Is there such a thing as a travel gene?

Where do our passions come from? How are they developed and nurtured? Are they lifelong or just for a season? These are the questions I ponder as I think about my long-time passion for all things travel.

I love to travel and I come by it honestly. My family is a bunch of travelling fools. In fact, my mom and dad are heading to Mexico on Friday for a little sand, surf and sunburn! Lucky.

I grew up in a home that loved to take holidays and see the sites. I remember one time when my mom told me, in the context of family vacations, that she and dad chose to spend their resources on making memories rather than material possessions. At the time, my 12-year-old self had a difficult time accepting this idea, especially when that coveted Esprit t-shirt was at the top of my wish list. But even when I had to sacrifice those "must-haves" I always enjoyed our family holidays, knowing that a memory would last much longer than a silly shirt. When I say I grew up with a family that loved to travel I don't mean to imply that we were doing any serious world travelling. But every summer, without fail, we would pack up the car and head off for a week-long camping trip. We were expert tenters, setting up camp at Cypress Hills in southern Saskatchewan, Waskesiu in northern Saskatchewan, and shivering through a few chilly nights in the Rocky Mountains of Banff National Park. British Columbia, Toronto, Montana, Arizona, and Mexico all made it on the list of "big” family holidays.

My interest in travel started very early. As a small girl, my mom would lay with me at night, "tickle" (aka rub) my back and entertain me with countless stories about her three-month backpacking trip to Europe the year before she married my dad. My mom and a girlfriend went with a Contiki tour group, comprised of Americans, Australians, Canadians, and a handful of other nationalities, for a two-month bus trip through various European countries. Her and her friend spent an additional month in the U.K. on their own. I don't know if it was the stacks of photographs or the baby-blue souvenir t-shirt with the phrase "43 Wanderers 1979 - I Busted Europe's Borders Aboard a Bus" that fascinated me more, but I knew one thing: I was going to Europe someday.

Years later, I would follow in my mom's footsteps and embark on my own European journey (more on that in a later entry). My mom is definitely the number one influence when it comes to my desire to see the world. Her stories and experiences took my young mind to an enchanted world of unknowns that I was dying to see for myself. I loved how strangely different and foreign it all was. I loved how it was a part of her, how the memories lit her face and bubbled out of her as she reminisced.

I don't know if my mom shared her travel stories with my little brother too, but he also inherited the travel gene. Jay is a free spirit and has taken advantage of his youthful, carefree years to do some extensive travelling of his own. He spent a winter in Australia and New Zealand where he first learned how to surf, took a shorter trip to Spain, and left behind a second Canadian winter for the beaches of Costa Rica. He absolutely fell in love with Costa Rica and has dreams of owning property there someday. So far he hasn't quite talked us into the family-run surf camp he envisions, but he did help us choose the most perfect spot for our own Costa Rica trip two years ago.

My dad’s idea of travelling is hitting the open road. With those glorious 1970s ‘staches and shoulder-length hair, dad and his buddies saw much of North America from behind the handles of their motorbikes. Dad was (and still is) king of road trips, covering miles and miles of pavement with nothing but the wind at his back. And 30 years later, he’s still pursuing his own passion for travel and motor biking. Last year he and a friend from his younger, biker gang days hit the road to visit us in Fresno.

Not only was I raised with travel nuts, I am equally blessed to have found a partner who also shares this desire and who has joined me on some pretty amazing trips! It might not be so obvious, but I’m convinced that Jeremy has a little gypsy in him. He claims that his joy of travelling is all my doing. I beg to differ. I met Jeremy when he was living in Canada after spending five months in Bolivia on a mission trip and another three months travelling through Canada and the U.S. I don't think you can deny that this boy is an adventurous traveler.

I know that a passion can originate in a myriad of ways. Every passion has a different story. Some are carved out over a lifetime. Others are instantaneous, born from a single experience. For me, travel has been a lifelong love. Influenced and shared by the people I love most.

A Friday of Firsts

On the corner of Olive and Wishon avenues, the iconic tower and lighted marquee of the Tower Theatre welcomes patrons to the Tower District, an older part of Fresno that is home to dozens of eclectic shops, cafes and eateries. Although I had visited the Tower District on occasion, I admit that in my seven years as a Fresnan I had never once set foot inside the Tower Theatre. Well, that was about to change…

On Friday, I attended a Fresno Filmworks presentation of the independent film “The Messenger.” Fresno Filmworks is a non-profit organization that brings alternative films to the Fresno area and provides a viewing experience that encourages dialogue, awareness and education. Every second Friday of the month it showcases international and American independent feature films at the Tower Theatre.

As I waited for my friends to arrive, I stood under the covered outdoor foyer and watched as a steady stream of people passed through the glass doors into the theater. Much like the surrounding area, the crowd was a picture of diversity. College students from a film class checked in with the professor while an older woman, smartly dressed in a bright red coat repeatedly checked her cell phone as she apparently waited for an acquaintance. Near the box office a woman in her mid-20s held a 2-for-1 ticket, also appearing to wait for an expected friend. On the sidewalk an older man with a friendly smile stopped passersby to hand out small yellow flyers for the upcoming Peace and Justice Festival. Those in line to purchase tickets were a mix of young and old, all eager to find a seat for the 5:30 show.

Inside the theater, it was as if I had entered a bygone era with its rich art deco interior and velvety seating. As our little trio settled into our plush red seats, all three Filmworks virgins, we really didn’t know what to expect of the film. I had read the synopsis and knew it would be a hard film to watch. When U.S. Army Officer Will Montgomery (Ben Foster) returns home from Iraq, he is assigned to the Army’s Casualty Notification service. As he and fellow officer Tony Stone (Woody Harrelson) bear the horrible news to loved ones of fallen soldiers, Will struggles with the pain and grief he is witness to and deals with his own emotions of loss and regret from his tour of duty in Iraq. I thought that the raw emotion and relationships were portrayed in a very realistic way, and although the film ended on a hopeful note it was an intense and often painful two hours. Thankfully Harrelson’s comic relief was tastefully sprinkled throughout the film, allowing for any of those pesky tears to dry before actually having to dig out my Kleenex.

It’s funny how being in a certain place or taking in a particular event can make you feel more “cultured.” That’s sort of how I felt when the final credits rolled and we made our exit from the historic theater. And after this first trip, I am confident that I will be back to catch more Fresno Filmworks shows and to enjoy the classic beauty of the Tower Theatre.

When life gives you Limon...

Make Lomo Saltado. Or Escabeche de pescado.
Limon, an amazing restaurant that opened its doors in Fresno just over a year ago, serves up Peruvian dishes with various international influences. Last night we opted for a little taste of Peru and enjoyed every bite. My husband, Jeremy, brother-in-law, Kevin, sister-in-law, Marisa, and I sampled an appetizer of Yuca Frita, crispy Peruvian Yuca (much like a potato) with huancaina sauce (no idea what this was, but it was goooood!) For the main course we tried the Lomo Saltado, a traditional Peruvian dish of top sirloin, sautéed with onions, tomatoes, and french fries (yes, fries!), served with rice. It was perfection. The gravy/sauce in this dish was to die for. It reminded me of gravy and fries, something that I miss terribly about Canada. Who knew it would be so hard to find fries served with gravy in the U.S.? The Escabeche de pescado was a lighter dish that consisted of pan-seared petrol sole marinated in aji Amarillo esabeche sauce, served over roasted potatoes and sautéed spinach. Spices in the sauce provided a nice flavor with low heat. Both dishes received two (or eight) thumbs up.

Over dinner, Jeremy told us stories about the five months he spent in Bolivia in 1999 with Venture Teams International, a Canadian missions organization. While there his team made a short trip across the border to Peru to renew their Bolivian visas. I absolutely love listening to travel stories. I truly believe that one individual’s experience in a foreign country cannot be compared to another's, and as I listen I always find myself wondering what my experience would be like.

So after washing our entrees down with cocktails and Peruvian beer, we finished with the Bandido for dessert, a chocolate flourless cake oozing with molten chocolate inside, and a good cup of coffee. With full bellies we managed to roll out of the restaurant, happy to have discovered a new dining spot and a fun taste of South America.

Yuca FritaLomo SaltadoEscabeche de pescado

Hello World

This is a blog about travel. Even though I am certainly not a seasoned professional, travel is, and has always been, a passion of mine. In my 28 years I have had the privilege of living in two countries (okay, I admit that Canada and the U.S. aren’t exactly the epitome of exotic), I have visited 11 countries, set foot on three continents, and dipped my toes in two oceans and two seas. I have a long list of destinations I dream of visiting, but, due to time and money constraints, I have come to terms with the fact that my passion will be realized over the course of my lifetime and not all within the next five years!

In the meantime, as I save up and talk my husband into the latest travel idea, I am content with "traveling" right here at home. The idea of travel is not merely limited to international airports or knowing how to ask where the bathroom is in a different language. Every time I wander down an unfamiliar street or try a new restaurant or take a day trip to the coast, I am traveling. Not only that, but each day presents us with a journey. Our most mundane, routine tasks take us somewhere. It might not be overly exciting or fresh and new, but it is a journey nonetheless. As I muse about those seemingly insignificant travels and the occasional thrilling excursion, I hope you find inspiration to do some traveling of your own, both near and far.