunities feel limitless. To the left and right, beginner-friendly traverses lead to seven more of Sauveur’s lifts, as well as to the three that climb adjoining Sommet Avila. I charge down the single-black Côte 70 Est in front of me as if the world’s last remaining order of poutine is waiting for me at the bottom. Thankfully, Sauveur’s stylish T-Bar 70 restaurant has plenty of fresh cheese curds and gravy on hand, as well as the breaded chicken strips, crispy bacon and pepper sauce it adds to its signature version of Quebec’s famous dish. A crisp Griffintown craft pilsner caps my pit stop within a pit stop, and I head back out to carve down groomer after groomer.

CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN SKI CANADA MAGAZINE

With recreational cannabis consumption set to become legal in exactly one week, this Mostly Amazing series explores 11 places across the land that are best experienced with a buzz.

A gibbous moon hangs over the plump hills of Quebec’s Eastern Townships as my two daughters and I climb the meandering path to National Geographic ObservÉtoiles, marketed as “the world’s first open-air augmented-reality planetarium."

From this glorious vantage point – a 184-seat hillside amphitheatre surrounded by a recently designated Dark Sky Preserve – reality seems to be doing just fine without any digital augmentation. Then again, we have yet to test our smartphone-equipped headsets.

The moment we tilt our heads left or right to activate constellation mode, ObservÉtoiles’s unique appeal becomes apparent. To paraphrase the late Gord Downie, our headsets reveal the constellations one star at a time while overlaying them with mythical figures. These swim into view and fade away as we scan the midnight-blue horizon. (The hour-long presentation actually begins in solar system mode, an astronomer-narrated planetary fly-by that isn’t all that different from traditional planetarium shows.)

Jeremy Fontana, owner of the surrounding Au Diable Vert nature resort, began developing the concept more than two years ago with Andrew Fazekas, a Montreal-based science writer and educator. (Nat Geo brought its marketing muscle to the table as the project neared its June 23 debut.) And while sitting in the million-dollar amphitheatre is definitely a memorable experience, one of the best elements of ObservÉtoiles is that you can relive it at home: All adult guests can keep their headsets, minus the slotted-in smartphones of course.

A few nights later, the horizon is punctuated not by rolling hills, but by condo towers. The lustrous digital constellations, however, remain much the same as my daughters and I make good use of our souvenir. By downloading the free StarChart app to my own device, we’re able to recount much of what we learned about the heavenly bodies above us.

READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN THE GLOBE AND MAIL

With recreational cannabis consumption set to become legal in exactly five weeks, this Mostly Amazing series explores 11 places across the land that are best experienced with a buzz.

When was the last time you heard exuberant applause in a sauna?

While in Ottawa last Family Day, Angela and I felt no guilt whatsoever in ditching our daughters and driving 15 minutes north to Nordik Spa-Nature in the snowy Gatineau Hills.

We were keen to check out the many features that have been added to the 100,000-square-foot spa complex since our last visit in 2014. And we weren’t disappointed: I covered several of them in a recent Globe and Mail story about Canada's best spa patios. Hot stone massages and craft beer, together at last...

The one new experience I saved for my blog -- the Aufguss Ritual -- was unlike anything I’ve ever done, in a spa or otherwise.

After one glorious circuit of Le Nordik’s various hot and cold pools, saunas and steam rooms, we made our way to the spacious Finlandia sauna 10 minutes before the 1pm Aufguss. (The 15-minute ritual takes place on the hour every other hour.)

Sitting on the topmost of the three wooden tiers surrounding the sauna’s table-sized stove, we had worked up quite a sweat by the time the sounding of a gong signalled the start of the ritual. Within minutes, the place was packed.

While setting down several buckets of water, snow and perfectly formed snowballs, the Aufguss Master explained how the ritual would unfold and encouraged us to “listen to our bodies” and move to lower seating, or leave the sauna altogether, should the heat become uncomfortable.

Dramatic music filled the space as our young guide scooped out three of the snowballs, each infused with essential oils, and dropped them one by one onto the enormous stove’s super-heated rocks. Juniper-scented steam immediately rose into the air, and was enthusiastically dispersed by the Aufguss Master as she skillfully whirled a folded towel around the sauna, her tattooed arms glistening with sweat.

This exhilarating process was repeated two more times with different oils, raising the temperature and humidity to a point where a few members of the audience took their leave. Then, just before the ritual ended with effusive and well-deserved applause, those who remained were cooled off in thrilling fashion when the Aufguss Master used her wooden scoop to douse us repeatedly with icy meltwater. Did I scream? You bet I did. Was it with pleasure or with pain? I’m not entirely sure -- and, as with many aspects of Le Nordik, that was the magic of the experience.

Warning: This video doesn't do the Aufguss justice. Just so you know.

With recreational cannabis consumption set to become legal in exactly 11 weeks, Mostly Amazing launches this 11-part series on places across the land that are best experienced with a buzz.

It’s a good thing there’s a twilight showing of Aura, the dazzling new sound-and-light show in the historic Notre-Dame Basilica. How else could I admire so many of Montreal’s luminous wonders in a single Friday evening?

During Aura’s introductory walk-through, dozens of projectors enhance the Gothic Revival high altar, choir stalls and soaring vault festooned with angels and stars. Christ’s radiant heart is striking enough in an oil painting, but when it starts glowing and then beating — complete with audio effects — my own pulse ticks up a notch.

This ticking turns into more of a whir soon after I take a seat in the pews. Spotlights direct my attention toward works of art, and then, as the orchestral music swells, the vault suddenly morphs into a giant glass dome mottled with falling leaves and dancing snowflakes. The storms of spring dramatically conclude the seasonal second act, with rising waters appearing to inundate the Basilica and then shatter the glass ceiling projected high above. My head feels like it’s on a swivel when dozens of laser beams shoot from the back of the nave and the 10-metre-tall Casavant Frères organ unleashes its 7,000 pipes.

My senses are still buzzing as I step out onto the cobblestones of the Place d’Armes, where the triumphant Maisonneuve Monument and the Pantheon-esque Bank of Montreal Museum are also bathed in floodlights.

But after seeing what projection-mapped images, lasers and sensor-equipped screen arrays can do — more on the latter in a moment — I’m now in search of cutting-edge radiance. Two centuries after tens of thousands of gas lamps transformed Paris into the City of Light, it seems Montreal’s historic buildings, restaurants, spas, public gardens and works of art are updating, and perhaps commandeering, that nickname.

READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN THE GLOBE AND MAIL

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 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...

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.