| ME: “I’m back.” YOU: “What?”, you say quizzically at the Other across the breakfast table crunching almost burnt toast. “I didn’t know she was away.” ME: “Yessss…I completed my goal of hitting every city, town, village, hamlet, gas station, and gopher hole on the AMA Alberta map!” “I mean – you didn’t even miss me?” YOU: “Ummm….” In a flurry of peripatetic solipsism, curiosity and just plain cabin fever given we have been province-locked since Jesus wore ankle shoes, I seized my opportunity to scour places not previously visited during my illustrious career as an Albertan, black sharpie in hand marking the stops. I believe Socrates called this “The Creative Process.” It wasn’t that hard. I spoke the language and didn’t have to confront any angry beavers. As Churchill said, where there’s a will, I want to be in it I do need to let you know that there were some difficult times prior to leaving for two weeks to finish off the last bits. Like deciding how many pairs of socks to take on a trip labelled “Who knows?” Three. And the size of a tube of toothpaste – 100 ml. (When completing such an illustrious affair, it’s important to stress the hardships you went through.) Near the end, I may have ended up grumpy, opinionated, disparaging, and maybe even anti-social in parts. At least I hope so.I also had an horrifying experience of looking into a hotel magnifying mirror. As God is my witness, I thought I was seeing an old man with a huge liver spotted forehead. And I ate too many pierogies.  “So many roads. So many detours. So many choices. So many mistakes.” – Carrie Bradshaw Along my nomadic travels, there were roads that seemed to mimic the flight path of a drunken moth, and roads that a CF-188 Hornet could land on with room to spare.  Accommodations varied. Some rooms had dirt going back to the Roman Conquest; one specimen, I thought, was becoming sentient.And some were so clean, they may have had a small specialty in Venetian blinds. Some had boisterous wallpaper, which had once, for a brief and unfortunate moment, been very much in vogue. Others, where the whole colour scheme of the room looked like was based on mottled liver. Some rooms were so small, it gave one pause whether a chessboard was too much furniture. Some were only mildly disappointing; with fake wood paneling and vases of washable flowers. Then there was a windowless room. Well, not exactly window-less. There were three. One window was jammed and the other two looked out on to an air vent. And then there was the Room That Was Locked in Time. 1969 to be precise. |
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Yes, I know. Life is grand and I am spoiled. I say this so often, it has become my mantra. To be a great experiential and voyeuristic traveller, I believe, one has to get lost – a lot. Thus one has to be equipped with the inability to read a map, compass, or follow verbal Google directions. Ditto for gas gauges. One also must have child-like enthusiasm for scary-looking food, know the proper way to use chopsticks, and to have a glass of vodka before every meal, as it kills off bugs. It also doesn’t hurt to know where the spare tire is in your car, have the super power ability to sleep anywhere, as well as the gene that allows you to fall back asleep at the drop of hat, know three good jokes in a couple of languages, and the Heimlich maneuver. Lastly, one should look good in breathable fleece, be comfortable wearing the same clothes for three consecutive days, and know enough to stay away from anyone named Maxmillion or Hugo. Sincerely, The Lady Who Drove to 19 cities, 106 towns, 81 villages, and endless hamlets hoping to find the 41 Big Things.  |
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