Swiss Family Grass

To say that our Newfoundland experience was spectacular would be an understatement. From the moment we disembarked from the ship, Newfoundland’s landscape welcomed us with luscious green forests and calm seas gently lapping at the coastline. We drove north along the coast for a few hours before dusk forced us off the road for the evening. Guide books, locals, and folk singers alike warn of driving at dusk and dawn as Newfoundland has 110,000 moose that tend to be drawn to car headlights.

Early the next morning we continued on the TransCanada to Gros Morne National Park. Gros Morne tied for second place with Cape Breton as top national parks to visit in North America. The top three slots were all Canadian parks. Parks are rated on a number of features, including beauty, heritage, activities, and number of tourists that visit. Gros Morne is considered a gem because few make the journey to this unspoiled land. If you want to walk the beach alone, you can. If your pleasure is hiking among the millions of years old tabletop mountains, you can. And, if you want to just sit back and breathe in the fresh sea air, you can do that too.

Of the campground choices available within the park, we decided to stay at Shallow Bay. Shallow Bay campground is situated alongside a pristine stretch of white sand beach. Dunes separate the campsites from the 3km beach, and the water is clear out 25 yards from the shore. As soon as my toes touched the water, I knew I was hooked. I went for a swim (Petey did too) and spent the remainder of the afternoon relaxing on the beach.

On day two we ventured into town on bikes to check out Cow Head. The small village of Cow Head is located just outside the campground entrance and has a population of about 500, down from the 1000 that lived there before the fishing industry collapsed on Newfoundland. While in the local grocery store we noticed a sign on the community bulletin board for a poker tournament to be held at a local tavern on Sunday afternoon. We rode our bikes to Linda’s Place and inquired with the barkeep about the tournament. She said that her nephew was holding his first ever tournament at her bar and he would welcome out of towners. The buy-in was $20 (abut $16 US), so we decided to give it a go. We spent the rest of the afternoon learning how to officially play and score darts at Linda’s Place and talking with local fisherman who are proud of their homeland and discouraged by the restrictions put on their livelihood.

Later that evening we went to a show at the local theatre company. The Gros Morne Theatre Festival is an annual event held during the summer months. The festival draws people from all over the island and beyond and has a wide offering, from cabaret style shows to locally written plays recounting village heroes and island tragedies. We opted for a night of Newfoundland music and comical sketches. A troupe of six guided us through an evening of enjoyable music, with the plight of the fisherman as the constant theme. Midway through the show we won a prize as we were the people in the audience who had traveled the farthest. The prize was a gift bag from Dark Tickle Company a local company making jams, syrups, and teas. Our gift bag contained squashberry sauce and blueberry tea. We split the prize with a couple from Portland, Maine. They were the second farthest from home, and I felt obliged to spread the wealth.

The following day brought more exploration of the shoreline, as Petey and I walked along the beach to Small Head Point, a mixture of rocky beach and meadow covered cliffs. As the dunes disappear behind you, the shoreline becomes littered with fishing debris (smashed lobster cages, broken buoys, and empty crab nets). It’s only then that one realizes why the coastal villages are guarded by lighthouses. The rocky coastline can wreak havoc with boats and it was not unheard of at the turn of the century for locals to come to count on wood from wrecked boats to burn for heat in their homes.

By late afternoon we were preparing for the tournament, with Andy reminding me the order of poker hands. We ventured back to Linda’s Place and both lasted a few hours into the tournament. I went ‘all in’ with three aces and was beaten by a flush. I was hoping the turn card would bring forth the ace I needed for a four of a kind. Either way, I thought it was a strong hand. We met a jack russell terrier outside of the pub named Nemo, and he and Petey played around for a few minutes with the sea as their backdrop before heading back to the campsite. That night we talked about how friendly and welcoming the locals are and how they talk openly of the recent depression facing their village. They are truly a warm people, Newfoundlander’s, and they share their jewel of an island with an openness unusual to those of us used to guarding the best kept secrets of our hometowns. When you express to a Newfoundlander that you are enjoying their homeland, they look at you with a twinkle in their eyes, a smile on their face, and a nod of agreement as they acknowledge the beauty you have just witnessed. I tell you, I have never felt as at home as I have felt on Newfoundland. I miss family gatherings and chats with those I love less, and for a few days my mind was at ease as I started to know a place where, as the sign at Linda’s Place reads, “You are only a stranger but once.”

We decided to extend our trip a day and take a boat tour of the Western Brook Pond, an inland freshwater pond that was once an inland fjord. To get to the boat dock you must hike 45 minutes from a park parking lot. The short hike passes through bogs and meadows, with the split mountain range beckoning from ahead. Once at the dock we boarded a small passenger ferry and started the two and a half hour tour. While on the water we explore the pond, where 2200 foot rock mountains drop to the pond with little or no vegetation lining the banks. Massive rocks, cut by glaciers millions of years ago leave an impression as you crane your neck upward to see waterfalls dropping from the tops of mountains. Few fish or birds live in or around the pond as the pond supports very little life due to a lack of algae and minerals. The scenery was amazing and when we reached the end of the tour Andy and I spent the walk back to the car talking about how amazingly unspoiled and geologically fascinating Newfoundland proved to be.

On the drive back to the campground we stopped at the Cow Head Museum housed in the home of local leader Mr. Payne, a lifelong teacher and Bishop who had been the town’s wiseman of sorts. The museum tour came with a private guide and she took us from room to room pointing out artifacts of interest. Highlights included an axe used in a double murder (extremely uncommon on Newfoundland) and a seven hundred year old walrus head. We stayed and chatted a bit about Cow Head, and Glenda our guide spoke of preserving local heritage and keeping the town traditions in place. This is one village that I hope the sands of time can pass untouched.
Today we left Cow Head bound for the port to take a late afternoon ferry back to Nova Scotia. Leaving Newfoundland was bittersweet. I am excited for our upcoming European adventure, but hope to spend more time in the future on the island of Newfoundland…and island that springs youth eternal.

Once back in Nova Scotia, we plan to take a few days to explore the western side of Nova Scotia and then take a ferry to Bar Harbor, Maine.

On our way to Cape Breton we ventured off the main highway to visit a micro brewery along the coast. We were thrilled when we arrived. The brewery is housed in the home of a Belgian man and his wife (who spends most of the year living in Africa). Their home is an eclectic mix of brew pub, african art, and home brewed beer selections. We laughed when we saw a beer called ‘St. Bruno’ and paid the $6 to sample five of the beers made by the brewery.

Of all the distinct brews, some of which were flavored with berries or herbs, we enjoyed the St. Bruno most of all. They also make a red and white beer/wine that had the flavor of a deeply rich sparkling wine. The alcohol content in most of the beer produced at the brewery is 4.5%, but the range goes all the way up to 14%…strong stuff!

Needless to say, when we returned to the van, Andy had to drive.

It took two days to reach Cape Breton. During the long drive we stopped at a frommagerie to pick up several different types of cheese made by a local company. Next, we visited Fundy National Park in New Brunswick and watched the highest tides in the world gently coax the coastline away. Backing up a few feet each minute, the tide quickly went from low tide to the height of a four story building. Your are watching nature at work, and her power reminds you that you are a mere mortal. Once we crossed the bridge onto the island we were lulled into island life by the calm coastline and small clapboard homes that line the waterfront. We stopped for a breakfast break at a small park and met a couple from Ontario who have a son that had just returned from Swizterland…I tell you, we meet more people that are either from, going to, or have recently visited Swizterland!

A few more kilometers north and we arrived at the first North American single match whiskey distillery. We took the tour, which included a sample shot of the 10 year whiskey they produce (which goes for a little over a hundred bucks a bottle). The brook that runs through the property supplies the water used to make the whiskey, and they claim that’s one of the secrets to the flavor. The flavor of the whiskey was smooth and apple-like (a flavor they claim comes from the apple trees growing next to the barn the barrels are stored in).

From the distillery we travelled another hour or so to Cape Breton National Park. By far, this is the most beautiful park we have stayed in. Our campsite is literally a stones throw from the Atlantic Ocean. It takes all of 45 seconds to walk to the beach from our campsite and you can hear and see the ocean from the campsite too. The shoreline is rocky and a rich red color dots the cliffs that rise from the beach.
We grabbed our lounge chairs and a bottle of the recently purchased St. Bruno brew and sat at the waters edge. We brought down a magazine and book to read, but the ocean itself became our entertainment. The ocean is strangely calm here and the lake-like feel of the Atlantic brings with it a calmness that we don’t know on the west coast.

Our travels around the island took us through many small fishing villages. Some of the signage used to advertise pubs and galleries is quite unique. We were both taken by the sign for the ‘Salty Dog Pub’…

Today we are bound for Newfoundland. We boarded a ferry for the five to six hour trip to the island. We are looking forward to lobster, crab, and whatever else the sea may bring!

On our final day in Quebec City we went to the local fresh farmers market and were amazed by the vivid colors and beauty of the fresh produce being sold. We were able to find the ground cherries we had sampled two days before on Ile D’Orleans and purchased a basket and supplies for the road.

On our way out of the city we stumbled across some of the most detailed and impressive graffiti (or should I say art?) adorning the freeway underpasses. I took several pictures, but the photos do not do the art displayed justice. There were too many pieces to count, but I’ve added photos of the few that I found that could easily be hung in a museum…if they were on canvas that is!

Now we’re on our way to Cape Breton…we’re looking forward to the island experience.

When we reached Montreal, the skyline that came in to view was not nearly as impressive as Toronto. A network of confusing freeways links the city with suburbs and main access roads can quickly shift from north / south routes to east/west without any warning. At our campsite we were relieved to see that the enormous mosquitoes we’d grown accustomed to were nowhere in sight, and that the weather was cooler by about 15 degrees. We stayed at the campground that afternoon and played bocce ball and horseshoes. My popularity with my companion waned as I won at both games. Andy usually calls me a poor winner, which sets off a whole discussion about sportsmanship. I say that one can only be a ‘poor loser’ and that there is no such thing as a ‘poor winner’, and according to him ‘poor winners’ exist. Needless to say, the competitiveness of our sports play never ceases to amaze me.

Day two we ventured into Montreal and walked the old section of town, stopping for a baguette and to people watch. The weather was perfect and the art galleries that line the streets offer a peak into the works of up and coming local and international artists. For the price (free) you can’t beat looking at art in galleries. While the many museums that we have come across offer the ‘must see’ works, galleries may bring a glimpse of a now unknown artist who could soon be world famous.

After old town we took a drive by Olympic Park and the BioDome. Next, we decided to take a drive to the Richelieu River region and go wine tasting. We went to the Vignoble Le Royer St-Pierre winery and sampled several wines. Personally, I found the wine a bit too tart and light in taste. Andy enjoyed one of the reds and picked up a bottle. The gentleman that guided us through our wine tasting was very welcoming and extremely friendly. He reminded me of one of my Dad’s friends, Bob Jackson, who worked at a winery my father frequented. He looked and sounded like Bob. I only wish that I had had remembered to take a photo to share on the website so I would get a call from Dad saying how uncanny the resemblance was.

From Montreal we drove to Quebec City. Our campground is a quick ten minute drive from the center of town, and the drive offers scenic views of 16th and 17th century neighborhoods bustling with small shops and eateries. The walled city makes one feel as if they are in old Europe, complete with narrow winding streets (just large enough to accommodate our van). Much of our morning and part of the afternoon had been spent having more leak repairs made to our van, so with the remaining afternoon hours left we drove to nearby Ile D’Orleans. The island, literally a stones throw from Quebec City, offers some of the best farms fresh fruit and vegetable stands in the region. We circled the island and made stops to taste local cider and ice cider (basically apple wine and apple liqueur). The 30 mile plus drive around the island brings you through quaint little villages where the locals are happy you have stopped and eager to practice their English. At one ciderie, a farmer took interest in Petey and asked many questions about the breed. We told him our dog was ‘Chien Lunatique’ a phrase Dad had provided us with via a plaque for our front door at home. That brought a look of confusion and then laughter from the farm owners. After our tasting, the farmer invited us into his shed for some apples fresh from the tree. The sweet and crisp taste of the apples was the perfect finish to our cider introduction.
Further around the island we stopped for a five course French meal and were delighted with the menu. Andy had a trio of meats (buffalo, caribou, and venison) for his main course and I had beef tenderloin with aged sharp cheddar cheese. For appetizers I had a tuna tartare served with a cucumber sorbet and Andy had smoked slice duck. The salad and cheese courses were pleasing to both the eye and the palate. For dessert Andy had a warm blueberry cake served with true vanilla ice cream and I had the ‘Innkeeper’s Delight’, a trio of maple mousse, strawberry sorbet, and a chocolate ganache crisp square confection. Both of our desserts had a small cherry tomato like fruit translated as ‘ground cherries’ on the plate. The fruit was a bright yellow, orange color and had dry whitish leaves attached. The interior was a combination of a fig and tomato, with the sweetness of a cherry. Delicious… With fresh strawberries and blueberries in tow, we were back to the campground.

Today a heavy storm moved into town and Andy and I decided to do the laundry and find a free Wi-Fi spot to check our e-mail. All of our experiences in Quebec have been quite positive so far. We’ve enjoyed the people and sights and look forward to exploring new neighborhoods when we run errands (whether it be grocery shopping, finding a library, or renting the occasional DVD). However, today we were thrown for a loop. We parked in what seemed an innocuous neighborhood and were surprised to find our ‘Support our Troops’ magnet torn to pieces and thrown on our windshield. The offender also spit on our passenger side door. Actually it’s quite ironic. I had been planning for weeks to take the magnetic ribbon off the rear doors of our van, and today someone did it for me. I wasn’t sure how the message would go over in Europe, and I thought we should play it safe and take it off. Andy thinks that the vandals probably didn’t know the meaning of the phrase. He thinks that the support our troops slogan may have come across as pro-war, which we definitely are not. Truth be told, we purchased the magnetic ribbon during our campaign travels last October. Since we had an anti-Bush sticker on our car and we were traveling through the bible belt of the nation, we thought it advisable to let people know that, while we don’t support Bush, we do support those that serve and protect our country.

After doing the laundry we picked up some sushi and headed back to the campsite, where we are now playing a game of Scrabble (thanks to a travel version purchased by Pat for my birthday). The competitiveness continues, and Andy now sits across from me grimacing as I put down a forty-two point word.

Our last day in the Motor City took us to the Ford Museum. Definitely a must see while visiting Detroit, the museum is filled with memorabilia that pulls one back to childhood memories or forces one to ponder, “I wonder what it was like when…”. From a perfectly furnished Holiday Inn guest room from the 60’s to an intact 1940’s diner, Ford collected it all. There was the bus that Rosa Parks made history with and the car Kennedy changed the course of history from.

An entire section on automobile camping made us appreciate our digs and long for times gone by when practicality wasn’t an issue, a time in the not so distant past when Ford brought along on his camping trips service for twelve (including room for the hired help). A VW bus from the 70’s gave us some ideas for added storage in our van, and the exhibits related to specific decades reminded us of our youth, especially the teenage years.

After leaving the museum, we decided to drive to the Motown museum. A few wrong turns, and we were soon following the lake on Jefferson Avenue and watched as bedroom communities gave way to industrial areas riddled with ruins. Boarded up buildings and crumbling factories can be seen for miles, and when the occasional person rides by on a bike or appears from behind a building covered in graffiti, your eyes open wide as if you have just seen someone come from a war zone unscathed. It’s a sad state of affairs, the economic depression and lack of redevelopment in these areas, but they offer an honest look at the power of money and industry. We ended up skipping the museum, as the bridge to Windsor, Canada suddenly came in to view and we decided to get a jump on our re-entry to Canada.

Crossing the border went much more smoothly this time around. Once through the border gate we decided to take the coastal route north toward Toronto. We drove roads that winded through small port towns. The scenery is what I imagine small New England fishing towns to look like. The province of Ontario is bordered by several lakes; Lake Huron to the west and Lake Erie and Lake Ontario to the east. Heading north on Highway 3 ( a road that runs parallel to the main highway), we passed through port town after port town, until we reached Port Burwell. We camped at a provincial park at lakes edge. At nightfall a small storm approached and by morning rain pounded the campsite. We got an early start and continued into town for some sightseeing. Port Burwell has been developed into somewhat of a tourist town, with recreational sports along the lake and small cafes and art gallery’s lining the small main street. On one side of the road is the coast, and on the other farmland as far as the eye can see. For the most part we saw corn fields, but one new crop began to appear as we progressed north. Plants that looked foreign to both of us prompted guesses as to its origin. The farms growing the strange crop all had small buildings that looked like cottages lined in rows alongside the road. Finally, we realized that the plants were tobacco plants. We watched huge tobacco leaves rustle as the wind caught the stalk. Men in rain gear were out preparing the leaves for drying, and I realized a farmer’s work is never finished. Rain or shine, if the crop is ready, it needs to be picked.

From the lake lined shores we drove to Niagara Falls. To say that we were impressed would be an understatement. As you enter the city, miles and miles of hotels and strip clubs line the streets. Seedy areas of town are quickly replaced with cheesy hotels housing casinos. Rows and rows of tour buses drive through the town and bring ever faithful money spending tourists to the casinos, with the hope of getting them to venture inside for some gambling before going to the real attraction.

If you’re not prepared for it, the first time you see the Falls will surely cause your mouth to drop. As you wander the streets of neon and not so impressive architecture, you are both surprised and inspired as your eye is drawn down to a no mans land where water spills over sharp drops in the earth sending up from the crevasse a spray of water opaque and drenching. Andy and I stopped at various vantage points to watch the water as it spilled over the Falls and catch a glimpse of those brave enough to ride a boat close to the Falls to feel their awesome power.

Satisfied that we had seen all there was to see, and avoiding the casino beckoning us with the promise of riches, we were back on the road.

By late afternoon we were ready to quit driving for the day and we stopped at the Fifty Point Conservation Area campground situated along Lake Ontario. The weather was sunny and the lake was calm and breathtaking. The sun set and the sky was filled with a burning pink hue. While we could not see the actual sun setting, we were well aware of the striking sunset by the bright pinks, reds, and oranges that made the sky appear to be ablaze.

The following morning we drove a short distance to Toronto and were struck by the beauty of the cityscape as we approached downtown. The waterfront areas are rich with greenbelts and the buildings have crisp lines and are sharply modern. Toronto is a world class city, with tourists and locals buzzing through the streets. Many of the older buildings ( some used as distilleries and others as factories) have been part of a major redevelopment effort to bring loft style living and marketplace style to the city. These areas reminded us much of the development San Francisco has seen in the last five to ten years, only the buildings in Toronto appear more dramatic (due in part I’m sure to the lack of earthquakes here).

While in Toronto we visited Chinatown and were impressed by the array of shops and restaurants that could be found along the streets and small alleyways that make up the area. Toronto’s Chinatown is clean and lively and a blending of east and west is apparent as aging cooks prepare and hang barbecued ducks in storefront windows and youth pop into trendy clothing boutiques looking for the latest fashions fresh from Hong Kong.

From Chinatown we drove the short distance to Little Portugal where we walked the small neighborhood in search of custard tarts that would take us back to when we ate them in Belem. Not surprisingly, the custard confection made in Portugal still awaits true reproduction here in North America. But for now I was happy to wander the streets of Toronto, warm custard in my belly, listening to men chatter away in Portuguese. The streets are filled with character and I was pleasantly surprised when two Azorean women spoke to me as if I’d been a neighbor for years. When I approached the two women, who were sitting out on their stoop chatting away, I was asking if they could translate a food label for me. The label was in Portuguese, and I had no idea if I had purchased the item I intended to. What should have been a quick language translation turned into a conversation about how they had immigrated from the Azores forty-one years ago and how proud they were to be Canadian. They pointed to house after house and told me where their neighbors were from in Portugal, and how long they had lived in the neighborhood. At the end of the list of neighbors they pointed to a small house across the street from theirs and said with a hint of disdain, “I think that one there is Italian.” Then she waved her hand back in forth in the air and said, “I’m not sure, but I think he is Italian…I don’t know.” I guess sometimes the comfort of ones home country can spread all the way to another continent. The women are proud of their neighborhood, and other cultures are tolerated, but not necessarily welcomed.

Anyone visiting Toronto could easily spend a week exploring the city and would be hard pressed to find something negative to say about the area. While we only spent a day, we got a taste of a city rich with diversity and worthy of a repeat visit. Next… we’re off to Montreal.

We’ve begun to move rapidly toward the east coast, as we found out that our van needs to be on the ship no later than the first week of September. We moved quickly through Minnesota to Wisonsin, where we both tried frozen custard for the first time. We stayed at the Rice Lake KOA and were amazed at how closely the campsites were situated to eachother. It was a relief to wake up the next morning and ‘move on’. We made a stop in Milwaukee, where we spent some time by the shores of Lake Michigan. We ate at a German influenced restaurant; Andy had whitefish and I opted for the sweeter selection of a German pancake. It was hot…really hot. We drove the scenic route along the lake at dusk, and saw many spectacular homes.

From Wisonsin we headed to Chicago, Illinois. We spent some time by the shores of Lake Michigan and purchased a traditional deep dish Chicago style pizza, which we ate at a park near the Frank Lloyd Wright House and Museum. We sampled an Oak Park neighborhood ice creamery, and then hit the road. Chicago was even hotter than Milwaukee. Downright unbearable.

After Illinois we drove to Indiana, where we had the fortune of meeting the owner’s of the South Bend KOA, who happen to be Swiss. They were very kind people and we stayed at the campground for two nights to take a break from the road. The Swiss couple owned a true Scooby Doo ‘Mystery Machine’, which is on display at the campground.

We were able to pick their brains about travelling in Swizterland and Europe by motorhome, and their kind and friendly nature was a welcome change from the few unfriendly faces that we have encountered on the road thus far. I can only describe our encounters with other travellers in one way, and the analogy was told to us by the Swiss woman…

” Americans are like peaches, and the Swiss are like coconuts. When you meet an American, they have a soft exterior and appear social and friendly at first glance. But, when you dig a little deeper, you find the hard pit. In contrast, Swiss people have a hard shell that is hard to crack. But, once they get to know you, they will do anything for you.”

I’m paraphrasing of course, but the analogy rings true.

Finally, during our stay in Indiana, Andy and I both experienced a first. At sunset, we both began to see flashes of neon green out of the corners of our eyes. As daylight continued to fade, the bright lights started to appear all around us. Lightning bugs. What a truly amazing little creature this is. I guess they are commonplace to thise living in humid climates. For the two of us, they were one of the coolest experiences we’ve had during this trip. Yes, that’s right…little bugs that light up are a highlight for us. We were like kids again…watching as the bugs flew all around us with tails flashing bright green light. We spent the evening pointing them out to eachother and relishing the thought of a second night of bug wacthing.

Rain and thunder signaled that it was time to continue eastward, and we left Indiana on a toll road bound for Detroit. On the first night in Detroit we went to Greektown and had flaming cheese and other Greek specialties for dinner.

We plan to visit the Henry Ford Museum tomorrow and then drive to Quebec Province via Ontario by weeks end.

In Saskatoon we had one main objective; we planned to make a trip to the factory where our RV was manufactured. We had a laundry list of things we wanted them to address, and were surprised when we called the day before our visit and founds out that the plant was closed until August 16th. However, there was a salesman working during the plant closure, and he offered to give us a tour.

The tour of the factory went well, and we were able to see the production line of one of the higher end RV’s that Pleasure-way makes. Of our particular model only 30-40 are made per year, with Traverse’s being made for the last 4 years. It sounded to us like the company would no longer be making the Traverse. After speaking with the salesman, I decided that the profit margin on our model must be too low. Andy thinks it’s the leaky roof. The salesman provided us with a few replacement parts and we were on our way.

While in Saskatoon we also visited The Berry Barn, a restaurant popular with both locals and tourists alike. Andy had the turkey lasagna and I opted for the cheese and potato perogies accompanied by stuffed cabbage. The stuffed cabbage they served couldn’t hold a torch to the ones served by Bubbie. We had Saskatoon berry pie (a berry that is a melding of a blueberry and a currant). Saskatchewan’s use the berry to make everything from jams to scented soaps.

Here are some photos from the Berry Farm, a family owned business and farm that is housed along the Saskatchewan River.

After leaving Saskatchewan we drove and drove, as we were anxious to begin heading south toward the border. We made a short stop in Winnipeg, and then made a beeline for Minnesota. While in Winnipeg, we stopped in a local park to make lunch, and were approached by an animated homeless person. He asked if we would give him money, and when I said, “Sorry, I can’t help you”, he asked if we would give him and the woman with him some food. Andy asked my how many buns we had left. I told him four, and he said, “Perfect, you can join us for lunch.”
The man identified himself as a ‘street person’, and we later found out that he and his lady friend were both First Nation’s people (Canada’s Native Americans). He and his friend were quite intoxicated, and when you could understand his slurring speech, he was usually making a joke. He kept calling Petey a hotdog and asking where the mustard was. Throughout the entire meal, the two sat with their backs to us, and I couldn’t quite make out if it was an issue of pride or if they were both too drunk to care. Either way, I guess it was okay. He referred to me as sister and Andy as brother throughout the meal, and thanked us many times for feeding the two of them.

It was quite an experience meeting the two, and one has to wonder if circumstances were different (relative to the land they once occupied freely), if their lives would have gone down a different path. I left Winnipeg with a new found appreciation for all I have, riches too numerous to count; good friends, a beautiful family, the modest belongings we have acquired, and the ability to take a few years off and travel the globe.

With Winnipeg quickly behind us we made the border crossing relatively easily, compared to our entry into Canada. At the border, US customs officials asked us to pull over so that they could check the salami in our fridge. No Canadian beef or beef products are allowed to be transported into the states, so when we declared the contents of our fridge, we were asked to let customs agents look at the meat products. We complied, and the two customs agents that met with us had a sense of humor (something we did not witness during our cross over into Canada). When the second customs agent approached the van, he said to the first, “So, we’ve got a couple of Canadian beef smuggler’s here huh?” We all had a good laugh, and then they told us our Hungarian salami was okay and sent us on our way.

We camped one night at a Woodenfrog Campground next to one of the many lakes in Minnesota, and then today we drove to Wisconsin. We’re at a disastrously overcrowded KOA, where the free Wi-Fi is the only perk. Tomorrow we head to Milwaukee and start what will be the beginning of many ‘big city’ stops before we head back into Canada.

Here’s Petey at a pitstop in Duluth. Andy provided the shade for our pooch during a scorcher.

After a long, hot, thunderstorm filled week in Calgary, Andy and I were back on the highway by 9:00 a.m. heading east. During the fight nights I stayed alone in Calgary, days were spent looking for shade, and nights were spent catching up on recently released DVD’s. Mid way through the week, a Prevost bus rally rolled in with 25 buses in tow. For the most part, the owners of these coaches were not friendly, and couldn’t be bothered to say hello. But a few that I met were kind people, who were happy to share why they had decided to join the world of ‘mansions on wheels’. Here are a few pictures of some of the rigs owners willing to let me take a photograph of their ‘babies’:

In our humble little van, I felt like a dwarf amongst giants. I was pleased when the woman across from me made an effort to come meet me, and tell me about the rally. Apparently one of the owners organized a two week trip from Montana to the Canadian Rockies. Peg told me that most of the owners were in the ‘big bucks’ club, with rigs in their rally ranging from 600,000 to 2 million. Two of the buses had been featured on both the Travel Channel and HGTV.

To say that the buses were well equipped would be a huge understatement. Most had at least four televisions, with two being 40″+ flat screen that drop from the roof. One fella watched his 46′ flat screen outside, as it is stored in one of the cargo bays. You could hear Andy Rooney complaining all through the RV park. Many walked around with crytals drink glasses filled with highballs, or wine. But, some were too lazy to walk, and for those there were the two wheeled people movers…

A few had fireplaces and whirlpool spas, most had been custom designed for their owners, and one even had a golf cart that rolled out of the storage bay. Luxury living on the road is what they call it.

So of course, we resisted the urge to trade-in our Pleasureway for a Prevost ( something about the price kept us from seriously looking at upgrading…haha) and we hit the road.

First, we drove to Drumheller and visited the Royal Tyrrell Museum. The museum is in the middle of what feels like nowhere, and contains one of the most extensive dinosaur exhibits in the world. The museum is ranked 2nd in a top ten rating of Dinosaur museums. Next, we continued our drive eastbound on the scenic highway 9. For hundreds of miles, all you see is wheat fields. A friend once told us that the area is known as ‘Canada’s Breadbasket’, and its easy to see why. The rolling wheat lulls you along, and small dots in the landscape signify signs of life. We stopped in a small town (actually a village) called Delia (population 214). It is a sleepy town, and I do mean sleepy. For the better part of the first 30 minutes we were there, we only saw a small child pushing a lawn mower. He would appear, disappear, and then reappear again. Probably curious about the newcomers. There is a one block main street, with boarded up windows and a closed grocery store. The town was eerily quiet and made me think of a Stephen King novel. Delia is the kind of place where all the residents could disappear and nobody would find out until someone stumbled off the beaten path into town.

Here’s a photo I snagged off a website…

All of the towns that line the highway have one of these painted with the town name. I think they are there as a reminder that life does exists out amongst the prairies. By early evening we made it to Saskatoon. Tomorrow we will visit the Pleasureway manufacturing plant. We also plan to try the famous ‘Saskatoon Berry Pie’. Then, we will go to Winnipeg on our way back into the states. We plan to see Green Bay, Chicago, Detroit, and Cleveland, before heading back into Canada to explore Niagara, Toronto, Montreal, Quebec, New Foundland and Nova Scotia. we have a lot of territory to cover before we board the plane bound for Switzerland on October 4th. Until the next entry….