The Lawn Rangers are a “precision lawn mower drill team” with the motto: You’re only young once, but you can always be immature. We could hardly wait to see… CONTINUE READING >>
In spite of their considerable renown we were unfamiliar with The Lawn Rangers, only having heard that they were a “precision lawn mower drill team” with the motto: You’re only young once, but you can always be immature. We could hardly wait to see them in action.
Founding member Tim Monahan was happy to give us the lowdown on the mower men. The Rangers haven’t missed a Broom Corn Festival Parade since 1980, that’s when they got their name from grand marshal Clayton Moore, TV’s original Lone Ranger.
Since then they have marched in the Holiday Bowl, Fiesta Bowl, the Indianapolis 500, the NFL Hall of Fame Game, and the Chicago St. Patrick’s Day Parades, but perhaps the pinnacle of Ranger performances came in the 2009 Presidential Inaugural Parade.
Honorary member Dave Barry may have summed up their performances best when he said, “What we do is push lawn mowers and carry brooms. At various points along the parade route, we stop and astonish the crowd by performing broom-and-lawn-mower maneuvers with a level of smooth precision that you rarely see outside of train wrecks.”
We made our way to Plaza Dorrego, in the heart of San Telmo, because it was Sunday, and on Sunday the place to be is the Feria de San Telmo… CONTINUE READING >>
The neighborhood of San Telmo Buenos Aires, like most large urban areas, is actually a collection of varied communities, and as we explored many of them we found each offered unique backgrounds.
San Pedro Gonzalez Telmo, named for the patron saint of seafarers, is considered the oldest neighborhood in the city. It is where the first settlement was established by the Spanish explorer Pedro de Mendoza nearly five hundred years ago.
Our modern day exploration found many interesting colonial buildings lining quaint stone streets in what has become the artistic center of town.
We made our way to Plaza Dorrego, in the heart of San Telmo, because it was Sunday, and on Sunday the place to be is the Feria de San Telmo.
Booths sell everything imaginable.
More open-air flea market than fair, this collective sale of antiques, art, clothing, jewelry, food and just about anything else under the sun, has been happening every weekend since 1970.
But it is more than a market, solo guitarists, African drum groups, and a nine piece mini-orchestra of strings, accordions, and even a full sized piano performed along the streets surrounding the plaza.
Wading into the square, we were drawn to a gathering by a crowd and more music, our curiosity led us to a street tango in progress.
A small dance troupe had laid out a wooden dance floor over the ancient cobblestones and was putting on quite a show.
From there we found a woman selling what looked to be empanadas, but she insisted they were something different. A dish unique to Uruguay that had no name.
Nameless or not, we just called it delicious.
Nameless packets of tasty goodness in hand, we continued through the maze of tables, stands, and booths until the sun sank behind the buildings and the vendors began to pack up.
That was our signal to find our way back to the subte, the local name for the subway.
Acquainted with the concept of parrillas via internet – Buenos Aires is famous for these establishments – we had heard of the legendary meat consumption, but were completely unprepared for the unbelievable quantities.
Parrilla simply means grill, and a huge grate of roasting meat is the centerpiece of any good one, but even after eyeballing the amazing array of flame kissed cuts brazing in the… CONTINUE READING >>
Our first night in Buenos Aires involved one of those happy happenstances that make travel so intriguing.
Staying at The Complejo Tango had us hidden away in a neighborhood far from the usual tourist services, and with a massive case of jet lag we had no desire to explore the bus/subway/taxi system of the city, so we wandered in search of sustenance in the immediate vicinity.
This led us to the only restaurant nearby, El Litoral, and the ultimate carnivorous chow-down of our lives.
The Coast, as the name translates, is the epitome of a corner joint.
We were greeted warmly by the gregarious waiter/maître d’, Martin, and curious stares from the patrons who were obviously not used to strangers, especially hungry gringo tourists, frequenting this hideaway.
Acquainted with the concept of parrillas via internet – Buenos Aires is famous for these establishments – we had heard of the legendary meat consumption.
Parrilla simply means grill, and a huge grate of roasting meat is the centerpiece of any good one, but even after eyeballing the amazing array of flame kissed cuts brazing in the open air kitchen of El Lioral we were not prepared for what was about to be set in front of us.
In an effort to take it easy on our first experience, we attempted to stick to what appeared to be reasonable portions judging from the menu.
By pointing at pictures and blithering in our trademark broken Spanish, we ordered Bife de costilla, which is a T-bone steak, and Bife de lomo, which is a fillet that we had read was usually the best in any parrilla.
When they arrived we found them to be very reasonable… for a small army.
Veronica was served a plate loaded with two huge steaks, either one of which would have been the hungry-man special at most steak houses, and David was presented with, as near as we could tell, an entire side of beef.
These were accompanied by mashed potatoes and a salad. Luckily we only ordered one of each side dish because they were family style, and by that we mean enough for a family.
While we sat in awe of our plates Martin brought us an array of sauces, or chimichurri, for the meat.
Fantastic flavors of onion, garlic, tomato, and cilantro blended beautifully with the perfectly broiled beef.
Several customers were clearly entertained by our reactions to, and attempts to consume, the Flintstone-like platters set before us.
One, a cabbie, even came over for quite an in depth conversation in an amusing, and sometimes confusing mixture of Spanish, English, and Italian.
The ultimate point that he wished to drive home was that this place was the real deal.
We could search the entire city and never find a more authentic parrilla.
In fact, the word auténtico must have been expressed several dozen times to describe the food, the beer, the clientèle, the staff, the neighborhood, even himself… absolutely everything was auténtico, being pronounced the same no matter which language we were currently babbling at each other.
But we had no doubts to the authenticity of El Litoral without any testimonial from our taxista amigo.
The place reeked of it, and the final bill left us completely certain, just over one hundred Argentine pesos, about twenty dollars, for the entire orgy of food.
This must be carnivore heaven.
Paradise or not, after that meat-a-thon, we weren’t ready to take on another parrilla for several days.
It takes that long to digest half a cow.
But we didn’t suffer because Buenos Aires is a huge city, over eight million people, and has a vast array of eating opportunities.
There is a large Italian community so pizza and pasta are common, but most anything a heart, or stomach, could desire is available. We even found the palace of fried potatoes, El Palacio de la Papa Frita.
Right next to the home of the royal potato a window with a huge open fire surrounded by whole carcasses splayed out for roasting caught our attention.
These were arranged in a disturbing circle of what looked like miniature metal crucifixes.
In addition to the bonfire, an enormous grill laden with every imaginable cut of beef, pork, lamb, and chicken sizzling over the coals was featured on the opposite side of the door, making what looked to be the ultimate meat-eater’s Macy’s Christmas window display.
We figured before we left Argentina we should take the plunge one more time and try one of the fancier carnivore cafes that cater to tourists, so we stepped inside.
La Estancia was the polar opposite of our previous parrilla experience.
A large, elegant dining room of linen table clothes set with fine china and silver, and a uniformed staff performing in formal precision.
Going with the program, when in Rome and all that, we ordered the Argentine Barbeque for 1, and for comparison purposes, another Bife de costilla.
But before we could get to those main events we were kept busy with a parade of tasty tidbits that come as Servicio de Mesa, or table service.
This consisted of a meat pie (in case we weren’t going to get enough meat), breads, sauces, and roasted peppers.
Then came the big Kahuna, an enormous platter sizzling on its very own bed of coals was lovingly presented in the center of our table.
The dizzying array of chicken, carne asada, sweetbread, kidney, chorizo, veal tripe, blood sausage, and udder, plus the fact that this was the “for 1” version, sent a shiver of impending meat sweats down our spines.
The Bife de costilla was fantastic, even bigger and a little more tender than the El Litoral version, but the “Argentina para uno” was the star of the show.
Not for delectable flavor, actually we found most of it barely edible, but for a completely unique gastric experience.
The chicken and beef were basic, tasty but nothing special.
Chorizo isn’t all that uncommon or adventurous.
We had tried blood sausage before, and at least heard about tripe, sweetbread (which is a fancy name for pancreas or other mysterious glands), and kidney consumption, but udder? Holy cow! Literally, holy cow!
Try as we might, we just couldn’t find any upside to eating udder. It’s simply not good.
We discovered later that it is illegal in the United States.
The law is concerned with health issues, but it should be banned for plain old bad taste.
We did our best, and to our credit we tried at least a bit of everything on the platter.
But there was no finishing it, and not only because there was at least three pounds of animal parts before us.
It was what parts that played a prevalent part in our inability to partake in the particular portions.
Our final verdict was unanimous, go with the neighborhood joint.
Mainly because the bill came to one quarter of the cost of the touristy place.
Both parrilla’s Bife de costilla, were equally delicious, and we had a blast sampling the Argentine platter, we’ll try anything once!
The subject of Boomerang “Kids” has been in the news a lot lately, and the story we’re being sold is that poor, brave youngsters with new diplomas in hand have no choice but to move back into their old bedrooms at Mom and Dad’s house.
All sorts of numbers have been bandied about, some say a quarter of recent grads are unemployed or underemployed, others say half, and one completely unscientific study proclaiming the preposterous idea that 85 percent… CONTINUE READING >>
The subject of Boomerang “Kids” has been in the news a lot lately, and the story we’re being sold is that poor, brave youngsters with new diplomas in hand have no choice but to move back into their old bedrooms at Mom and Dad’s house.
All sorts of numbers have been bandied about, some say a quarter of recent grads are unemployed or underemployed, others say half, and one completely unscientific study proclaiming the preposterous idea that 85 percent of all recent college graduates have been forced to move back in with their parents was repeated as fact by no less than CNN, TIME magazine and The New York Post.
It would seem that any visit home counts as moving back in when there’s an assumption to sell.
The reality is that many of the young adults who have returned to the nest do so by choice, not necessity. Free room and board with none of those pesky responsibilities that come with being an adult can be pretty enticing. Often the parents, or at least one of them, encourage the decision, not ready to let their little one go.
We firmly believe that having adult children living at home on a long-term basis is bad for both the kids and their parents. It prevents the child from making a full transition into adult life, and robs the parents of the chance to return to the couple they were when they first fell in love.
Some may disagree, and if they think having Junior holed up in his old bedroom until middle age is a good idea, then that’s certainly their right.
But many parents are not happy about their adult children still living in their home. What they thought was short term and helping their offspring get on their feet, turned into a boomerang “kid” that settles in indefinitely, shows no sign of going anywhere and uses the economy as an excuse to stay.
Time and again Mom and Dad hear their boomerang baby say, “I’ll move out as soon as I find a job, but there aren’t any.”
We are not trying to push the notion that it’s not tough out there. We know it is. Having recently sent three newly-minted adults out into the world we have first-hand experience of how the recession has affected recent graduates.
Our youngest, The Boy, just graduated in one of our most economically-strapped states. He scrounged for several months to find anything that paid during his sophomore year in 2009, in the depths of the recession. He found a job delivering pizza, which he still has, along with three others.
Two of those are in his chosen field, but they are entry level and part-time. He’ll have to work his way up. Imagine that, not starting at the top.
So The Boomerang might have to take whatever job he can find, and maybe more than one. Then when he starts earning some money he will move out, right?
One would think so, but maybe not.
We first heard about the boomerang phenomenon when our oldest, The Piglet, was about to graduate, which was years before this current economic crisis, and she explained that many of her friends were moving back home because they couldn’t afford a place as nice as their parent’s house.
What? They’re not supposed to!
Parents, ask yourselves: Where did you live when you were first starting out?
Generally not the Taj Mahal. Our first place was a one-bedroom converted screened-in porch that had all the weather-proofing of the average wiffle ball. It was a veritable private zoo of urban vermin. And we were thrilled to have it, proud and happy to be self-sufficient.
It was also a great incentive to work hard enough to afford a better place. Should we deny this generation that opportunity for growth?
So The Boomerang might not get to live in the manner in which he has become accustomed, the style that his parents worked decades to attain. But he may become responsible, take care of himself, learn some valuable life lessons and even feel some pride in his accomplishments.
Not a process that is likely to take place in the old childhood bedroom.
It may not be easy, life often isn’t, but it most certainly is possible, even in this economy. We’ve found that most of the time the kids who don’t want to live at home, aren’t living at home. They find a way to make it, struggle, work really hard, find a roommate or three and start building their own lives.
You want the boomerang “kid” out of the house? You’ll probably have to give him a push.
The phrase border town will not usually conjure up an image of anything remotely resembling the two Sault Sainte Maries (the Sault portion is pronounced Soo) that lie across from each other where Michigan’s Upper Peninsula meets Ontario.There is a distinct lack of cacti, dust and adobe, but that’s not to say there isn’t plenty to provide for a different type of…CONTINUE READING >>
The phrase border town will not usually conjure up an image of anything remotely resembling the two Sault Sainte Maries (the Sault portion is pronounced Soo) that lie across from each other where Michigan‘s Upper Peninsula meets Ontario.
There is a distinct lack of cacti, dust and adobe, but that’s not to say there isn’t plenty to provide for a different type of fiesta.
The spot has been inhabited since 1668 when French Jesuit missionaries named it Sault Sainte Marie, from the archaic French word sault, meaning tumble or jump, as in somersault, and refers to the rapids of The St. Marys River.
Soon after it became an important outpost for fur traders.
We first passed through on our way up to our northern neighbor, but on our way back down we really got to absorb the personality of these twin towns.
The Canadian sibling is the larger, but to us, the less intriguing of the two.
We aren’t trying to be negative, it is a lovely, clean, and even sometimes quirky city of 75,000.
Very bike friendly, so we rode all through the outskirts, spotting this disturbing cow pile sculpture at a dairy, and then pedalled our way downtown.
The heart of the city has a feel a bit like a college town, which in a way it is.
Over ten thousand students attend Algoma University and Sault College.
But it didn’t sport any of campy nostalgic atmosphere we found south of the border.
The much smaller Michigan version of Sault Ste. Marie, around 16,000 people, has kept the feel from its tourist heyday of half a century ago, especially in the old area right across from the locks.
The Soo Locks connect Lake Superior with Lake Huron by bypassing the rapids that gave the towns their name.
When the giant freighters come through to be raised or lowered the twenty one feet of elevation that separates the two sides, it is without a doubt a spectacle worth seeing.
We happened to show up just in time to see the largest ship on The Great Lakes, The Paul R. Tregurtha, make its way through.
At over a thousand feet long and a hundred feet wide, The Paul barely fits into the largest of the four locks, The Poe Lock, with just ten feet to spare.
The system of locks has been making shipping between the lakes possible since 1855, constantly being upgraded and expanded.
Of the four that exist today, only two are used with any regularity.
Still, over 10,000 ships manage to pass through every year.
Watching these big boys squeeze into the locks has been a popular attraction since they were made, and accommodating the watchers gave birth to an interesting lock-side district.
We strolled across Portage Avenue and back in time.
The motels, restaurants and tourist traps looked like pictures from those postcards our parents used to send home from their road trip getaways.
Most managed to get the word lock into their name with varying degrees of cleverness.
Having a hankerin’ for some fish right out of the lake, we sauntered on in to Goetz’s Lockview Restaurant.
Lucky for us the food was much better than the originality of their name.
We opted for whitefish and walleye, both right out of the water and prepared one of six ways.
We could have gone with deep fried plain or Cajun, or grilled with lemon butter or Cajun spices, but since Louisiana is a long, long way away, we chose broiled and lightly pan fried.
This was not the first time the folks at The Lockview had served up a slab of fish, and it showed. Light, flaky, and all around delicious.
Walking it off after dinner, we took a pass on dessert at the Fudge du Locke, the name just wasn’t appetizing to us.
Maybe everything doesn’t sound better in French.
The next day we broke out the bikes and took a ride around the rest of the town.
After passing through a neighborhood of charming Victorian houses, we made our way to the outskirts to take in the scenery along the shoreline of the river.
For the folks living along the banks of The St. Marys, it’s all about the water.
Can’t say we blame them considering the Hamms beer sign like views we found everywhere we looked. It was enough to get us singing, “From the land of sky blue waters…” over and over again.
As we worked our way back into town we found that the river also provides a beautiful backdrop for watching the cargo carriers passing by.
Watching the ships seems to be the number one pastime in these parts, and one of the local’s favorite spots to do it is at The Antlers Restaurant.
Our timing was perfect, we were coming up on it right as we were feeling the need for bite to eat and perhaps a chilled beverage.
All that singing about sky blue waters had made us a more than a little thirsty.
The Antlers is a classic Northwoods watering hole, completely festooned with mounted heads and stuffed carcasses from floor to ceiling.
At first glance that seemed normal enough, a moose head (or a fake one according to Veronica), a whole deer, a large muskie, a buffalo, assorted wildcats… but on closer inspection we noticed that many of these creatures would never make their home anywhere near this place, some not even on this continent.
What’s that rhinoceros doing in here?…
Or a hammerhead shark…
Or a polar bear?
We kept our hands off the waitresses!
Well the story goes, or perhaps tall tale is a better description, thirsty backwoods types would periodically wander in and trade whatever they had for a few belts of the hard stuff.
Often that meant handing over their latest taxidermy-ed trophy.
A two-headed calf, what the…
However the menagerie was acquired, it is quite a collection and provided more than enough material to keep us entertained throughout dinner and a couple cold ones.
In fact, it was enough that we were talking about it for several days after the two Ste. Maries were long gone in our rearview mirror.
As GypsyNesters, our quest is to see the world and relate it to you in our own quirky way.
But why should we have all the fun?
To share the wealth, we asked the web’s best independent travel bloggers to send us their best WHAT THE ?!moments as a part of Travel Photo Roulette.
(Travel Photo Roulette may be followed on Twitter with the hashtag #PhotoRoulette)
We hit a gold mine of the craziest, funniest and just plain weird travel photos in the world!
Here’s what we asked for:
Everyone who travels has those WHAT THE ?! moments. It can be in nature, or the most unnatural of occurrences. Sometimes it’s as simple as a funny sign, a wacky name of a town, a weird food or an unfortunate piece of art. All nomads find themselves in cultural situations that can cause us to do a double-take, make us uncomfortable or feel completely out of our element. Moments like that are our favorites. Show us yours!
We’d like to thank everyone who submitted their amazing shots to Travel Photo Roulette. It was unbelievably difficult to chose a winner to host next week’s round on their website!
WHAT THE ?! – The Runners Up
Any one of these incredible photos could have been chosen as #1. We just have to say it again – WE HAD SUCH A HARD TIME CHOOSING!
Note: Photos are in no particular order
From Torre at Fearful Adventurer:On Koh Chang Thailand, at dusk every night, it is possible to spot homo sapiens in action. These mammals sprawl shoreside and pose for the camera in a peculiar mating ritual that scientists call “My Latest Facebook Photo.” If you get really lucky, you’ll get to spot an elusive threesome in which the male performs a thonged mating dance in front of two submissive females. (What the?!)
From Suzanne at Boomeresque:These were the “helpful” instructions we were given to enter the “onsen” (communal bath) at our hotel in Takamatsu, Japan.
From Melissa at Melissa To and Fro:While perusing a local market in Chiang Mai, Thailand, I stumbled upon this bizarre egg variation. Yuck!!
From Denise at The Art of Slow Travel: This is easy!!! My biggest what the??? moment while travelling was when I came across the ‘Grand Prix Priest’ in London
From Noah at Somewhere or Bust:I said “WHAT THE?!” when this kid passed by me on a beach in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. I chased after him for this photo.
From Dani at GlobetrotterGirls: Earlier this year we witnessed the incredible Thaipusam festival in Penang, Malaysia, in which the devotees carry out sacrificial acts, mainly mortification of flesh in various degrees… Seeing some of the devotees, all we could think was WHAT THE ?!
WHAT THE?! – The Winner
Congrats to Juno from Runaway Juno! Congratulations and we can’t wait to see what you choose as your theme next week!
From Juno at Runaway Juno:This was taken at Emeishan, Sichuan Province, China. A famous Buddhist mountain, a lot of people here to pray at the Golden Summit. It is 3099m, and seriously the mountain starts lower than 1000m. We walked to the top for two days, and we saw this guy on the way down. There are a group of people who are selling the service. This guy obviously hire these guys and ‘hike’ the mountain, wearing suit and texting. Amazing, huh?
WHAT THE ?! – Honorable Mentions
Note: These are in no particular order
From Shane at The Working Traveller:I’d long forgotten the real name of this temple in Malaysia, instead, somewhat disrespectfully, remembering it as the Nazi Buddha Turtle Temple. This photo partly suggests why:
From Gerard at GQ trippin: Blurry shot taken from Thailand’s Songkran celebration. Q shooting at the SWAT team? What the?!
From Adrian B. at Travel to Sun:The Merry Cemetery from Săpânţa (Maramureş County, Romania) is a unique place where colored funeral crosses carry cheerful lyrics and paintings inspired by memorable moments in the life of the deceased:
From Zara at Backpack ME: For all the traveling racists out there, beware that IN Thailand, the pick-pockets are NON THAI! That’s right.. the locals are aaaalways goodie, goodie!
From Clare at Earth Travel Unlimited: South Africa is a fabulous country and home to much quirkiness. Frequently, you’ll find entrepreneurs advertising their services (typically builders, painters, pest removal etc) via home-made signs fixed to lamp-posts, road signs etc. We’ve seen many hilarious signs, but this one certainly had us going “What the…???”.
From Kat at Travel With Kat:At a Jola Festval in The Gambia, men were striking themselves with knives, broken bottles and razor blades but not actually cutting themselves at all!
From Hannah at Love. Play. Work: ‘WHAT THE…’ was certainly the words coming out of my mouth, but also everyone in the boat watching me too! Big thanks to our Oregon home exchange neighbours for taking us out on the lake.
From Cam at Traveling Canucks: This street performer in Bernkastel-Kues, Germany had me saying “What the…?!”
From Jade at Our Oyster: While hitchhiking the North Island of New Zealand we got dropped off in a small town where the main roads fork. We were careful not to get too close to any of the resident rabies goats though!
From Raymond at Man On The Lam: This is from the Gopher Hole Museum in Torrington, Alberta, CANADA. Basically, it’s a museum filled with stuffed dead gophers. This one was my fave…
From Micki & Charles at The Barefoot Nomad:Our “What the ?” moment is from a highway on New Zealand’s South Island. The highway’s road/rail wooden bridge was barely wide enough for our tiny car. I can’t imagine how an entire train would fit. You can just see the yellow sign at the end indicating a sharp curve after the bridge, making it impossible to see oncoming cars or trains The worst part? We thought we could hear a train in the distance.
From Tash at jouljet:Whilst I was in Dominica, I was constantly surprised at the types of homemade rums they would make, but this selection takes the cake! Snake, grasshopper, centipede, snake fat??? What the??!!!???
From Ted at Traveling Ted: On the famous Nha Trang booze cruise tour in Vietnam, our hosts decided we needed more entertainment: as if snorkeling, volleyball, and a floating bar was not enough. They broke into song and this particular number was a cover of the Beatles Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da. The Beatles never toured for the White Album, but if they did I am sure John, Paul, George, and Ringo would have been adorned in a similar fashion.
From Natasha at World Wandering Kiwi: I enjoyed enthusiastic local hospitality many times when travelling in Central Asia but I’m sure this was the only day in my life when I had vodka with lunch, tea and supper. On this memorable evening in Tajikistan I struggled to keep up with the endless (unintelligible to me) toasts and when called upon to reciprocate, could only come up with inanities such as “Nova Zelandiya!” and “Nyet Taliban!” Perhaps ‘What the..!’ would have been more appropriate!
From Irina at Trips That Work: People in Toronto love dogs. Some of them love their dogs a little too much… what the???
From Lilliane at wanderlass: When i first arrived in S.A., i found the cholitas quite interesting. Eventually got used to them BUT nothing, NOTHING could prepare anyone for the Cholita Wrestling in Cuzco! waadaa?? hahaha
From Melissa at The MellyBoo Project: Taken during my stint volunteering at a lion conservation project in Zimbabwe. We were laying out the partially frozen offals (innards) out in the sun to defrost so that the lions in the breeding program could have their meal. I happened to find some x-rated cow/bull parts and felt this was necessary behaviour to be documented on camera!
From David at The Roaming Boomers: After a stunningly beautiful hike in Arizona’s Superstition Mountains, we noticed that one of our photographs contained a very mysterious watcher.
Perhaps it’s an ancient artifact guarding the Lost Dutchman’s mine!
Look closely on the hoodoo just left of center. See the face?
WHAT THE….!
From Jeremy at Living the Dream: We stopped at a small island in Halong Bay to play on the beach. Other travelers were there, and I couldn’t help but notice that this guy was in the most opposite extreme of beach clothes I’ve ever seen. Love it!
From Greg Goodman at Adventures of a GoodMan: I love India. It’s a magical country where every minute I’m out of my guesthouse, there’s something new and different to see.
Usually it makes sense, but I can’t come up with a single reason for this man to be watering a dirt patch on the side of the road in the Punjab countryside.
Is he trying to grow mud?
Simulating the rainy season?
Making a dirty slip and slide?
What the?! David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com
Late summer in Northern Ontario has weather that humans were meant to live in.
Warm, but not hot, during the days and cool, crisp nights. A perfect escape from the heat and humidity south of the border. Yes, that’s how Canadian’s refer to The United States.
Our mission north had a two-fold agenda, enjoy the climate, and finally find a… CONTINUE READING >>
Late summer in Northern Ontario has weather that humans were meant to live in.
Warm, but not hot, during the days and cool, crisp nights.
A perfect escape from the heat and humidity south of the border. Yes, that’s how Canadian’s refer to The United States.
“Moose” crossing
Our mission north had a two-fold agenda, enjoy the climate, and finally find a moose for Veronica.
So we set out with no particular itinerary other than that I was determined that we would not return to The States until I showed her a moose.
Crossing into Canada at Sault Ste. Marie, we headed east along the north shore of Lake Huron.
The Mining Monument at Elliot Lake
We pulled BAMF into several water-side, beautifully forested campsites on our way, places like Blind River, Elliot Lake, and Mississagi Provincial Park, but nary a sign of a moose.
We figured we should go farther north. Up where only the hardiest souls, and a whole lot of moose, live.
After a hundred miles without seeing another human being we reached the little crossroads of Chapleau.
We were glad to see some civilization, and it was about time to call it a day, but we had seen a sign for The Golden Route Lodge that advertised it as Pure Raw Canada, so we turned west and forged on a few more miles.
Camped right on the banks of Sideburned Lake, near the sign that announced we had crossed into The Arctic Ocean Watershed, we didn’t see anything that could dispute the claim of pureness and rawness.
Dinner of pork chops, hand cut on site, and veggies from the garden out back, plus a couple Molsen Canadians sealed the deal. So we asked about moose.
There was some hemming and hawing, excuses that Veronica calls moose-cuses, about how it might be too dry or the wrong time of year or whatever, but we were promised that we could see a fox in the morning.
Pure Raw Canada: “Moose” antler hockey stick rack.
We got up bright and early, and over breakfast got the full story.
Every morning at 9:30 a mama fox comes up to the door for a hand out to take back to her den. So we enjoyed yet another hearty home cooked meal and waited to see her.
The centerpiece of the meal was peameal. Let me just say that the Canadian Bacon those of us south of the border have been ordering on our pizza ain’t no Canadian Bacon, this is.
Made from the loin, it is very lean, cured pork rolled in cornmeal.
The name comes from the original practice of using dried, ground yellow peas, but if the substitution of corn harmed the flavor, we sure couldn’t tell. It may not have been raw, but it sure tasted like pure Canada.
Just as we were finishing up, right on schedule, we spied the fox. Granted it wasn’t a moose, still it was something to see this little vixen fending for her family.
As we continued down the road we began to see more and more of these strange stone figures along the highway.
Finally I decided to pull off and check one out up close. While the rock man was interesting, we were more enthralled by the large patch of wild blueberries we had stumbled upon. We ate till our mouths were blue.
Later, with some asking around, we got the story on the mystery men of stone.
They are called Inunnguaq, a type of Inukshuk that is shaped like a person.
An Inukshuk can be any type of rock marker that the Inuit people have used for centuries from Alaska to Greenland.
They serve as guideposts for travel, or mark spots for fishing, hunting, camping or storing food. Most, if not all, of the ones we saw had been built recently by travelers on this lonely stretch of road.
Lonely- that is until we reached the booming burg of Wawa. In these parts a gathering of nearly 3,000 people constitutes quite the metropolis, so Wawa serves as the hub of activity for miles around.
Originally a tiny outpost for fur traders, when gold was discovered in 1896 the town had a boom of growth, but now is best known for the small gaggle of giant geese that call it home. Three to be exact.
Three huge statues of Canadian honkers.
In fact, Wawa means wild goose in the Ojibway language, and that led to the monuments. Back in 1960 the town wanted to erect something to commemorate the completion of the Trans Canada Highway as it met up with highway 101 just outside of town.
What could be better than an enormous goose?
Ongoing upkeep of The Goose is funded by folks buying feathers.
The original was 27 feet high, 23 feet long, weighed 150,000 pounds, and made of chicken wire and plaster.
We’re not sure what they were thinking, because not surprisingly the first winter about ruined it.
Obviously some stronger materials were needed.
So the town raised some money and in 1963 a slightly bigger steel model took a stand at the highway junction.
The wounded original was stashed away out of the elements until 2000 when Mickey Clement refurbished it and found it a new perch at Young’s General Store.
Young’s is quite the attraction itself.
Antiques, curios and memorabilia are intermingled with all sorts of olde timey products throughout the store.
This makes for a way more than the average crap shop.
Perhaps the centerpiece is the giant pickle barrel by the front door. No way we could visit without fishing one of those babies out.
WATCH: Check out the pickle-mania at Young’s!
Harriet the Moose
On the porch Harriet the Moose stands at the ready for photo ops.
So we finally found a moose, but Veronica wasn’t willing to accept this as success since Harriet was no longer a living being, and therefore must be a fake.
We hung around Wawa for a couple of weeks, camping beside The Magpie River, because the area seemed so dad-blamed moosey.
We hiked and biked through the woods and found pastoral ponds and wondrous waterfalls, but not one sign of moose.
Several times we heard tell of sightings, or tracks spotted by the water, and were told to go out looking at sunset.
So every evening as sundown approached we’d mount up on our trusty bikes and ride out in search of the largest member of the deer family.
All we ever spotted were fish and fowl though.
Speaking of fowl, we don’t want to leave out the third and smallest of the Wawa geese at the Wawa Motor Inn.
It dates back to 1961 when the lodge was built and everyone in Wawa seemed to be in a goose frenzy.
Having gandered at plenty of geese, and still no live moose, we made our way south to Lake Superior Provincial Park. That sounded like the kind of place a moose might want to live to us.
What we found was more interesting than any Bullwinkle, amazing pictographs drawn by the Ojibway hundreds of years ago on Agawa Rock.
The rock is a sheer cliff right on the water so canoe is the ideal method of viewing, but the wind and waves would have none of that on our visit. Instead we walked out onto a narrow sliver of rock along the base of the cliff for a peek at the pictures.
Luckily the park has put some ropes and handles to grab hold of, otherwise the waves would have washed us out into the freezing depths of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee.
Even with the hand-holds we were soaked by crashing waves every few minutes, but the sight was worth the chilly dousings.
One set of drawings tells the story of a raid across the lake on The Iroquois, others acknowledge different clans, and some are tributes to important spirits.
We spotted another moose in one of the pictographs, but no way was Veronica going to count that.
Unfortunately, it was as close as we were going to get on this trip.
The time had come to admit defeat and start moving south before the weather turned. But only defeat for this one battle, not surrender to the forces of the moose-cuses.
No, we will live to fight another day in the struggle to spot a live moose.
The heart of the city has a feel a bit like a college town, which in a way it is.
