Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 304

Canada says, “I Do” celebrating ten years of Marriage Equality

 

Canada says, “I Do” celebrating ten years of Marriage Equality

article by Dean Nelson @GayWhistler

July 20th marks a decade of marriage equality in the Great White North.  Canada has long been a leader in gender and sexual minority (GSM – LGBT) rights and with the recent decision by the Supreme Court of the United States to allow same-sex marriages (June 26) we look at some of the hot Gay and Lesbian romantic getaways. Perfect for weddings, honeymoons or just a romantic getaway.

Tofino, BC

Melanie + Darilyn – Tofino, BC P:Chris Boar

Located on Canada’s West Coast on Vancouver Island is the charming village of Tofino.  Popular with storm watchers, surfers, and foodies.  This is the perfect LGBT destination if you are looking for something with surreal landscapes, endless romantic beach walks and exploring ancient old growth forests. The Wickaninnish Inn is the most popular place to pamper oneself. 

Vancouver, BC

Levi + Benson – Jack Poole Plaza Convention Centre, Vancouver, BC P: David Buzzard

The emerald of Canada’s crown and getaway to the Pacific, Vancouver, is one of Canada’s most LGBT inclusive. The vibrancy and diversity of this city is unlike any other in Canada.  Spectacular ocean front parks, jagged mountains to stunning gardens.  You can have a mega wedding at the ocean front conference centre, an intimate garden wedding at Dr. Sun Yet Sun’s classical Chinese gardens, to a rooftop terrance with stunning views of the Coast Mountains and the Pacific ocean.  The Loden Hotel has been a great corporate partner of the gay community and hosts a variety of LGBT fundraisers. 

Whistler, BC

Peak 2 Peak Gondola, Whistler Mountain, BC P: David Buzzard

A stunning resort destination that is equally impressive in the summer as it is in the winter. Best known as the world class ski resort in the winter and golf and mountain biking in the summer. Whistler offers incredible culinary experiences, stunning backdrops and unique adventures. 

“I Do” at the top of Whistler Mountain.  Whistler welcomes LGBT snow enthusiasts every January for the annual Whistler Pride and Ski Festival.

Dodi + Shelley – Westin Resort & Spa, Whistler, BC P: David Buzzard

Sunshine Coast, BC 

Located on the mainland of British Columbia just outside of Vancovuer is a hidden paradise with stunning windswept shorelines, majestic fjords, and dotted with quaint coastal communities. Great quirky waterfront stores, cafes and resorts make this romantic getaway extraordinary.   Travel Gay Canada recommends Painted Boat resort for your LGBT get away.

Okanagan Wine Country, BC 

Sparkling Hill Resort – Vernon, BC

For those that are looking for more of a “Napa” Experience look no further than the Okanagan region of British Columbia.  Hundreds of estate and boutique wineries dot the region with beautiful rolling hills and fruit orchards. You will also find award winning golf resorts, beautiful fresh water lakes and beaches and mountain biking trails.  Perched on a cliff overlooking the beautiful Okanagan Lake is the award winning luxury spa and wellness resort of Sparkling Hill Resort. Here you can experience KurSpa all within the glittering realm of Swarovski Crystal architecture.

Lake Louise, Alberta

Lake Louise, AB – P: Alpine Peak Photography

Natural beauty doesn’t get more spectacular than this icon of the Canadian Rockies. If gazing out from the Fairmont hotel onto the lake’s calm turquoise waters lapping against the mountains doesn’t put you in the mood, then your pulse may need a check.

Lake Louise has been named one of the world’s top honeymoon destinations because it is secluded, pristine, cozy and so breathtaking you’ll just want to hug someone to make sure you’re still on earth. Banff National Park’s jewel is romantic, no matter what time of year you go there, although spring and fall are ideal, to avoid the summer bus crowds and the winter ski visitors.

Niagara, Ontario

P: Elope Niagra – Niagara, ON

Niagara most famous for Niagara Falls also has many hidden treasures including wineries and charming country inns and incredible live performing arts such as the Shaw Festival Theatre.  Travel Gay Canada recommends taking Niagara Helicopter where they will fly you over the Niagara Falls for a bird’s eye view and land at one of the local vineyards for your reception! Pellar Estate, Truis, or Chateau des Charmes are the most popular. 

Montreal, Quebec

Adam & Steve – Montreal, QC P: An English Rose

Quebec’s biggest city is the place to heat things up, with many late-night rendez-vous options, intimate restaurants and loads of sexy, fun-filled possibilities. If all you want is a hotel room in a wonderful setting, you can’t go wrong with properties like Le Place d’Armes, Le Petit Hotel and Gouverneur Hotel.

Cape Breton, Nova Scotia

Wendy + Leigh – Cape Breton, NS P: David Macvicar

Visiting Cape Breton takes relaxation to new levels, which means you have nothing but time to devote to the one you love the most. Stunning landscapes, fresh seafood, simple Atlantic village vibe, friendly Maritimes charm and music filling the air – fiddle music to be precise. Cape Breton has the most fiddle players per capita in the world so you will have plenty of opportunity to grab your partner, kick up your heals as you try your hand at Cape Breton step or square dancing.

Sweepstakes
Nelson + Blue – Vancovuer, BC P: Edward Lai Photography

Vancouver is celebrating a decade of marriage equality with “10 Years of ‘I Do’ Sweepstakes” to learn more and to enter Click Here >>

Resources

Travel Gay Canada – Canada’s national LGBT tourism association. travelGayCanada.com

GayWhistler – Whistler Pride and Ski Festival gaywhistler.com

Tourism Vancouver – TourismVancouver.com

 

Chris Boar – CB Photography, Tofino, BC chrisboar.com

David Buzzard Photography – Vancouver/Whistler, BC  davidbuzzard.com

Alpine Peak Photography, Rocky Mountains, AB carmichaelphoto.com

Elope Niagra – ElopeNiagra.com

An English Rose Wedding Planner – Montreal, QC an-english-rose.com

David Macvicar Photography – Cape Breton, NS  davidmacvicar.com

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You can follow Dean Nelson on Social Media at @GayWhistler on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest

Be sure to follow @WeSaidGoTravel for other great travel tips and ideas

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Wakeup Call

 

“I’m a control freak,” Andrea said, “and I like to walk fast.”

It was a fair enough warning. The four of us had taken the train from Antwerp to Ghent for the day. We’d trooped after her, she with a map in hand and a plan in mind, through the streets of Ghent on a scavenger hunt, seeking out the highlights of the historic city: the ornate gothic cathedral, the ornate gothic government buildings that looked like cathedrals, more gothic churches, the Castle, the canals.

But by two ’o clock, we were all a little grumpy. We were tired, and lunch had been a disappointment. Now we were just trying to be polite.

Then we passed the café. It was on the other side of the street, nearly lost in the shadow of the (ornate gothic) town hall. We crossed the cobblestones and ducked between parked cars and walked up to the window that said Huize Colette. We peeked in the window. We peeked in the door. We walked inside to peek at the menu written in chalk on the wall behind the counter.

“What do you think?” someone said.

“Do they have hot chocolate?” someone else said.

We asked the round young woman behind the counter if she had hot chocolate.

“Do you want milk, half milk, or very dark?” she asked in fair Flemish English.

We looked at each other. We had no idea what to say. We’d never been given a chocolate choice before. The woman smiled at our confusion and gently suggested we take a seat; she’d be right over.

We were like kids, bouncing and giggling and ogling the chocolate torte tempting us on the counter. We did as we were told, and when the young woman—she owned the shop—came to take our orders, she explained the difference between milk (the usual milk chocolate), half milk (semisweet dark chocolate), and very dark (that 85% cacao you can only get in specialty stores in the U.S.).

“You can also get very dark as ‘wake up call,’” she said. “With espresso.”

My eyes lit up. “Is it very bitter?” I asked.

The woman smiled sweetly and nodded.

“Do people add sugar?” I asked worried that bitter wouldn’t be sweet.

“We can give to you,” she said.

So my compatriots ordered milk, and I ordered a wakeup call. (What else?!)

“What about the torte?” someone said.

“Should we?” someone hemmed.

“What do you think?” someone else hawed.

“We’ll have one to share,” I said.

The hot chocolate came in fat mugs on silver trays, and the chocolate torte came with a dollop of whipped cream and four forks. From the very first sip we were all in heaven. We couldn’t stop oohing and ahhing. My wakeup call took my breath away—I never did add the sugar. And the chocolate torte disappeared—just disappeared.

We floated out of Huize Colette on a high that had nothing to do with caffeine. Somehow our grumpies were gone, washed away by the best hot chocolate any of us had ever tasted.

But something else had evaporated into the sweet-smelling air of that delightful little café, too. We continued on our tourists’ quest, but somehow the fun we were having together—our joking banter, the pictures we snapped of each other, the scent of flowers along the way—was more important than laying eyes on every numbered icon on the map. And by the end of the day when we melted into chairs on a restaurant piazza near the canal, a bottle of wine between us, the sun setting into clouds of beautiful colors beyond the Castle, we all just sighed. This was what we’d remember the most about this trek to the city of Ghent.

Linda Kobert lives in Virginia where she works as a freelance writer, editor, and educator. She has twice taught writing aboard the Semester at Sea study abroad program. This essay is based on her experiences on one of those voyages. Her creative work has appeared in Postcard Poems and Prose, Spirituality and Health, Small Spiral Notebook, on The Pen and Bell blog, and elsewhere.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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It’s The Will, Not The Time in the Philippines

Straight from college, I landed my very first corporate job and never stopped working ever since. Not until I was retrenched last year. During my six years of being employed, I will see travel pictures of my friends and relatives and has always felt envious. To not feel miserable, I say to myself that my lack of free time is the reason I don’t travel. I have a career to build after all.

And then came my retrenchment. I was left with a decent amount of fund and plenty of time to finally travel. Still, I have not gone thru my travel plans. I later on learned that the absence of travel in my life is not because of lack of time or even money… but it is my lack of will to just pack my bag and go.

But I woke up one day and told myself, cliché as it may sound, ‘that it is now or never’. My old self would have asked someone to go with me – my boyfriend, my friend, my sister. But when I decided that I wanted to just go, people around me started approaching me and ask me if they can go instead of me asking them to go with me. It’s like a magnetic force. I sincerely hope I am exuding the free-spirit vibe.

Ever since the start of this year, two months after I lost my job, I’ve been to one international destination – South Korea, with no travel guide just one travel buddy, and has explored my very own country, Philippines: sailed on a ship to reach one local but unadulterated island with no one by myself, been to multiple resorts in my province and nearby provinces with my friends, multiple beaches with my GoPro, and several ‘I’ll just pack my bag and go’ unplanned trips with whoever is ready to go with me. Surprisingly, the fund has been sufficient, the timing was all perfect and most importantly my will to just go has not diminished at all, instead it is being refueled after every trip.

My liberty from my own binding thought that I don’t have the time to travel has been proven false when I finally have the time but I still don’t have the will. I found my independence from the wrong thought and asked myself to just do it ‘cause that’s what I want. My social media feed has been filled with salt water, sand, sea shells and breath taking views. My laptop is filled with itineraries and destination targets. My friends started asking me for suggestion where to go, and even asked me to go with them.

I stopped asking why I have to go and explore, I just did. I don’t have stress to deal with to say I need to go. I don’t have the monthly expected salary to say I am entitled ‘cause I worked hard for it. I just did.

Freedom from excuses not to go, or independence from the need to have a reason to go has made me realize that I wanted to do this more than anything else.

I could definitely travel more. I can definitely go further not because I’ll have the money or time. I can ‘cause I will and that’s coming from the heart.

 About the Author:

Annabelle “Belle” Lingao is a 26-year old Filipina with a ‘to-do’ list to complete before getting hitched this year. She has been enjoying her free time ever since losing her corporate job. The negative has turned into positive in her life and she’s more than ready to take over the world.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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Five Favorites: Genius Inventions for Your Next Trip

Lucky for us travelers, there are geniuses all around the world trying to make our lives easier! Planes, trains, and hostels never looked quite as comfy before these amazing, easy inventions! They are designed to make any kind of travel easier and more enjoyable. Check them out:

1. J Pillow

The J Pillow is the Winner of the 2013 British Inventor Award. It stops your head from falling forward while sleeping. Perfect for flying, this genius pillow will help you sleep better while sitting upright, making that long trip to New Zealand a bit easier.

2. Native Union Jump Cable

The Native Jump Cable won the 2014 Good Design awards, for its sleek look and tangle free design. Unlike most portable chargers, Jump charges itself so it’s always ready to go. It’s the size of a matchbox, and holds an extra 30% charge for your phone. With Jump, you don’t have to remember to charge your phone before you start snapping photos of the Grand Canyon.

3. The Scrubba Wash Bag

On your long backpacking trips, re-wearing clothes is inevitable. With Scrubba, washing your clothes while backpacking just became easy! This genius invention uses less water in less time, and keeps your clothes cleaner! No more having to find some strange laundromat. Scrubba will only add 5 ounces of weight to your backpack!

4. Hoodie Pillow

The Hoodie Pillow: simple, but brilliant. The ultimate zone-out design keeps you in your personal bubble, no matter if you’re in a busy train station or on a plane. It also offers a stealthy pocket to hide your wallet or phone while traveling. Get comfy and stay comfy.

5. Sinch Headphone Assistant

 

Every time you roll your headphones up neatly, they still come out of your bag looking like a knot. The Sinch will save yourself five minutes each time you want to listen to some music. Store your headphones where you’ll need them, and keep them tangle free, with this easy clip on device for your iPhone.

Hopefully these inventions make your next trip a little easier!

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Uganda – A Love Affair

In September, 2009, I got on a plane with my just-thirteen year old son, bound for Uganda via London. My husband stayed at home; my daughter was in college. Other than an acquaintance from nearly fifteen years before who I’d reconnected with on Facebook, I didn’t know one person in the country. I didn’t even know one person who’d ever gone to Uganda! But there we were, equipped with my new 500mm camera lens for my “one and only” safari; a satellite phone; and a bunch of $100 bills that were 2006 and newer with no rips, tears or marks. And a lot of angst.

How did I end up on that plane? Well, in 2008, I’d started a nonprofit. I never dreamed I would leave the country, although I’d done extensive traveling throughout my life. But a chance reconnection with my friend in Uganda over the Christmas holidays led to helping an NGO located in the Kampala slums, which led to an invitation to visit. As a homeschooling family, taking my son was a no-brainer. My husband, while a little worried, was supportive. My friends thought I was crazy

“What are you going to DO there?” they said.

I shrugged.

Other than going on a short safari to Lake Mburo, I honestly didn’t know. Visit the nonprofit in the slums. Hang out with my friend and her dozen adopted Ugandan kids. That was my entire agenda. For two weeks.

And then we arrived, and I fell in love.

Everyone talks about how wonderful and unique Africa smells, and it’s true. What’s also true is that the skies are wide open, the air feels different, and, of course, animals and birds are everywhere, even in a big city like Kampala. But mostly, it’s the people, who are friendly, funny, and full of joy, even in the slums. There is a richness and a genuineness to the people and culture that is rarely seen in the Western world.

I have been to Uganda ten times now, with my eleventh trip planned for October. My husband has never been – it’s 29 hours and 2 days of travel and a large time difference, all of which makes it hard for a working man to do. My kids have been many times each, and my son speaks Swahili. But I’ve also gone three times by myself, and while I do miss home and family, Uganda is truly my heart’s second home. When I am working in the slums, with hospice patients, at the babies home, or with the ladies with HIV/AIDS who make up our cooperatives, I know that I am in my element. I know I’m doing what I was truly meant to do.

And that “one and only” safari? Well, I’ve been on several more, as well as white water rafting on the Nile. I’ve stayed at the most amazing Lodge in the middle of the Nile river, surrounded by rapids and hand built over three years by hard working locals. I’ve eaten in upscale expat restaurants in Kampala and in village homes with no power or running water. (The food was equally good in both!) I’ve spent a spa day in a five star hotel on the banks of Lake Victoria and used “squatty potties” in a village twenty miles from the nearest power source and a mile from the nearest well. I’ve watched my son celebrate his birthday playing paintball, and visited children dying of HIV and TB in one room huts. I’ve stood on the Equator, and sat in 8’x8’ rooms where ten people live in the heat of the African day.

All of it felt like home. All of it has been woven together to make Uganda that special place, that place where I am all that I can be, doing all that I can do. And my husband? He’s had his ups and downs when I’m gone. But he’s my hero – he has never asked me to quit my work there, and even tells people, “That’s where she’s in her element.” One day, I hope that we can explore the country together, and I can thank him for his incredible support on this journey.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jennings Wright is the founder of Ten Eighteen Inc., a nonprofit working with women, children and the dying in Uganda, as well as the author of seven books. She has traveled to over 60 countries and is always ready for another adventure. She lives at the Crystal Coast of North Carolina with her husband, with whom she is enjoying an empty nest.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

 

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Among the Waves: Cinque Terre, Italy

My mouth was dry. The taste of salt stung my lips and absorbed all the moisture on my tongue. I couldn’t tell if I was tasting the ocean on my lips or the tears that were streaming down my face. My body floated easily in the waves, the tide tugging at my soul. A piece of my heart started to drift away into the distance. I thought for a moment of chasing it, of kicking and pulling at the water, trying to catch up. But I knew it was too late and felt relieved that something had finally taken it. Another piece in another ocean.

I glanced down and saw my toes, their neon pink polish easily visible a few feet down in the water. I felt protected by the waves, but knew that the sun was probably cooking me alive. 
There was endless space around me but I wasn’t alone. Through my peripheral vision I saw a few others floating and wondered briefly about their lives.

My eyes were still dripping so I closed them and let the ocean move my body as it wished. Tears seeped out through the seams and the ocean quickly swept them away. The ecstasy of peace started to pump through my veins as I cried harder. I wasn’t stressed or upset. My face was relaxed, as was my mind. It felt so good to let myself break apart and float freely.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was always similar places that brought out my true self; a bus in New Zealand, a park bench in Barcelona, the beach that we snuck down to at four in the morning on my 17th birthday. I remember sitting there and letting nature be nature, and self be self. These were always the moments when it hit me; when the joyful, beautiful, or painful reality sunk in. When the past would crawl out of the cold earth and claw its way towards my legs, desperately trying to pull me back under. When we had cried so much that the only thing left to do was laugh. When we would sing “Electric Feel” at the top of our lungs, screaming the chorus so loudly that we could no longer hear each other, just because we were young and our hearts, too, were beating the most wonderful of songs.

I dove under, pulling myself deep into the water. I opened my eyes and saw light beams dancing their way into the depths of the sea, one tickling my hand and illuminating the pruned wrinkles on my fingertips. As my head broke through the water I took a deep breath and glanced back at the shore. Mountains cut a rugged line between the land and sky. Nestled in them was a small town hidden from the outside world. I searched for the spot I had trustingly left my backpack and towel. It appeared to be undisturbed.

My place in the sea didn’t want to let me go, but I forced myself to pull my hands through the water and flutter my legs, propelling myself towards shore. It seemed like a good time to let a train car wisp me away to the town where a cold hostel shower was waiting.

I didn’t have to wait long, as there were constantly trains running between the five little towns of Cinque Terre. I was herded onto the train car along with several other travelers, our bodies bumping into each other as we all tried to cram inside the small space.

Upon completing the steep hike back to my hostel, I took a seat on the balcony as the sun finished its descent. I cracked open my journal and began to read about my first encounters on my journey. I read about my night getting lost in the music of a Swedish club, about my conversations with a foreign friend’s mother who seemed to resent my blissful travel experiences because her daughter’s had just become painful memories, about my first night completely alone in a foreign city.

I looked up from the page and closed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine going back to America- a land where I was supposed to be free but always felt trapped between state lines. Back to my landlocked home, a place filled with ignorant minds and judgment’s waiting to be passed. A world where I didn’t cry freely, where I felt confined to others notions of who I am, and where my soul couldn’t dance along to the chaos of the unknown. I turned my head to face the ocean. Somewhere out there was a piece of me floating to a new land and I knew it would always be there, waiting for me to find it.

About the Author:

 

Shyanne is a lover of music, brunch, Mary Oliver, oceans, chaos, heat, and espresso. She spent her late teen years traveling independently around New Zealand and Europe before beginning college at Seattle University where she is currently pursuing a degree in Strategic Communications.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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Temporary Citizen in Paris, France

            My most vivid memory of Paris is running.

 

I woke by my watch’s beeping at 4:45 am for a 6:40 flight to London, the city I where would end my European summer. In a blurry, anxious haze I gathered my bags and squeezed my luggage down narrow hotel stairs that creaked with antiquity then said a thank-you-goodbye to the receptionist in the head-nod body language that defies barrier.

 

My walk to the Metro was a long, quiet one in the cool emptiness of early-morning summer. My watch showed 5:10, 20 minutes early for the last train that would land me in the airport on time. I pulled a few coins from my pocket and triple-checked my math against the sign above the tellers’ desk: two euros short. Repeated swipes of my American debit card in the station’s cash dispenser brought up an error notice. The clerks graciously informed me in rough “Frenglish” they couldn’t spot me any change, didn’t know where the nearest ATM was, and couldn’t, per regulation, watch my luggage.

 

Shouldering my grossly overstuffed canvas suitcase and bulging laptop bag, I ran wildly through the quaint streets of a city tourists visit to browse with slow, savory steps. I huffed along several blocks one direction, shifting my suitcase (roughly the size, shape, and weight of a human child) from shoulder to shoulder, then doubled back until I found an ATM that could read my card and then pounded 10 or so blocks back in enough time to hear train brakes crescendo in the tunnel as I breathlessly handed over cash for my ticket.

 

Aside from flight, I remember little else of my summer abroad other than unremarkable minutiae. The Eiffel Tower is a vague image; I can’t even say what metallic shade of gray it was (was it gray? brass? charcoal?). I can’t name a single painting from Musée d’Orsay, recall a stained-glass portrait adorning Notre Dame, or confirm that Notre Dame even has stained glass windows. More elegant than La Ville-Lumière at night was running through it in a surprise afternoon shower. Richer than its coffee was smoking a cheap cigar watching street dancers. More enriching than its art was the unpacked carnival I perused outside the Louvre.

 

Before that summer, I believed that to tour a foreign place is to observe firsthand the quintessential features that define it, as if to prove that a crêpe tastes a certain way in Paris vs. Boston, that Europeans do fart in public without so much as an Entschuldigen Sie mich, that Big Ben is indeed rather large.

 

Those are the types of experiences I set out to prove in Paris and elsewhere, but in the years since, thinking back on my time there, what come to mind are the distinct feelings of just being present in strange places, feelings I could never replicate anywhere else. It’s a sensation that’s both denotatively nostalgic (“pleasure and sadness that is caused by remembering something from the past”) and anti-nostalgic (“the state of being homesick”).

 

There’s a French word I think describes this feeling more accurately: dépaysement, or “the feeling that comes from not being in one’s home country.” It’s an emotion only describable as its more-familiar inverse, one that can be both alienating and, for some, comforting for it.

 

I think in every tourist there’s a kind of quaint ignorance we’re constantly searching to remedy yet always cultivating because it provokes pursuit of remedy. This is what now draws me to leave what I know in my home and become a tourist in someone else’s, to thread myself into it as if I lived there and exist as I’ve always existed but somehow as a separate person who can only exist in that specific place, to seek out the opportunity posed by feeling lost in a temporary home beyond my own and be whoever that person is, there.

About the Author

Bryce is a freelance writer and MFA student at NC State. His work can be found in Best American Experimental Writing 2015, The Normal School, Mid-American Review, Prairie Schooner, Your Impossible Voice, etc., and he serves on staff for Raleigh Review and BULL: Men’s Fiction..

 

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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Bucket List Bonanza in Canada

 

BUCKET LIST BONANZA

 

                                                                                            OR

 

                                                                   BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

 

 

 

My sister-in-law, a retired doctor in Atlanta, gave me the very generous gift of a trip which was on my “Bucket List”.  I have always wanted to see the Northern Lights and she sent me there under one stipulation – – – I had to go by myself.  She said it was a way to repay me for taking care of other people my whole life and she wanted me to be free of responsibility and worry.    

 

At age 67, I was mildly intimidated, but became more enticed as the date approached. The thought of being totally on my own, free as a bird, became exhilarating.   Somehow I thought the trip would be in Alaska, in June.  Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be in the Arctic in March!!!

 

My journey began with a flight from Baltimore, a connection in Chicago and on to Winnipeg, Canada.  I met the tour person who drove me to the Fort Garry Hotel.  It was a grand old hotel, impeccably maintained.  As soon as I checked in, I was taken to the Boots & Parka room to be outfitted from the long johns out.  This gave me yet another 40 pound duffle bag of gear to carry.  We met as a group for the first time at 7:00 for a wonderful dinner.   It appears to be a nice group of 14.  Two were from New Zealand, 2 from Sydney, Australia and the rest from the USA.  Our destination is Churchill, Manitoba, Canada, a town of 800 hearty souls.  It is widely considered to be one of the best places in the world to see aurora activity.  The journey consist of  2 days and 2 nights on a train, 4 days in Churchill, 1 day to fly back to Winnipeg and then to our respective homes the next day.

 

The train ride was even an adventure as my “roomette” was 3’x4 ½’.  I called it a “closet”.  Traveling alone made it easier to adapt to this and future challenges.  We were fortunate to see the Northern Lights both nights on the train, a rarity according to our guide.

 

When we arrived in Churchill it was -40 degrees wind chill, thus we were told to be in “full gear”.  The cold took your breath away, everything crunched under your feet and bare skin ached after 3 minutes.  Snow was up to the roof line, streets packed with ice and snowmobiles the mode of transportation.  Our hotel rooms were a welcome sight after the cramped train accommodations.

 

Lectures, dog sledding in -35 degrees and tours were offered during the day.  After dinner each evening, we “geared up” to drive out on the tundra to watch for the lights which usually started about 1am.  Our group was the first to see lights all 5 nights.  They were breathtaking ribbons of green dancing across the sky in vertical formations.  They floated amongst the stars as though God was stirring cream in his coffee and watching it swirl through the night sky.  Then we saw a full circle of green with pink in the center.  Moments later a long serpentine tail streaked from west to east, horizon to horizon.  It was now -54 degrees, but no one cared for we were truly witnessing a rare phenomenon.  The lights were so active and vibrant that even the guide, the driver and the crew were all outside yelling and dancing around in blissful celebration.   As luck would have it, the dates we were in Churchill were predicted to be the best possible dates for viewing based on all scientific data.  I would like to say that I researched and planned the trip around that data, but it was merely coincidental.

 

Back at the hotel, our warm beds felt especially inviting that night.  We have been going on 4 hours sleep each night for a week now and knowing we would be packing for the flight home the next morning was comforting.  No more cold nights on the tundra and content that we saw a spectacular display of lights.

 

After a smooth 2 ½ hour flight back to Winnipeg, we were treated to a lavish “farewell dinner”.  It’s amazing how 14 strangers can meld into a cohesive team in such a short time.

 

It truly was an ADVENTURE OF A LIFETIME, but I will admit that I was totally exhausted, spent.  I believe that anyone over 65 should take a hard look at any trip with the word “adventure” in it.  How can I ever say thank you enough for such an awesome trip?  My time alone was a chance for reflection, thanksgiving and gauging who I really was.  I truly did hit the “Bucket List Bonanza”!!!

 

 

 

About the Author:    I am a 67 year old retired banker who loves seeing the world and all it has to offer.  I attribute being active and adventurous to being raised on a show horse farm in south central Pennsylvania.

Respectfully submitted by:

Beverly A. Hajek

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Never Leaving My House in the USA

I love to travel. Experience the culture, the people, the food…I absolutely love it. Going to Europe is on my bucket list and I can’t wait until that finally happens. Rome, Paris, Amsterdam, London…I feel like they’re waiting for me to come and discover their grandeur. People have told me that traveling changes you; that you come back a better and more knowledgeable. Some people have said they found the meaning of life, or their calling, what they’re supposed to do. I sincerely hope that happens to me, since I am sheltered. I admit it: I live in a big house, my parents can afford to send me to any college I want, and I am told to follow my dreams and do what makes me happy. I know that others are not as privileged as I am. I want to help; I want to see everything, as much as I can. But for now, I’ll settle for adventures that occur in my dreams and one other place. I have been on many vacations, but my best travel escapes happen when I don’t even have to leave my house. Thinking back, I can count hundreds of places that I have been too, all the while curled under a blanket in my bed. “How can this be?” you might ask. One word: books. I fought with Harry, Ron, and Hermione against Voldemort, I trained at Camp Half-Blood with Percy and Annabeth, I discovered Narnia with Lucy…so many wonderful times and I didn’t have to carry a suitcase! Reading has always been my escape, since a lot of people were mean to me throughout elementary and middle school. I would lose myself in a world completely different from my own and stay there for hours. Book characters are absolutely lovely. They don’t judge, they take you with them on absolutely AMAZING adventures, and they certainly don’t mind when you take a Tumblr break to post about your ships and how you can’t even. This is kind of silly, but sometimes when I read an exceptional book, I can almost pretend that I’m standing there with them. When Katniss covered Rue with flowers, or when Minny put the you-know-what in the pie for Miss Hilly. I laugh, I cry…books have such an impact on our lives and we don’t even realize it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ll finish a book, go to bed, and then dream about said book, where I’m alongside my favorite characters! I think that really shows the merit of a good book. It made such an impact on you that you can’t help but think about it even in your subconscious. Traveling through books is just as important as real life traveling. Books are an escape, for the people who are too poor to travel or too scared. Those people are out there, and while they are saving up money to travel, they need something to find solace in through the dark times. I am one of those people, and I travel through books.  

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An L.A. Foodie Discovers Culinary Boston

Somewhere between my third oyster and my umpteenth, soaking up the summer sun on the back of a boat in the middle of Boston Harbor, I got it. Or maybe it was on the Green Monster, overlooking the game-day festivities on Yawkey Way as the Sox took batting practice. Then again, it could have been while standing in front of the historic Lenox Hotel, where two years earlier, some jackass set off a bomb during the city’s world-renowned marathon. Wherever exactly the moment happened, the fact is it happened: I caught Boston fever.

Chris Himmel is a native Bostonian with deep ties to the city and the executive V.P. of Himmel Hospitality Group; he’s also a pretty good amateur tour guide. With a phone call to a buddy in the Red Sox organization, Chris arranged a tour of the baseball cathedral that is Fenway Park. Heartaches from throughout the decades still linger like ghosts in this oldest of all baseball parks, despite having found relief in the team’s recent championships.

As if symbolically, an upper deck garden now grows, providing vegetables for the stadium’s restaurants, where once a plastic tarp occupied space. Fenway Farms is operated by Green City Growers, a local outfit dedicated to turning unused municipal space into urban farms.

Fenway Farms, a stadium rooftop garden operated by Green City Growers. (Photo by Scott Bridges)

Chris showcases the growers’ efforts at his award-winning restaurants. In fact, supporting local farmers is a big part of what the Himmel brand is all about. A little backstory on this guy is probably in order. Chris cut his teeth in the kitchen of Thomas Keller’s The French Laundry — to be more precise, he cut fish. He’s good with a knife, but after a couple of beers, he’ll tell you a story about how he was threatened with one (a knife, not a beer) for using another chef’s. He says he didn’t make that mistake again. These days, he prefers to run the operations and allow others to slice up their fingers. And he’s been pretty good at it, named last year to the Boston Business Journal’s “40 under 40” list.

On a gorgeous Friday morning, my host and guide introduced me to the farmers market at Copley Square. The local bounty was on full display in the midst of architectural grandeur, including the Boston Public Library, which I later toured in wide-eyed wonder. But architecture and history are merely the backdrop for my journey; I’m here to, well, taste Boston, Mass.

And tasting Boston means, to a large extent, “drinking it all in.” These folks enjoy their booze. At Bully Boy Distillery, they’re not only drinking it, they’re making it. In fact, they’re making it artisanally by hand in small batches. Chris is all about sourcing locally, even his Bourbon-style whisky.

Chris Himmel demonstrates the proper way to shuck an oyster. (Photo by Scott Bridges)

So of course my man sources his foods locally. At Post 390, Chris and Chef Eric Brennan select a sustainable New England farm or fishery to celebrate in a monthly “Farm to Post” tasting series. The dinner series also features the best foragers and specialty food producers, culminating in contemporary dishes with local, seasonal ingredients. The prix fixe menu is completed with wine pairings from Master Sommelier Brahm Callahan.

Callahan also oversees the cellar at local favorite Grill 23 & Bar, which houses more than 1,700 varietals! The surf-and-turf staple, Chris tells me, has been the gold standard in town for more than 30 years, although he’s only taken the reigns in recent years. The joint is renowned for all-natural, dry-aged beef and inventive seafood presentations. While careful to retain the bar’s beloved heritage, Chris has added open-air windows that open out onto the street, providing a patio feel.

Executive Chef Tyler Kinnett’s creativity is on full display at Harvest. (Photo by Scott Bridges)

Meanwhile in nearby Cambridge, Executive Chef Tyler Kinnett’s modern New England cuisine is earning praise at Harvest from Zagat and Travel + Leisure, with awards from Boston Magazine and The Improper Bostonian. The Harvard Square restaurant has been named the best “Sunday Brunch,” “Outdoor Dining” and “Guaranteed Great Meal” in town.

During my stay, I began each day with a run through Boston Common, up to the State House and back (one has to do something to burn off drinks with Chris and his pals). My run would take me through beautiful Boston Public Garden, which can be seen from Bistro du Midi, a partner property of the Himmel group. I lunched at the French-inspired restaurant and enjoyed spectacular wine pairings while taking in pastoral views of the park.

Of course, if this was all I saw of Boston — fancy restaurants and public gardens — I wouldn’t be getting the whole picture, would I? It so happens that Chris and I share a common interest in urban food movements. His is more than an interest, it’s a passion. He took me to a barbecue at the Boys & Girls Club of Boston Blue Hills Club, which although it half-sounds like a private golf club, it certainly is not.

This is a grittier side of the city, lacking affluence and resources. What it is not lacking is the philanthropy of concerned Bostonians like Chris, as well the Kraft family (Josh is president and CEO of the Boys & Girls Clubs of Boston and attended the grill-out). Himmel Hospitality Group partnered with the club as part of the group’s Farm-to-Change program. Green City Growers has planted gardens on-site and the children are learning how to eat and live healthy.

Steak Tartare with black truffles at Bistro du Midi. (Photo by Scott Bridges)

It’s encouraging to discover that the farm-to-table philosophy so ubiquitous on the left Coast is thriving on Northeastern shores three time zones away. And it’s nice to know that kindred spirits exist wherever you go in this great land.

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