If you missed my coverage of this stunning Loire Valley property the first time around, and since I couldn't fit it into my recent "top five travel destinations for fall" roundup in the Globe, here's the review again. After all, I can think of no better place to revel in the golden glow of autumn and savour the pungent aromas of a ridiculous cheese tray. 

Anyone seeking overnight accommodations in the Loire Valley’s most famous châteaux is out of luck. But there’s more to this UNESCO World Heritage Site than pretty castles.

Take Europe’s largest abbey: Founded in 1101, Fontevraud was at one time home to more than a thousand monks and nuns, whose matriarchal order eventually stretched from Portugal to Poland. It all came crashing down in 1792, however, when French revolutionaries ordered the evacuation of all religious residences in the land. The abbey was soon converted into a prison, which earned a brutal reputation before closing in 1963. Two decades later, after extensive restoration work, it reopened as yet another deconsecrated historic monument.

But this wouldn’t be the last of Fontevraud’s transformations. In June of 2014, after a $24-million overhaul, the abbey’s former leper ward (of all places) opened as a stylish, eco-conscious and technologically aggressive hotel.

LOCATION, LOCATION
The only remarkable thing about the typically winsome village of Fontevraud-l’Abbaye is its namesake, which fans out from a lovely cobblestone square. Once guests have found the hotel parking lot at the rear of the 14-hectare estate – the signage is tiny and easy to miss – they are whisked to the lobby in golf carts. That 60-second ride is a rousing introduction to the abbey’s sky-scraping spires.

DESIGN
New arrivals are encouraged to relax in the adjacent iBar, a dramatically lit blend of medieval, modern and futuristic sensibilities.
The former chapel’s vaulted ceiling soars over stylish oak banquettes, while padded room dividers line the stone walls to prevent conversation from echoing endlessly. (The monks and nuns took vows of silence, after all.) Here, educational touch screens act as tabletops; swipe a finger across them and prison blueprints replace views of the medieval abbey.
The hotel doesn’t shy away from its lean legacy and it soon becomes clear that this isn’t a typical hotel experience, which may rankle guests who expect air conditioning and plentiful toiletries. The compact rooms are clean and comfortable, with simple furnishings that evoke the abbey’s monastic roots. A staffer admits the expansive stone spaces may get chilly in winter – the complex is heated by a green-roofed, wood-fired power plant – but then points to a row of coat hangers that will carry complimentary cloaks.

READ THE REST OF THE REVIEW 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 that make my country the greatest on Earth.

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

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

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

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