The first time I saw a Norwegian fjord it took my breath away. Having grown up in Johannesburg, a large urban sprawl surrounded by abandoned mines, the experience of standing before epic snow-capped mountains, covered in forest and carved by crystal waters, held me awestruck. It was early days in my travels around the world, but I decided then and there that nowhere on this planet could possibly compete in terms of natural beauty. Yep, Norway, the most beautiful country in the world! A few weeks later I landed in Vancouver as a landed immigrant, having never stepped foot in Canada before. I got off the plane, was picked up by some friends, and taken on a drive toward Whistler. And wouldn’t you know it, the view was identical to Norway.
This year, I will reach my century milestone. I will have travelled to 100 countries across six continents. Ten years since that day in Kitsalano, I have become a true Canuck. On travels from Vancouver Island to Halifax, I have learned to appreciate hockey, poutine , beaver tails, and the sheer expanse of the world’s second largest country. I am on my third Canadian passport (my South African passport, and nationality, long since expired). Like so many immigrants, I came here to find a better life, and like so many immigrants, I have found it in spades. There is however some irony in the fact that somehow I became a travel writer and travel TV host. I am one of the very lucky and very few Canadians who get paid to see the world, represent the country to the thousands of people I meet (many of whom, fortunately, do not get confused by my hybrid accent), and share my experiences with readers and viewers back home. And here’s the thing: Just like the fjords of Norway matching the fjords of British Columbia, the more I travel, the more I see Canada.
Take Sydney. The view of Circular Quay or King’s Wharf looks like any other Canadian city, only the weather is better, the people call you “mate," and the dollar exchange rate is kinder. England’s Cornwall and the Irish coastline share a similar landscape, and spirited personality, to Newfoundland. I spent 11 days on a train crossing Siberia, and as I stared out the window, my immediate impression was I had landed in the prairies. 5000 miles of rolling farmland will do that. In Sweden, I spent a week in the interior, taking refuge from the bloodsucking black flies and clouds of mosquitoes in a rustic, and electricity-free log cabin.
