Bring your day-timer. You’ll need it. On a recent return voyage between San Diego, California and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, aboard Holland America’s Amsterdam, hubby and I needed a morning conference to prepare our daily schedule. We weighed shipboard activities against sights at the ports and endeavoured to include the best of both.

Each evening, at our cabin door, a newsletter appeared. It listed the next day’s shipboard events plus information about the port at which we would stop. For Mazatlan it said, “The small beach on the western side of old town is probably not the best place to swim, but it is fine for a stroll. Popular swimming beaches are in Zona Dorada.” Passengers also got directions to shopping, natural attractions and historic sights. We noted anything that looked unusual or interesting. Who wouldn’t be enticed by a walk to “El Cerro de Vigia (Lookout Hill) to see El Faro, the world’s highest natural lighthouse?”

People who think cruising consists of sitting in a deck chair reading a book often ask me, “What do you do all day?”

After planning our day over a leisurely breakfast we had coffee in the library while reading the ship’s daily newspaper. Then we usually played deck-tennis with a young couple from Arizona who also taught us a new Scrabble game. The ping pong tables were often taken by couples keen on practicing for the end of trip tournament, but we got in many games. One of the two swimming pools was usually free of floating bodies so I could do some short laps. An iPod, describing a walking tour of the ship’s art, sculpture and antiques, could be picked up at the library. Odd how everyday you can walk past a gorgeous painting on the ceiling and not see it.

Filling the evenings proved to be a challenge, but not in the way you think. The problem was scheduling. A first run movie in the theatre had two or three viewing times and a stage production filled the 8 p.m. and 10 p.m. time slots. The musical productions tended to look much the same from ship to ship so we skipped them, but often comedians, ventriloquists, acrobats and musicians provided first rate shows.

The Amsterdam, with 1,260 passengers, might be considered small by today’s standards, but it still presented five dinner options. We could spend 90 minutes in the main dining room with conversation, wine and an elegant meal of at least four superb courses. Otherwise we could visit the enormous buffet and eat too much, or tuck into a small Italian restaurant. Another option was an extra cost up-scale restaurant or we could order room service.

On our first night as we relaxed in our room hubby said to me, “We just spent $300.”

“How’s that?” I responded incredulously as everything is included in the fare.

That superb dinner was worth $50, the captain’s champagne reception would be $15, the stage show would go for $40, the movie and the popcorn adds $15. We listened to the Adagio Strings for nearly and hour, surely a $15 value. And at midnight I’m going up to the Lido deck for $10 worth of coffee and chocolate cake and I might stop and see whose playing in the piano bar. Add it up and double it for the two of us. Oops, I forgot the smoked salmon we had for lunch.”

Passage can be booked for less than $120, including taxes etc. for two people in a cabin. Dinner plus an average motel room costs that on land. And you have to get yourself there!

For the older generation aboard (myself included) it surely fits the bill for they regale me with epic tales of how they bartered for a Piaget watch (or reasonable facsimile) and got it for half the asking price. They describe how their tour bus detoured through a dark alley when an ass blocked the road. With each twist of the plot a practiced expression of amazement crosses my face.

Most cruise passengers have never slept in a hammock on an island reached by crewing on a leaky Norwegian ketch. Those who have taken such adventures are now settled into the contented life of catered passenger on a floating theme park that returns to from whence it came every seven days, regular as dockwork

Essential question: Can a passenger experience adventurous travel when embedded in luxury aboard a cruise ship?

Vague answer: Sometimes.

Going out of your way to find unique excursions during the 12 hours a ship ties up at an exotic port can bring rewards. But first face the facts: the aura of tourism spreads in a one-kilometre semi-circle starting at your dock. Therein, diamonds, watches, pins, pennants and other travel necessities permeate the streets. You are a walking ATM.

Even five kilometres beyond the sphere of affluence the tourist (note the camera and map) gets pegged as flotsam (arrived by ship) or jetsam (flew in) and gets treated as one merely passing through with little to contribute, save capital. The task of the adventure-seeker is to stretch beyond the tourist zone: to touch a part of the island or peninsula where you will stand out because of contrasting skin colour, funny shorts and/or the inability to comprehend the local dialect. In short, to become a curiosity piece: something a local kid would take home to mother, “Look what I found.”

“Where did you find that?”

“She was lost; I don’t think she came from the cruise ship.”

My two feet and local buses have served well to get me out of the tourist zone. I prefer neither map nor brochure as the adventure of getting lost requires minimal information. I board a local bus and ask the driver to let me disembark at the farthest point from the pier. Or I keep walking in one direction until I become entangled in flowering vines at road’s end or reach a cliff, on the far side of the island, over which I do not tumble because the fog lifts just in time.

Sometimes I knock on the nearest door and ask, in sprained Spanish or futile French, “Where am I?” Never do strangers at an island door face a rusty rifle or a menacing machete. More likely an invitation to step in for a cold beer or a hot tamale. Now that’s a better story than buying a Rollix watch.

Long and lasting friendships with locals will not result from a one-day walkabout unless you accept an invitation to sleep on the porch while your cruise ship chugs off to another port. That’s something I’ve never tried.

If a touring the Island Diamond District or sailing on Serenity Swamp sits atop your bucket list no pencil will pass through them, however you will soon learn what you missed at the breakfast table as fellow passengers deliver monologues about their adventures. That is, if they are not too enraptured in listening to my tale of the Mobango family, their pet Kinkajou and the gold mine they are digging beneath their house.

Now that Holland America’s fleet has more ships, the Bermuda cruise has been reinstated. (Okanagan residents can fly to New York in six or eight hours via Toronto or Calgary.)

The week-long cruise includes two days at sea and five days on the British island cluster that lies several hundred kilometres north of the Caribbean. The Veendam holds 1,300 passengers and the Bermuda cruises are its first since being refitted with an outdoor theatre and new balcony cabins. The Veendam’s moderate size allows it to tie up at the dock in downtown Hamilton, the Bermuda capital.

Veendam, with a population of 30,000, has been Kelowna’s sister city since 1980. Veendam Gardens, in City Park, pays tribute to the friendship of the two cities and the efforts of Kelowna soldiers in WW II to free Holland.

I was a passenger on the Veendam’s third Bermuda trip in late May. We moored at the quaint town of St. George’s and the British heritage emerged with narrow cobblestone streets, limestone walls, lush gardens, English spoken (with an odd, but understandable accent) and small cars (and scooters) driving on the left side of the road. The next day we steamed to Hamilton where the main attractions included botanical gardens, historic forts, caves, aquarium and typical tourist shopping. Every Friday night the main street comes alive, right in front of the ship, with street dancing, markets, food and crafts.

My husband and I enjoyed walking in the spring-like weather and talking to the locals who are quite unlike their Caribbean neighbours far to the south. I would be happy to have a Bermudian as my banker or accountant (many insurance companies have head offices here), but I wouldn’t want to watch a Bermuda comedy show. Crime is rare, walking the streets is stress free and just sitting in the town square watching the intermingling of locals and tourists makes for an interesting afternoon. Cleanliness, wealth (average wage is $90,000) and a unique culture provide the keystones to this agglomeration of Atlantic islands.

A fantasy? How could a town with a bit more than a hundred thousand residents support a multi-million dollar franchise: a franchise that has abandoned cities like Winnipeg and Quebec City?

In Green Bay, Wisconsin, a city with close to the same number of inhabitants as Kelowna, the dream is reality. And it’s an unlikely dream because their franchise in the National Football League is considerably more valuable than one in the NHL, and their Packers football team needs to sell three times as many seats in a big stadium as a hockey team.

As soon as I drove into Green Bay the football madness becomes obvious. The team is immortalized in a major street called Packerland and another avenue is called Lombardi, after coach Vince, so I’m told. Signs supporting the community-owned team are everywhere, including such sarcastic epigrams as “Bret didn’t like sushi anyway,” in front of a Japanese restaurant. Bret is the quarterback who headed for New York, (so I’m told). Hey, I love the Canadian Football League. Season tickets in Lambeau stadium have sold out for the past 60 years and if you find a seat for a game it may cost upwards of $150.

The city, located where the Fox River meets Green Bay, a basin on Lake Michigan, would not be a tourist draw were it not for football. To my eyes the river is murky, industrial sprawl is uncontained and many buildings both downtown and in the surrounding area sit empty and plywood clad. A railway museum and botanical gardens are first rate visitor attractions, but mention the name Green Bay and the conversation is not likely to turn to steam trains or flowers the size of your face.

The stadium, with a breezy atrium of shops and eateries plus the Hall of Fame, is a genuine gem in a Wal-Mart community of costume jewellery. The new retro-look is somewhat authentic as the original seating bowl was preserved in a 2003 facelift.

Green Bay’s advantage in maintaining its NFL team is the surrounding population where urbanization stretches to Milwaukee, a larger city without a team. Another advantage is that the team was founded in 1919 when the concept of buying and selling the right to play did not exist. If you wanted a franchise you just put together a team, started playing with other teams and you had a league. Had there been a Kelowna challenge for the Stanley Cup a century back we might now be cheering for the Kelowna Kanucks.

I’ve chosen this spot for contemplation and composition because Townsville with 150,000 population can be compared to a typical mid-size Canadian city such at Kelowna or St. Catharines.

The thing I’m enjoying most on this warm, sunny morning is watching the people that populate the Pacific shore – the waterfront here has not been privatized: it is not a haven for industry, commerce and the wealthy. In Australia, wherever there is a river, lake, lagoon or ocean, the shore is preserved for public use. National parks are free of gates, toll booths, parking fees and other barricades. Government has not taken the land and sold it back to its people.

In Townsville a walkway of several kilometres fronts the ocean and separates the shoreline from the road. Hotels, shops and restaurants reside on the far side. It is a popular place for a morning stroll and half the town seems to be enjoying the fresh air. The majority are walkers and joggers. Interestingly, very few people are accompanied by pets as Australians seem to get along quite well without them, although there are doggie troughs below the many water fountains.

In the area surrounding this pedestrian thoroughfare there is a remarkable absence of graffiti, homeless people, druggies and nasty males with malevolence on their minds. In this city I can park my vehicle anywhere without thought of a break-in. At night anyone could wander without fear of bodily harm.

The local tourism rep, Nathan Campbell, says that a few ne’er-do-wells do exist in some parts of the city, but they keep away from the beaches and other public areas where they are not welcome. His explanation for the lack of spray paint on public edifices is simple: “There is generally no inclination to deface property and when it happens it is removed immediately.”

It’s extremely difficult to find negatives about Townsville where the average house sells for about $300,000. Like most of Australia it is clean, fresh, honest and modest. One could argue that the climate is too hot in summer in the same way that Canadian cities are too cold in the winter, but such things are relative.

In searching for negatives one could point out that the ocean is a dangerous place in the northern part of Down Under at this time of year. This morning no one swims although the air temperature is a humid 31 degrees and the water is 26. Signs warn of stinging jellyfish, sneaky crocodiles and hungry sharks. If those critters don’t get you the rip tides will: they swept away a prime minister. The ocean is not a playground in the north although the city installs large nets to secure spacious sections of the ocean for those who want to take a dip. A short boat ride takes divers and snorkelers to the Great Barrier Reef with islands of immunity from the aquatic enemy.   
We could learn a lot from a country that shares our British heritage and remains close to the mother country. We could learn an awful lot. First we must see it.

Australia has not been among the first 75 countries that I’ve visited because I viewed it as too hot, too dry and basically too much of a big ugly desert inhabited by venomous critters looking for a leg to bite. Suppositions, assumptions, expectations and preconceptions are nine-tenths of being misinformed. The east coast I visited has low mountains, rainforests, countless rivers, pristine lakes, The Reef, limpid lagoons, waterfalls – in fact everything that is cherished and revered by Canadians who love the outdoors. Toss in some wonderful wildlife and big city culture in Brisbane and Sydney and the picture is complete. That’s a country worth living in.

Recently I was looking at crime statistics to see if Australia is as honest a place as it appeared. When it comes to murder, theft, assault, rape and the whole two cojones of crime foisted on the world by males, Australia and Canada are very close. They are also close in terms of health care, lifestyle, economic well-being etc.

While I was there, a UN report listed the best countries in which to live and it went like this: Iceland, Norway, Australia, Canada, Ireland: four countries that are cold or wet and one that is hot and dry. So am I going to move to Australia? Well, I haven’t been there during a stifling summer, I haven’t experienced a cyclone or a monsoon and I haven’t been bit by a poisonous spider or stung by a lethal jellyfish. And I haven’t seen 90 percent of the southern continent.

I intend to return and have another look.

Swimming with manatee is one of hundreds of underexposed Florida experiences that have nothing to do with theme parks, sand, surf or oceanfront condos. Many casual tourists believe that if you take those attractions away all that is left of Florida is gator-filled swamp.

My view is that what is left is the best: pine forests, meandering rivers, warm burbling springs that form lakes, a coral reef, a wealth of oddball creatures such as the manatee, alligator, roseate spoonbill and armadillo, and enough water-based activities to keep kids and seniors occupied for at least a couple of weeks.

In search of the best of the rest my husband and I covered, by car, the complete Florida coast from Panhandle south to Keys and then north along the Atlantic coast to Jacksonville. Our first test of alternate adventures came immediately upon entering Florida from Mississippi: the Wolf River. Florida is as flat as an old bicycle tire so I questioned whether canoeing this serpentine waterway would amount to anything more than pushing a paddle through an overgrown marsh.

A driver from Adventures Unlimited helped us launch the rental canoe and then was gone, which was good as we would not have enjoyed his laughter as we tried to resurrect our rusty paddle skills and got pushed against a bridge that we eventually got through backwards. Propelled by recent rains and the force of a spring the river moved enthusiastically and actually had occasional burbling water that might be described by a novice as rapids. Neither condo nor cottage converged on the pristine, sandy shoreline and there was hardly a sound beyond nature and paddles. It was exactly what we were hoping for.
The nearby city of Pensacola is one of the cleanest in the south and that encouraged a seafood quest that included dinner at the Fish House and shrimp for the next day purchased at Joe Patti’s amazing market.

At Crystal River, half way down the Gulf coast, we joined Birds Underwater for a 6:15 a.m. swim with the manatee. This experience may be as endangered as the big sea cows as more and more tour boats clog the secluded springs where the mammals winter. Captain Chris, commander of the pontoon boat, instructed the snorkelling passengers to touch the manatee only if they invited it and warned us that the marked sanctuaries were off limits to terrestrials. We swan through a narrow channel to the transparent waters of Three Sisters Springs (a thrill in itself) and had our first sighting, but the meaty manatee kept their distance. Captain Chris took us to another spot where adults and calves frolicked (in their lumberous way) and rolled over, inviting us to stroke and scratch them. Rubbing the belly of a two ton feral sea creature was a trip highlight.

The next day we paddled with Kayaks and Beyond and amidst springs and mangroves saw from above what we had seen from below: a perfect combination.

Travelling south we stayed on Sanibel Island and, with some instruction from locals (walk in the water at low tide, not on the beach) went shelling.

Our catch wouldn’t complement a goldfish bowl: others had started earlier and nabbed the best collectibles. Still, it was fun, we got some personal souvenirs and we knew there was potential if we had more time. At the north end of the island Captiva Cruises gave us a preview of the bottlenose dolphin that we would later swim with. After an hour of distant sightings a pair of playful dolphins cavorted in the wake of our boat, diving and leaping just a few metres from appreciative passengers.

An introduction to Sanibel’s birdlife was a feature of Tarpon Bay Explorers’ kayak tour at the Darling Wildlife Refuge. Without binoculars we spotted roseate spoonbill, egret, bald eagles, ibis, anhinga and many type of heron.

Key Largo, nestled at the bottom of Florida, is a surf and sand oasis and here we confirmed our beliefs about an alternative Florida. Just offshore is an unheralded coral reef with a host of tropical fish, shell fish and reef activity that is almost as fantastic as Australia’s Great Barrier Reef and somewhat closer to home. Our boat left the dock at John Pennekamp underwater state park and within 30 minutes was anchored 50 metres from the reef. Using the supplied mask, fins and snorkel we spotted bull shark, jellyfish, rays, eels and an array of neon exotics that looked like they had jumped out of Disney’s Finding Nemo. The reef itself was a living mass of brightly hued plants and animals.

Just down the road from the state park we entered an entirely different aquatic world where we played with trained dolphin in huge tanks at Dolphins Plus. It was difficult to determine who was trained and who was trainer. An instructor told us to lie in the water, face down and two dolphins pressed their bottle noses against our soles and pushed us through the water with such power that our torsos rose up and emerged from the frothy liquid like the figurehead on and old sailing ship. The mammals pulled us through the water when we held their dorsal fins and when we held hoops they jumped through. They taught us that if we made the right motion they would engage in a water fight, kiss our cheeks and dance with us.

Thus far we had been both under the water and on the water and at Sebastian, a tiny town a few kilometres from the ocean, we skimmed above the water. Bob Montuoro Airboat Adventures are as quiet as a craft pushed by giant propellers can be and the captain (pilot!) goes out of his way to ensure that the environment he explores is untouched by his presence. Skimming over swamp and grass we got our fill of the favourite creature of Florida — the alligator. Several times we pulled up beside a mother who protected a dozen baby gators, each no longer than the foot of a woman. An hour later we were at Marsh Landing restaurant, in nearby Fellsmere, chowing down on chewy gater tail that did not taste at all like chicken. We completed the day with a sunset tour on the Indian River with Capt. Christy Casual Cruisin.

At the oldest continually inhabited spot in North America, St. Augustine, half-way up the Atlantic coast, we twice more took to the water. Here we helped hoist the staysail and mainsail on the schooner Freedom for a superb windblown sunset cruise that went close enough to the rolling, open ocean to give a sense of what it is like. On a small commercial boat we became crew members and hauled up traps to harvest stone crabs and blue crabs. The Alaska/Florida Crabbing Tour takes up to six on a small workboat while the two owners demonstrate their daily routine of baiting, sorting, and pulling heavy crab traps from the bay. Each trap was a surprise, yielding stone or blue crab, ugly bottom fish, nothing at all or, on two occasions, beer cans. They have even pulled up golf balls. We learned about regulations and the intricacies of trying to figure out where traps should be located and where other crab seekers will position their traps.

Our personal voyage of discovery ended with snorkelling in the huge, warm (21 degree) springs of Ocala National Forest (north of Orlando) and then exploring the nooks and crannies of Jacksonville’s Amelia Island where plantations and manor houses are found at the end of dirt roads.

When one tires of theme parks and crowded beaches it is good to know that an array of quiet, aquatic attractions on both fresh and salt water are waiting for adults and kids. There are no line-ups, everything is real and, for the most part, it will cost considerably less than visits to the un-natural attractions.

Along our journey we encountered some remarkable accommodation. Our infallible standard was the clean and accessible KOA campgrounds, but when we opted for more comfort than home we stayed at ResortQuest on Perdido Key, Pensacola, at Largo Lodge on Key Largo, Ferndale Lodge in Sebastian and at Cedar House Inn, a Victorian B&B in St. Augustine.
For additional information check www.visitflorida.com

 As we approach the season that provides the reason for heading south, I’m recalling that last year my husband Jim and I discovered that the line between paradise and purgatory is a thin and blurry one.

We straddled that line after perusing a map of Mexico while camped in Puerto Penasco, just south of Yuma, Arizona, a favorite destination for Okanaganites. Looking for a quieter, less touristy place our eyes fell upon a dot marked El Disembarque, on the coast of the Sea of Cortez less than 200 kilometres south, at the end of a secondary road.

We easily zigzagged our mini-van out of Puerto Penasco, which is not always the case in Mexico where signage is limited. After a junction at the tiny town of San Francisco the road deteriorated and that increased our excitement about going to a spot where big motorhomes daren’t venture, cruise ships don’t dock and the Cancun crowd doesn’t congregate.

Our destination provided no welcome sign: instead we were greeted by a garbage dump where every plastic bottle and bag known to mankind decorated the road and countless hectares of desert like a displaced snow storm. The road became a sandy track as we entered El Disembarque and then blended into a beautiful beach that stretched to infinity both north and south and was a full 100 metres wide. Children played in the surf and a dozen fishing boats sat on the shore waiting for high tide. We drove along the beach, as did many others on this Sunday afternoon. People waved, the palms swayed and we stopped for a swim in shallow water that was nearly 21 degrees in January.

There was no campground and no other tourists in town so we looked for a spot on the beach, well above the high tide line, to camp for the night. No hawkers of souvenirs, blankets or tamales came to our van door, but we did have a visitor who spoke the only English we were to hear during our stay. He begged for money and said he had a terrible hangover and badly needed a drink. We would have loved to learn about the town from him; however he was insistent and somewhat incoherent so we sent him on his way, empty-handed, despite the integrity of his plea.

The sunset was spectacular and we enjoyed the sound of small waves soothing a submissive beach, however we didn’t feel entirely comfortable. There were loud, angry voices in the distance and the dozens of snarling dogs looked like they would enjoy a piece of us if we wandered out at night. We have free-camped in about 60 different countries and have developed a keen sense of what feels safe and what doesn’t, thus we checked into the only accommodation in town, a clean motel overlooking the sea that cost a surprising $50 (before bargaining) for a sparse room with no amenities whatsoever. We were the only guests. Following my best bargaining the price was $50.

The next day we walked through the town where garbage and rubble pushed against what was quaint and charming the night before. The dirt streets hosted three dilapidated dogs for every human. A misstep onto someone’s property resulted in being surrounded by a pack of yapping, snapping curs that had not had a good meal in a month. For every three dogs one lucky cat sprinted between immobile cars. Most of the fishing boats where holed and filled with sand.

This village of no more than a few hundred inhabitants housed more dead cars, trucks, boats, tractors and fridges than a scrap yard would normally accommodate. The mostly unfinished houses were tin, concrete or cardboard and their yards were tangles of junk.

As we strolled, waves of stench from dead fish, dead birds and dead cats assailed us but we were greeted with smiles, waves of hands and had a feeling of being welcome. We saw no other outsiders.

We decided we shouldn’t give up on this potential paradise at the end of the road so we stayed a second night and after more intense bargaining got the room for $50. At 4 a.m. we were jarred awake by banging noises that got louder and louder until there was a whack of a stick, or a big fist, on our door. Then came a similar loud whack on the door next to us and then the door after that. We dared not open our portal, but peered through a crack in the curtains and a shadowy shape rushed past. We heard voices, dogs started barking and then it was quiet. Sleep did not resume until the sky lightened.

At checkout I asked, in bad Spanish, about the noise in the night but the clerk claimed no knowledge and indicated she slept soundly. We will never know.

As we pulled out we reflected on finding every traveler’s dream — a tiny fishing village at the end of the road on a sandy, palm-fringed shore. We speculated that a corporation may soon buy up this land, wall it off, build a giant time-share condo and RV park, improve the road, clean up the dump and scoop up all the junk and dead critters. Then tourists, much like ourselves, will roll into town and remark, as we did in Puerto Penasco, what a shame it is that the land has been taken from the locals and they have to practically leave town just to get onto their beach.

Located 1,000 metres above the Valley and the city, you reach Chute Lake Resort by driving along the rutted bed of an abandoned rail line which has been converted to a bike/hike trail that is part of the Trans-Canada trail. The view of the lakes and valley below is nothing short of spectacular. The KVR rail line traverses gaping gorges on wooden trestles that have been rebuilt after the fire of 2003.

The resort is a combination of log lodge, restaurant, campground, cottage rental, boat rental, museum, antique collection and hodge-podge of interesting old stuff. The propietors are a senior couple who have owned it for 34 years.

Many of the thousands of antiques on display in the big barn have price tags, but not everything is for sale. The barn is labelled museum, but little in it is restored or reverently displayed and many treasured collectibles are exposed to the weather. Anyone who enjoys the past can spend hours looking at ancient chain saws, clothes washing devices, signs from the automotive industry, glass insulators and devices whose use is open to conjecture.

In the rustic lodge a big wood-burning stove provides warmth (it is cold much of the year at 1,300 metres) and a basic menu features burgers, fries and pies. Interior decor is every manner of antique, collectible and aged items that are just plain interesting.

Ask proprietor Doreen Reed about the bison burgers that used to be on the menu and she says, “We can’t get them anymore. The supplier died – or was murdered. He had a lot of enemies…”

Ask about the lack of signs to the resort and she says. “They made us take them down. They gave us an hour or they would charge us.”

Ask why she is working alone, providing linen for tired cyclists staying for the night, taking orders for breakfast and preparing dinners, she relies, “The staff left least week. He went one way and she went the other.”

Doreen and Gary Reed own the resort. He is a passionate collector who hates to see anything go. His possessiveness caused him to stay and protect in 2003 when fire destroyed hundreds of homes on the outskirts of Kelowna. Miraculously the fire skirted the resort.

Rustic log cabins provide an overnight stay for those enjoying a Kelowna-Chute Lake-Penticton trip. This trip can be done in a day, but it’s a lot of driving on rough, dusty roads and this is not the place to be in a hurry. The lodge offers eight basic rooms upstairs, eight cabins and 20 camping sites. Prices for a room or cabin start at $70.

Getting There
Finding Chute Lake is no easy matter and neither cell phone nor GPS is likely to work. Start at Highway 97 in Kelowna and go south along Pandosy, which becomes Lakeshore, which becomes Chute Lake Road, but does not go to Chute Lake. Exactly 10 km. from 97, power lines come down a hill at a new housing development called Upper Mission Estates where you turn left onto a paved road with the name Upper Mission Drive.

The pavement ends at a gravel pit, so turn left onto a dirt road. If you are in a low-slung Jaguar the chances are good that your cat will have its entrails ripped out. Otherwise any car with reasonable clearance and good springs should get you there.

The dirt road twists and turns as it gains altitude.  Eight kilometres after leaving pavement you reach the Kettle Valley recreational trail. No signage helps you out and driving right past is possible. Look for a cattle guard on the left, a bit of a fence on the right and a single-lane dirt road that crosses. Orange kilometre signs appear occasionally and this crossing is between 8 and 9. Turn right onto the KVR track. A left turn takes you to the beautiful Bellevue trestle, 5 km. distant, where automobile travel ends.  After the right turn onto the KVR you can envision chugging through this spectacular scenery on a steam train. Continue for 11.5 km. to your destination. You won’t miss it.

Chute Lake Resort
RR1 Site 16, Compartment 16, Naramata V0H 1N0

250-493-3535

www.chutelakeresort.com

It is however a vital question for those who are attracted to cruise ship vacations. The two destinations are as extreme as north and south, hot and cold, up and down.

One is all about tropical islands, sandy beaches, different cultures and sun block values. The other is about glaciers, whales, mountains and waterproof outerwear.

My wife and I did not face that cruising decision since the first cruise of our lives was in mid-March and, needless to say, the direction was south. That 14-day, 10-island trip with Holland America Line, aboard the Maasdam, made us realise that we had been missing an exhilarating and luxurious aspect of travel. We made up for that three months later by departing Vancouver, headed for Alaska, aboard the Island Princess for another two weeks at sea. We had booked the return trip aboard the same Princess Line ship with four port stops each way.

As a result of our north and south experiences we are frequently asked the defining question: “We can only take one North American cruise: which should it be?”

Our answers are inconsistent. If the person asking the question lives in Vancouver we tell them they would probably prefer a Caribbean trip. Someone from southern Ontario gets sent in the opposite direction. The reason is that on a vacation you want to see things that are different and do things that are different. At least we do. And givers of advice invariably assume that everyone is like themselves. People in Vancouver see snow-capped mountains every day, glaciers are not far away and marine life in its natural setting is never more than a few hours distant. Totem poles grow in Stanley Park: I know, I’ve seen them.

On the other hand icebergs, calving glaciers, towering mountains, coastal native life and breaching whales are the things vacations are made of for the dwellers of Ontario’s relative flatlands. The sandy beaches of Lake Erie can always approximate Antigua or Half Moon Cay, at least in August. And Alaska’s cool clean air is as refreshing an escape from summer’s humidity as Barbados’ heat is relief from February’s chill.

Tropical islands are nothing to shrug one’s shoulders at, but for the most part, when you glide past them on a cruise ship they look, dare I say it, much the same. On the Alaska trip we slid into fiords and got close enough to glaciers that we could see and hear giant chunks of ice calving off and cascading into the ocean. Snow capped peaks were constant companions and the ocean was alive with humpback whales, sea otters, seals, orcas and dolphins. Bald eagles soared above and bear and mountain goats were spotted on land. Alaska was mostly about the unadulterated grandeur of pure nature. The towns we visited were small, clean and interesting, but not fascinating.

Water sports were the highlights of our southern sojourn with snorkelling and scuba diving among the iridescent fish, flora and coral of the islands being the most memorable. That’s not to say there is no aquatic activity in Alaska and I don’t mean in the ship’s pools. We sea kayaked in a bay and went snorkelling at a small island. Yes, we swam, albeit in wet suits, and the underwater vista was amazing with medium-size fish, urchins, jellyfish, starfish and plants as long as a ladder. For water lovers there is really no comparison with the Caribbean’s warm waters, silky beaches and underwater life. There is also no comparison with the cultural experience. Alaska is predominantly white and English speaking while the totem-carving native inhabitants provide the interesting exception. Caribbean islands change from port to port and one hardly knows if it will be French, Spanish, Dutch, English, Portuguese or Carib. A bus ride across St. Martin takes one from the culture of Holland to France in 30 minutes.

Many Caribbean cruisers have a focus on buying gold, diamonds, watches and other glittery baubles that are supposedly cheaper than elsewhere. As a result consumerism seems to be the dominant culture for a half-kilometre radius around the ports, so one must do some walking to get a real feel for the cities and towns. Alaska similarly suffers cruise-ship consumer culture, but it is less intrusive. Native carvings and paintings make more worthy souvenirs.

Weather both north and south is mostly unpredictable, but that will not surprise Canadians. The Caribbean in winter can be too hot, too cold, too windy etc. Alaska will never be too hot, but it can be too wet and too cold. Our total of four weeks of cruising saw not a drop of rain, not enough wind to rock the boat to any extent and nothing whatsoever to complain about.

The best thing about choosing between north and south is there is no wrong decision. We have precious memories of watching, from the stern of our ship, the sun set over white, crystal glacier-clad mountains and set behind lush, bright green, rain forest islands.

When we got there on an April afternoon the temperature hit 28 degrees, the sun shone, the river rushed, strangers talked nicely to each other and everyone seemed happy. Much to my husband’s sorrow no near-naked women were entertaining.
My frugal spouse was delighted to learn that the visitor to Laughlin can, for free, ride a ferry boat across the Colorado River to Arizona, ride a replica steam train around the Tropicana Casino and drool over an impressive collection of classic cars. One can eat a full dinner for under $8 (that’s $U.S.) and sleep in a huge, modern hotel for as little as $22 a night. For just $10 one can take a 90 minute historical boat cruise up and down the river. On the wilder and more expensive side one can join Extreme Mini Rails for a ride through narrow canyons on a mini-dune buggy to Secret Pass or to the town of Oatman where wild burros roam the streets in search of food from tourists.

After hubby got tired of the free stuff (five days later) we headed for Yuma, Arizona, a few clicks down the Colorado river and just a few steps from the Mexican border. This city claims to get more sunshine than anywhere on Earth and it grows more lettuce than anyplace on Earth that starts with the letter Y. It has an historic jail, a revitalized old-town, cycling paths along the river, and like Laughlin, it looks clean and prosperous – the type of place where a Canadian would feel comfortable. The place crawls with Canucks in winter.

At 3:10 p.m. in Yuma I headed for the tennis courts. I knew the courts must be a favourite place, since half the people I play tennis with at home flee south every winter. Many prefer Arizona’s guaranteed sunshine over Florida’s unpredictable climate and prefer dry western air over the east’s high humidity. I met Billy Findlay who, with his wife Elaine, leave Kelowna every year after Christmas and stay in Yuma until they get a favourable weather report from home. Billy gives two reasons for selecting Yuma: “I’m here for the great weather and great tennis.” We played a few games and talked about others who have come for the same reason.

In Yuma we stayed at two different places and they were as different as desert and jungle. I called them the newest of the smallest and the oldest of the biggest. The Best Western Coronado resides in an older part of town and it turned out to be a hidden gem with a beautiful little museum dedicated its own history. It’s the oldest active member of the huge Best Western chain and it dates back to1938. The little museum displays radios that were rented to rooms, a coin-operated Magic Figners vibrating bed, a portable Jacuzzi that was loaned out and hundreds of other fascinating items that evoke nostalgia for the days of motor courts.

Across town the native-operated Cocopah Resort/Casino was our luxurious home for three nights and it can be viewed as the newest of the smallest. It gets that title because the casino and hotel opened last year and it’s RV park and golf course, a dozen kilometres away, allows me to call it a chain – as small a chain as you can get. We tried the golf course and it was just the kind we love – wide fairways, short holes, no water hazards and just a few sand traps. Tennis courts, shuffleboard, games rooms, library, a big pool, billiard room and rooms for hobbies make the RVer comfortable. The casino and attached hotel offer a pool and a variety of excellent restaurants. Located between RV park and casino/hotel, Cocopah has a small museum that displays native games, food, weapons and lifestyle of the time before the European invasion. It makes an interesting comparison with the Best Western Coronado museum.