Full Mounthe: My Days as a RCMP Cadet

A few months ago the Royal Canadian Mounted Police - Depot Division (Regina, Saskatchewan) invited me to spend a couple nights and a (full) day training as a "mountie." It's a rare opportunity. Apparently only five civilians before me had had the chance -- and I was apparently the only one to get a regulation moustache.

This Lonely Planet video sums up the misunderstood Canadian icon. It's no longer just blokes in red serge jackets, Stetson hats atop horses. The red serge, in face, is rarely worn -- only for occasions like graduation -- and horses were phased out of training in 1966.

At first glimpse, in the mess hall with Troop 5 (the most junior of the troops there), I had to ask one cadet, 'Do you ever look around and say, wow, I'm here with a bunch of COPS?' He admitted he did.

I certainly felt that way waking up at 4am to prep for the morning parade.

Going to Canada

Tomorrow I head on a three-city visit to Canada: Toronto, Montreal and St John's in Newfoundland. It's part of a series of seven videos of seven Canadian cities and how one can 'experience a place like a local.'

It's far from my first time there (that would be age nine to Alberta; above). But to prep, I've been reading books like mad. Canadian books. Getting distracted on tangents like, hey, 'what is Canada?'

A lot of people think of Canada as just this:


But it's not the subject most Canadian authors seem to dwell on. 'Canada' -- as a nation, an identity, a concept -- is much more confusing. The question has a history.

The country's relationship with the US and Europe weighs heavy. In the 1943 book Unknown Country, Bruce Hutchinson tries to explain his nation for an American audience. He calls it a 'dual personality - not fully formed' but touts its name -- an Iroquoian word for 'village' (that for the world's second-largest country!) -- as 'wondrous and sweet': Canada!

He writes, 'The very word is like a boy's shout in the springtime!' I love that.

Karen Connelly, meanwhile, says of Canada in her book Touch the Dragon, that much remains unanswered. 'Even the name is a question.' (Can a da? Get it?)

Some define Canada by its niceness. Apparently a woman found with amnesia in California was taken for a Canadian simply by how incredibly nice she was (turns out she was from Edmonton). And in Moose Jaw Beauty Secrets, Albertan author Will Ferguson notes how the Trans-Canadian Highway marks each end as 'Mile Zero': 'two separate (but equal!) Mile Zeros.' Negotiation is nice.

Most of these books seem to begin their survey with Quebec. Canada seems ever fascinated with its relationship with, what some call, the ROC ('Rest of Canada') -- something made fun of by Why I Hate Canadians author Will Ferguson.

The Great Canada Novel -- Hugh MacLennan's wonderful Two Solitudes from 1945 -- takes on both sides of English/French-Canadian Montreal. In it, he calls Canada 'a large red splash on the map... still raw' and proclaims, 'if this sprawling half-continent has a heart, here it is.' In Quebec.

It's perhaps interesting to note that the Great Canada Novel is not currently in print in the USA.

Rather than join the discussion, yet, maybe I'll just shout that next spring.

76-Second Travel Show: 'Outtakes from Garfield Assassination Replica'

Episode # 049

F E A T U R I N G * 1 4 3 * B O N U S * S E C O N D S

It's been one year since the '76-Second Travel Show' probed every alley of New York to find the most worthy presidential experience to have for a president's day weekend in the Big Apple: and NAILED IT (with this).

Chester A Arthur is one of two presidents (George Washington being the other) to take the oath in Manhattan. Arthur did so because a guy called Charles Guiteau went and shot James Garfield for no apparent reason (enigmatically self-proclaiming 'I'm the stalwart of stalwarts' as he squeezed his trigger, twice).

Time hasn't been forgiving to Arthur, a man who pronounced his middle name ('Alan') with mock-French twist ('Alain'), had something like 50 pairs of paints, and frankly wasn't much of a president. But his former home, at 123 Lexington Ave in Manhattan, is now an Indian spice shop -- and you can get a 'Chester Arthur' sandwich (well, if you ask for one) upstairs in his former bedroom.

To celebrate the one-year anniversary, the 76 team held a party with a couple of the reenactors from the 0:13 replica of James Garfield's shooting (he'd die two months later -- you really might not want to know the details of exactly why he died).

We also dug up, from the 76 archives, some outtakes from the original video.

Enjoy. And remember. And definitely go eat one of those sandwiches.

The original:

76-Second Travel Show: 'Monopoly Travel to Atlantic City'

Episode #043
F E A T U R I N G * 1 8 2* B O N U S * S E C O N D S

Question: Can a Monopoly board be used as a guidebook?

Why yes! In Atlantic City, it can!

Parker Brothers first published Monopoly 75 years ago this year -- it began in various forms decades before as 'Landlord's Game.' Some people don't realize that the color-coded properties encircling continuous layout -- eg Connecticut Avenue, St James Place, Marvin Gardens, Park Place -- are based on real ones in New Jersey's famed seaside beach destination. And with the exception of one -- St Charles Place -- all can be visited, and doing so (sometimes) leads to Atlantic City's best survivors from past-gone eras.

I followed the board around Atlantic City recently. Several locals independently advised that the Baltimore Grill on Atlantic Avenue served 'the best pizza in the world.' It didn't -- and didn't have a grill either -- but I loved the '50s-era throwback. Meanwhile, at the corner of Vermont Ave & Pacific Ave, I peppered the keys of an antique pianola in a 19th-century lighthouse, now surrounded by housing blocks.

But the best stop? Easily St James Place, home to a classic pub and hotel at the Inn at the Irish Pub? Most memorable stay in an American hotel I've had. Like walking into a Little Rascals set, with picks from local estate sales that date to the Depression, lacy curtains blowing in AC-free rooms, slanted floors and -- in my room at least -- an embroidered Norwegian scene hanging opposite an inspirational quote taped onto a paddle.

Vienna's Top 1: Artful Pencil Displays

I've been calling the act of tying a sweater around one's neck, or draping a coat over one's shoulders as 'Vienna style' ever since I spent a few too many days there on a four-day visit 18 years ago.

I had ended up Vienna on a Eurail-free trip across Eastern Europe 18 years ago. I had come in via Bratislava and expected to see Mozart's wig then go onto Budapest, but trains OUT of Western Europe were inordinately more expensive than those going in. So I became a Viennese prisoner to my drained budget. Sticking around the hostel, eating their free meals, throwing fallen fruit around a park with two miserable Polish brothers in the same situation. I could just barely stay, but didn't have the money to leave.

Someone get this to Don Henley for lyric fodder!

I did come away with a couple things: One, Vienna is ridiculously gorgeous. Two, if you're going to spend money on anything, don't pick the Freud museum over the Kunsthistorisches Museum (my mistake for my lone museum splurge).

And three, the Viennese tended to employ a rather curious fashion sense. Many men wore scarves in late summer, this I accepted with relish. But nearly as many wore jackets hanging draped over their shoulders, with each blase arm danging nearly out of view beneath. Stubbornly resistant to the notion of sleeving.

I unexpectedly found myself in Vienna for half a day yesterday. Europe airport strikes led to three missed Sofia-bound air connections and the night off, finally, in Vienna. And it converted me. I'm a fan. I loved my after-dark walk around the gorgeous center, popping into the Fake Art Museum to learn how one forger ended up with his head bashed-in by a shovel (and how one Matisse fake may be real -- a 100 euro investment that could yield one million more), having some ice cream and beer, and stopping at a cafe that didn't have sandwiches but could make me 'bread with cheese, ham and vegetables on top.'

The top real highlight, for me, was peeking into closed shops with artful displays of pencils propped up at geometrically pleasing angles with the tiniest of nails.

But there was another 'take-away,' as they say in conference-table culture. Eighteen years later, I saw it again and again: jackets worn over shoulders, arms dangling out of sight, everlasting 'Vienna style.'

Thank you Vienna. Thank you European airport strikes. Thank you travel!

76-Second Travel Show: 'Airline Logo Awards'

Episode #033
F E A T U R I N G * 4 6 * B O N U S * S E C O N D S

AN ODE TO BRANIFF
There are two reasons why I've been bit by the travel bug most of my life:

• my dad buying me a sun idol outside the 1st-century pyramid at Teotihuacán outside Mexico City at five years old, and
• looking out over the pastel-colored Braniff jets at the rainy Dallas/Ft Worth Airport on the way there. And dreaming.

Airports birth many travel dreams. Looking out over runways and seeing exciting, artful planes named for far-off countries you hadn't heard of before. Some with funny logos. Others starting with 'Q' and featuring winged kangaroos. Certainly as a kid, I loved any chance to be at airports -- to me, diesel fuel in the morning smelled like victory. But mostly I loved Braniff.

It was the jet that took us most places in those early days -- trips to San Diego, to Mexico, to San Antonio, to Chicago. And it was the first jet to get serious with colors in its 'end of the plain plane' movement that led to sculptor Alexander Calder's imaginative designs for Braniff tails and fuselages in the mid '70s. Airplanes as art.

Braniff, it should be noted, originally began in the Oklahoma oil boom in 1928 as the 'TULSA-OKLAHOMA CITY AIRWAYS,' one of the great airline names of all time. It'd evolve, then it'd collapse by 1982 -- shortly after J.R. Ewing got shot on the TV show Dallas.

Considering that United/Continental -- curiously -- will be known as 'United' from 2011, but look 'Continental,' I thought it was time to tribute the best of airline logos, particularly Braniff's love of art.

76-Second Travel Show: 'Is San Francisco Better than NYC?'

Episode #028
F E A T U R I N G * 7 0 * B O N U S * S E C O N D S

Little known fact: Charlie Dickens was a travel writer. He did a romp across the US and summed up his whining take in a book (I have it, but haven't read -- I only assume he whines) called 'American Notes.' But more associate him with the head-rolling 'A Tale of Two Cities,' which opens up with Dickens' own Gettysburg Address-esque sound-byte: 'Things were pretty good, and at the same time not so good.' More or less.

The equivalent American two cities, at least on most people's travel-dream radar, are New York City and San Francisco. Huge draws for visitors, and a less-talked-about bounce between New Yorkers longing for a slower pace, coastal drives, great wine -- and some semblance of city life.

The usual routine goes -- New Yorker in late 20s, dissastisfied with career, moves to San Francisco, then guts new friends by constantly comparing things to New York. In some ways, the Ugly American gone domestic. 'This restaurant closes at 9pm -- are you serious,' said with only slight earnestness. 'This would never happen in New York.' And it wouldn't.

Most move back to New York within five to eight years. (I did.)

Sometimes I liken New York to a boss (gets things done, and sends you blissfully reeling when it, on occasion, notices you), while San Francisco is a pizza buddy (comforting, always there, great coffee and burritos, plus a 'robust' theatre organ scene featuring the priceless David Hegarty, no real risks -- other than grossness of large men at that nude beach beyond Golden Gate Bridge).

So, which is better?