A Modest Travelogue
I didn't grow up traversing the globe. I didn't come from money. I didn't even grow up in a very culturally diverse family. I grew up in a small, simple city - and city is a term I now use loosely - on the Prairies in Western Canada.
The extent of my travels as a child were between Saskatoon and my grandfather's farm, just outside Radisson, annual summer trips to a handful of different lakes a few hours away, visits to my Dad in Edmonton or to family in Calgary, and camping trips in Banff and Jasper. Yes, Saskatchewan and Alberta were the furthest distances I ventured until one trip all the way to Ontario when I was twelve.
I always loved to go away; it never mattered where: I wanted to go! I never was homesick, no matter the age. I always wondered why I wanted to see the world so badly. When I was in elementary school, I poured over maps and studied the world layout incessantly. I loved my atlas - I still study maps and always choose a different route home on road trips. In high school, I dreamt of working on a cruise ship, backpacking through Europe, or moving to Asia for a year to teach English. I even obtained a TEFL certificate. Unfortunately, I suffered from such strong anxiety I could not bring myself to venture off alone.
Regardless my humble travel circle as a kid, as I grew there were people that may have inspired my interest in culture and far off lands, and some hints as to why I now love road trips, geography and topography.
My paternal grandmother was a soulful person. She was a painter who paid attention to detail in life, she was well read, and she was thoughtful. She was raised by her grandparents that emigrated from England and subsequently always acted more English than Canadian. She opened a world to me that other adults did not. She found all things interesting, and she shared that with all of us.
I went through a phase where I was fascinated by my family tree. My paternal great-grandparents emigrated from England and Scotland; there was said to also be Irish and Dutch in our blood. My maternal great-grandparents came from Germany but had Russian and Scottish blood, too. My family had not been in Canada for even 100 years when I was born and I found that compelling. The fact that each of my great-grandparents had been courageous enough to leave behind their families and move to the other side of the world - well, maybe the desire to see the world really was in my blood.
My parents divorced when I was seven years old, and by the age of nine my Dad had moved to Edmonton. We still saw him often, every three months or so, at holidays, and for a month every summer. This led to countless road trips every year of my life. I never was bored. Somehow these road trips with my Dad were always fun with a good book, loud music, McDonald's, and treats thrown into an already good mix.
My Dad lived on a acreage outside the city. Across the road, up a small hill, lived a family he became good friends with. Consequently, we spent a lot of time with them whenever my sister and I were visiting. The father was originally from Italy, the mother from France. They were different from anyone I had ever met. They had strong accents, were loud, welcoming, and instantly treated you like family. The mother cooked mouthwatering food. They had interesting tales to tell of back home. It was a wonderful, eye-opening feeling when we were in their house.
When I hit grade eight my Dad started seeing an English woman. They became serious and moved in together. It was an education in itself living with her. I soaked up the new culture she brought into our lives eagerly. She had spent many years as child living in Kuwait where her father had been posted, though she was born in England and later spent her school years at boarding school in England. She married a Canadian soldier who brought her to Canada, where they later divorced. The tale of her life was so much more interesting than mine; at least, so it seemed to me as a teenager.
It didn't work out between she and my Dad, but her influence lingers with me even today. At this point in my Dad's life, he opted to take a job in Russia, where he lived for two years while I was in high school. We didn't get to visit him there, but it put the idea into my head that life is too short to spend it all in one place.
All of these things perhaps culminated in my intense longing to see the world and my interest in other cultures, in a world outside the straightforward Prairies. Or maybe I was just born with a soul that loves to wander. I met and married a man from India, moved to the U.S. to live in New Jersey for a year, and then on to Texas for five years, where both my children were born. We moved back to Canada to Calgary just over two years ago, but I don't think that's the end of our story. Through it all, I have jumped at every chance to visit any place new, as much as our finances afforded.
My soul is always adrift in wanderlust, and that's unlikely to change. I want my children to explore the world, even if it's just in their own backyard. This blog is a personal collection - in abbreviated form - of our travels, both near and far.
The extent of my travels as a child were between Saskatoon and my grandfather's farm, just outside Radisson, annual summer trips to a handful of different lakes a few hours away, visits to my Dad in Edmonton or to family in Calgary, and camping trips in Banff and Jasper. Yes, Saskatchewan and Alberta were the furthest distances I ventured until one trip all the way to Ontario when I was twelve.
I always loved to go away; it never mattered where: I wanted to go! I never was homesick, no matter the age. I always wondered why I wanted to see the world so badly. When I was in elementary school, I poured over maps and studied the world layout incessantly. I loved my atlas - I still study maps and always choose a different route home on road trips. In high school, I dreamt of working on a cruise ship, backpacking through Europe, or moving to Asia for a year to teach English. I even obtained a TEFL certificate. Unfortunately, I suffered from such strong anxiety I could not bring myself to venture off alone.
Regardless my humble travel circle as a kid, as I grew there were people that may have inspired my interest in culture and far off lands, and some hints as to why I now love road trips, geography and topography.
My paternal grandmother was a soulful person. She was a painter who paid attention to detail in life, she was well read, and she was thoughtful. She was raised by her grandparents that emigrated from England and subsequently always acted more English than Canadian. She opened a world to me that other adults did not. She found all things interesting, and she shared that with all of us.
I went through a phase where I was fascinated by my family tree. My paternal great-grandparents emigrated from England and Scotland; there was said to also be Irish and Dutch in our blood. My maternal great-grandparents came from Germany but had Russian and Scottish blood, too. My family had not been in Canada for even 100 years when I was born and I found that compelling. The fact that each of my great-grandparents had been courageous enough to leave behind their families and move to the other side of the world - well, maybe the desire to see the world really was in my blood.
My parents divorced when I was seven years old, and by the age of nine my Dad had moved to Edmonton. We still saw him often, every three months or so, at holidays, and for a month every summer. This led to countless road trips every year of my life. I never was bored. Somehow these road trips with my Dad were always fun with a good book, loud music, McDonald's, and treats thrown into an already good mix.
My Dad lived on a acreage outside the city. Across the road, up a small hill, lived a family he became good friends with. Consequently, we spent a lot of time with them whenever my sister and I were visiting. The father was originally from Italy, the mother from France. They were different from anyone I had ever met. They had strong accents, were loud, welcoming, and instantly treated you like family. The mother cooked mouthwatering food. They had interesting tales to tell of back home. It was a wonderful, eye-opening feeling when we were in their house.
When I hit grade eight my Dad started seeing an English woman. They became serious and moved in together. It was an education in itself living with her. I soaked up the new culture she brought into our lives eagerly. She had spent many years as child living in Kuwait where her father had been posted, though she was born in England and later spent her school years at boarding school in England. She married a Canadian soldier who brought her to Canada, where they later divorced. The tale of her life was so much more interesting than mine; at least, so it seemed to me as a teenager.
It didn't work out between she and my Dad, but her influence lingers with me even today. At this point in my Dad's life, he opted to take a job in Russia, where he lived for two years while I was in high school. We didn't get to visit him there, but it put the idea into my head that life is too short to spend it all in one place.
All of these things perhaps culminated in my intense longing to see the world and my interest in other cultures, in a world outside the straightforward Prairies. Or maybe I was just born with a soul that loves to wander. I met and married a man from India, moved to the U.S. to live in New Jersey for a year, and then on to Texas for five years, where both my children were born. We moved back to Canada to Calgary just over two years ago, but I don't think that's the end of our story. Through it all, I have jumped at every chance to visit any place new, as much as our finances afforded.
My soul is always adrift in wanderlust, and that's unlikely to change. I want my children to explore the world, even if it's just in their own backyard. This blog is a personal collection - in abbreviated form - of our travels, both near and far.
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