G is for...Genoa

Liguria, ITALY

Here's a list of the reasons I decided to travel to the Italian coastal city of Genoa by myself (in no particular order): the world famous salami, the world famous aquarium.

I managed to completely miss out on the former. I guess one could argue that my efforts to really find some good, hot Genoan salami were mediocre at best. Genoa was the first city I travelled to on my own and I would defend my lack of salami eating by saying I was pretty terrified to sit down for a meal without anyone to look at across the table. Shamefully, I went to MacDonald’s for my only dinner here to try some Genoan Chicken McNuggets and a really great Genoan hot fudge sundae.

The aquarium, on the other hand, was the initial reason I chose Genoa and I made it my mission to get there. I arrived in Genoa at noon and spent hours walking across the city to the aquarium, my feet burning/throbbing/bleeding from my new Birkenstocks because I didn’t read the map to scale.

Genoa’s Aquarium is the largest aquarium in Europe (or second largest to Valencia, depending on whose website you read) and was wonderfully vacant when I walked through. I try to visit aquariums in most cities I go to, but Genoa’s was particularly appealing to me because it had bottlenose dolphins, a.k.a Flipper.

The best parts at any aquarium are the massive tanks that have more biodiversity than the scene in Little Mermaid when they sing “Under the Sea.” Genoa had more than one and there is so much going on at any given time it is easy for half an hour to seem like two minutes. The same shark swims by over and over, each time with its hollow expression, and every time it’s exciting.

An hour of so into my tour, I had my map out and I knew I was soon approaching the dolphin tank. Honestly, this was the reason Genoa was going to be the best aquarium I had ever visited. It was the reason I was staying in this city (which wasn’t all the warm or welcoming really) for a night. The dolphin(s).

Turn the corner. There’s the tank. The water is freakishly still. Where the hell is Flipper? NOT THERE. The tank was completely empty. There wasn’t even a sign explaining why or a fake cardboard dolphin to trick the kids. He had just vanished and nobody had bothered to tell me so I could change my trip itinerary.

I walked around the rest of the aquarium feeling deflated. There were some other pretty cool exhibits, including a Finding Nemo-inspired tank. And the penguins are always fun. I guess.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say the aquarium disappointed. But if I had known I wasn’t going to see my favourite animal of all time, maybe I would’ve spent the money on something else. Like salami.

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Passport envy

For a while there, I used to associate the Outdoor Life Network with a consistent line up of fishing shows. As someone who enjoys fishing, I have surprisingly little patience for watching other people do it on TV.

Then the OLN got a little spicier. Departures is a travel show that I’m fairly sure used to air only on Sunday nights and is now in such frequent and convenient syndication that I can catch an episode every day if I want to.

Justin Lukach and Scott Wilson are two twentysomething dudes from Brantford, Ont. who went their separate ways after high school but rekindled their friendship and became a tripod with phenomenal cameraman Andre Dupuis.

Essentially, these guys had the genius to pitch a show that sees them travel to some of the most far-out and far-reaching corners of the globe in the span of a year. The first season included stops in India, the Cook Islands and Cambodia, to name a few. They start and end the season with a tour of Canada’s vast lands. As if they couldn’t die happy after filming Season 1, their next yearlong trip took them from Libya to Mongolia to Madagascar (which is the episode I just watched today and which inspired this post.)

What makes this more than your ordinary travel show (other than the fact that they NEVER wear khaki coloured, multi-pocketed vests or anything made by Tilley) is that the guys themselves are a hoot. Scott is arguably the tamer one while Justin is a loveable goof. Their unique experiences and accompanying commentary is what makes you want to go to every single country they visit. With them.

They meet up with friends around the world who give them, and in turn give us, a view of a country one could never get by simply reading a travel book. Whether it’s a friend’s wedding in Jordan or celebrating Diwali in Delhi with another friend’s Indian family, the boys know where it’s at.

The camerawork is absolutely stunning and luckily has been recognized with a few awards over the years. Honestly, this is Planet Earth quality right here.

Their ridiculous activities range from rolling down a hill in a giant inflated ball called the Zorb to racing tuk tuks in a deserted cricket field. They play golf on volcanic rocks and swim with pink dolphins in the Amazon. And then, of course, there’s the fishing.

Departures website

F is for...Fort Myers

Florida, U.S.

Some trips or vacation spots just have natural soundtracks, songs that would be constantly playing in the background if your adventures were actually the plot of a major motion picture. In the case of Fort Myers, this soundtrack would be any hit by Jimmy Buffet.

Funnily enough, it’s said that his song “Cheeseburger in Paradise” was inspired by the local eatery, Cabbage Key Restaurant. There are few people in straw hats here but plenty of offensively complex Hawaiian print t-shirts. My Dad, sister and I stayed right on the beach which gave us gorgeous views of the sunset and put us within walking distance of Denny’s on the touristy strip behind our hotel.

My Dad was there on business leaving my sister and I somewhat stranded at and around the hotel when he was in meetings. One day, however, the group was nice enough to invite family along for an excursion to the Florida Everglades.

After riding Captain Bob’s Funmobile to the nearby park, we were given mammoth headphones to block out the deafening noise from the airboat’s fan. And then we were off.

We came to an abrupt stop about 30 seconds in and everyone looked around to see what the big deal was. Was there a rare bird? A crocodile? Had someone fallen in? None of the above. My Dad’s new baseball cap with “Florida” written on it in huge letters had flown off into the fan.

Once we recovered the precious headgear, we spent the next hour or so cruising through and over the waterways and apparently easily crushable plants of the Florida Everglades. The goal of course was to spot one of them crocodiles. We never thought it would be so difficult considering you’re always reading about them in Florida wandering into people’s backyards or eating burgers off the BBQ when people’s backs are turned. (I made up the burger thing but that would be CRAZY!)

We were feeling pretty deflated with only a few minutes left on the boat ride. Nothing. Not one reptile. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a wee little guy sitting in the bush. He was no more than 2 feet long and was flying solo but it was still amazing to see. Now, because of the headphones, you can’t communicate with anyone in the boat really so I didn’t say anything about the little guy and assumed my fellow croc-seekers had spotted him.

Back on land, I quickly learned from the disgruntled group that I had been the only one to actually see the crocodile. People who pay for excursions to see animals and don’t see them are not generally happy folk. My decision to calmly observe it for myself and assume others saw it too was not met warmly. “That girl saw one and she didn’t even say anything!” “Who does that?” Oops.

With that, the next track on my Fort Myers soundtrack faded in and it was none other than Jimmy Buffet’s own, “The A**hole Song.”

E is for...Eze

Alpes-Maritimes, FRANCE

When I was the luckiest 15-year-old in the world, my parents sent me to the South of France to take my Grade 12 French credit. As part of the credit, we took day trips to some of the small cities that make the Cote d’Azur one of the world’s most stunning coastlines. Our trip to the medieval village of Eze was only a few hours but it was not so quickly forgotten.

That afternoon in July, we toured the gardens that climb the steep hilltop on which Eze is perched. Now, to a pack of 15 and 16-year-olds, the gardens are less a spectacular show of flora and more an opportunity to dare each other to sit on the cacti. Mais la vue, que c’est belle!

I returned later that month with about 10 of my closest friends on the trip. One of my girlfriends was celebrating her Sweet 16, and her parents treated us to dinner in Eze. (Note: this is not a regular, or ever again, occurrence in my life.)

The restaurant we went to, at the hotel Chateau de la Chevre D’Or, was -- pardon my French -- ballin’. The toilets had seats, to begin with – an apparent luxury that our dorms had foregone. The restaurant was high on the hilltop. So high, in fact, I remember we drove through clouds to get there.

We sat outside at first, beside a live band that serenaded my friend with ‘Happy Birthday.’ After various appetizers we were moved inside. The dining room window looked out over a Mediterranean that was sparkling like the silverware in the moonlight.

It was the first, and only, meal of my life where all the waiters gathered around the table and unveiled our entrees with a synchronized lifting of the lids. It was the first time I had ever had palate cleansers, and the first time there was more expensive cutlery on the table than I could fit in my purse. And there were three courses of dessert. Most restaurants I’d been to only had three options for dessert, including fruit. Which is not a legitimate dessert, by the way.

The surrealism combined with the seemingly bottomless champagne (that’s what it’s called when they don’t charge you for refills, right?) made us giddier than schoolgirls on a trip to France.

I’m not one of those girls that grew up picturing stuff about my wedding. But, as a somewhat drunken 15-year-old, driving back down through the clouds, I vowed Eze would be my honeymoon spot. Fast forward eight years, and I still haven’t fully got my head out of those clouds.

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Chevre d'Or site

Dawson's Creek to Dawson City (almost)

What would you do if you found out you had one day, one week, one month left to live? That’s the question asked in the sort of new super-Canadiana film, One Week.

The question is posed to Ben Tyler, played by Vancouver-born Joshua Jackson, still shining in my eyes from his days as Pacey Witter on Dawson’s Creek. He finds out he has advanced cancer and his survival chances are depressingly slim. His response: buy a motorcycle off his dodgy looking neighbour and ride into the wind all the way to Tofino.

What accompanies his journey westward from Toronto is amazing footage of some of the most and least witnessed gems of the Canadian landscapes. To make it that much more varied – as if going from Toronto concrete to Saskatchewan fields to Tofino’s Long Beach isn’t enough – Ben stops at as many of Canada’s “biggest” tourist attractions he can find.

This means a stop at Sudbury’s giant nickel, a massive paper clip in Kipling, Sask. (why a paper clip?) and a snapshot in the world’s biggest Muskoka chair outside a Home Hardware in Gravenhurst, Ont. If these aren’t sources for national pride, I don’t know what is.

The plot is pretty good too. Ben’s new focus on his limited time causes him to reevaluate all aspects of his life, from his appreciation for family to the uncertainty that weighs on him about his upcoming marriage. Plus there’s a cameo by Gord Downie, which is weird but kind of cool.

The film generously shares with us some of the country’s most amazing views that most people will only see on a postcard or in the “Canada” section of coffee table books at Chapters. From the seemingly endless prairies to the iconic Banff Springs Hotel and finally to the surfer’s haven of Tofino, One Week comes beautifully close to giving this country’s geography its cinematic justice.

D is for...Dorion

My younger brother is finally heading off to university and he decided on Lakehead, in Thunder Bay, Ont. My parents decided we should check it out and allotted two days in T-Bay to explore his future home. The campus tour took two hours. That was all we had on the itinerary.

The next day, we decided to drive around and see what the GTBA had to offer. Our first stop was accidental – everyone but Driver Dad had fallen asleep, so no one was reading the map and told him when to turn. We wound up in Dorion, home to Canada’s longest suspension bridge.

Spanning a massive canyon that leads out to Lake Superior, the bridge is 600 feet long. It’s narrow enough that posing for a picture with the background in it is fairly awkward, and if you tripped you’d have nowhere to go but over the edge.

The private owners of the bridge built a concrete staircase last year, which allows you to walk down the canyon and follow the river that runs through it back to the parking lot. An alternative method of transportation to your car was the zipline, although it wasn’t open while we were there. Otherwise I would have done it. Probably.

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Island Fever

The Toronto city workers strike ended this past week and it seems like every person in the GTA has a case of Island Fever.

With the ferries now back up and running, and yesterday's temperatures in the comfortable mid-20s, it seemed like everyone and their uncle, and their aunt and three small children with a stroller for each, wanted to head to the Toronto Islands.

For $6.50, you can get a round trip fare with boats leaving every 15 minutes during the week and each half hour on weekends and holidays.

There's a load of things to do once you get to Centre Island. The obvious choice for many is to spend hours at Centreville, the island's amusement park that is kind of modeled after an old mining town, a strange homage considering the target demographic is 10 or under. The only feature not targeted for just children, I maintain, is the mini putt. Although it's seen better days (the mini sand bunkers are filled with dirt, leaves and little bits of garbage) the course is a good way to visit Centreville without getting stressfully immersed. Plus, there's no height restrictions. You're never too tall to play mini putt.

The rest of the island is accessible by foot or by bike, which you can rent out near the pier. We chose the ubercool two person quadracycle which also seemed to attract a large number of foreign tourists for some reason. We pedaled, side by side, on the boardwalk out to Ward's Island where the beach was packed in the sunny weather this city has been lacking.

We didn't play the island's frisbee golf course but we did drive through it which I'm fairly sure you're not supposed to do if only because it's near impossible to pedal a quadracycle on grass.

There's no shortage of other sights to see - the lighthouse, the marinas, playgrounds, the clothing optional beach (which for some may be a sight, others a final destination). The parks are filled with people reading or picnicking or showing off their beer bellies and it's easy to spend a full day there and want to stay.

Luckily the amazing view of the Toronto skyline is a reminder that this oasis is not too far from the city. And with the regular ferry schedule now back on, it's a view that should not be missed.