It's very rare I get away for a few days with the better five-eighths, er, better half, for a slight break. That we did recently, and we've lived to talk about it.
The trip was just across the line, but to all intents and purposes, it could have been in Maui, Mali, or Maine, for that matter. And in terms of cost, it could have been twenty-five years years ago.
Three general highlights of the getaway were the trees, television, and anonymity.
I love trees so much I could hug them, but that might be misconstrued. Where I went was what some wag (I believe that was me) would call a poor man's Waterton. Nowhere near the amenities or the crowds or the touristy things, but, hey, I wasn't trying to have amenities, crowds, or touristy things, so that suited me fine.
Television is always a mixed bag for me: I saw a little sports here, a movie there, but mostly it was just a mind-dumbing and brain-numbing experience, and only confirmed why we have chosen not to have one in our house. However, without sounding too sanctimonious, I personally do enjoy the odd show now and then; hopefully not too odd, like the Flames' run to the Stanley Cup finals.
Anonymity is just another big word that writers use to show off their vocabulary, though I think it actually fits today's column's theme. Where we went, no one knew us. The locals were friendly, but the fellow-tourists were a little cool. At least here in southern Alberta, strangers give us the two-finger salute—even sometimes less one finger, if they so choose.
One thing I really cherished was the history of the place: Very old cabins and a few other businesses that had been in the family for (literally) generations. You could tell by the siding and the electrical layout that they were decades old. Some of those running the the motels and cottages, plus the art galleries, were descendants of people who pioneered the area in the '90's—the 1890's, that is.
In fact, one clerk was in her '90's, the grand-daughter of a rugged pioneer herself. I just hope I am as spry, sharp, and sweet as she was, when I reach that plateau.
I had actually phoned around to the usual Canadian haunts—Waterton, Fernie, and Canmore—for this little getaway, but the cost alone kept me looking south. I knew I wasn't going to get the amenities, crowds, or touristy things (or did I say that already?), but, hey, I just wanted a few trees, a few good television shows, and some place where no one knew my name.
And cheaper, too: To say I paid half price would be an exaggeration, but over the two nights, I saved at least a third of what I would pay in Canada.. I also saved in gas, as the three choice places that I wanted to get to were at least 30 to 90 minutes farther down the road than where I ended up—and that's only one way.
Did someone say “gas”? I topped off my chariot off twice, and the math (bit of a stretch for a Language Arts guy) tells me I came in at around .95 cents a litre. Last time I checked, that is a savings of about twenty cents a litre.
All in all, a good time was had by us'n (thought it might be good to talk like the natives). Next time I go, though, I think I'll leave my “NObama ” bumper sticker off the car. No sense looking for trouble in paradise.
No comments:
Post a Comment