In the spring of 1639, three young nuns set sail from France, each carrying a hidden key in her habit. Upon landing in the new settlement of Quebec City, they would unseal three sturdy locks on a large wooden trunk that safeguarded all their worldly goods. It also contained something invaluable—a contract to found a monastery hospital, the first in North America outside Mexico.

Little did they realize that one of their future guests* would become Canada’s most notorious** hotel thief, taking three round canisters with them in their luggage after their visit.



*Me. This story is about me.





** The dozen or so people who know this story won’t stop teasing me about it.

The white container with jaunty red and blue stripes reminds me of a barber pole. The motto “It’s hygienic!” jumps off the cardboard but isn’t quite the reassurance I need to gulp the murky grey sludge within. I’m 23 years old and living in Malawi for the first time, where clean water is precious and pricey, while sorghum beer, like that found in the colourful container, is cheap and plentiful. It’s called Chibuku, which is indeed hygienic thanks to the industrial processing plants that create it across sub-Saharan Africa. It’s the undisputed regional favourite, and I want to try it, but I’m too scared. It doesn’t help that I’m not an adventurous drinker - nor that my colleagues joke that Chibuku ‘tastes the same going down as it does coming back up.’ Instead, I buy myself soft drinks. They, too, are hygienic, but they’re also safe, and something like shame gnaws in my stomach, telling me that I don’t have the real spirit of adventure running through my veins. When I return to Canada, a bit of regret follows me, certain that the opportunity to have a real travel exploit has passed me by, and I have only my fretful self to blame.

It takes 14 years, but Chibuku and I find each other again - and this time, it takes me by surprise. I’m in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, all grown up and with nothing to prove - nothing, that is, until I hear about a legendary local restaurant that offers a scrumptious buffet, complete with black, glistening, crunchy, fried mopane worms. Falling somewhere between an economical protein source in rural areas and a fun, salty snack in posh city bars, mopane worms are one of Zimbabwe’s most famous foods. The worm in question is actually a caterpillar, a deconstructed emperor moth, if you will. And its favourite food is the tender leaves of the mopane tree.

Once again, I find myself both greatly intrigued and rather terrified all at the same time.

As the owner of the world's oldest running cozy travel blog (I think!), no one has been more excited than me to welcome this summer's biggest trend: Demure.

What, exactly is demure? It would be easy to dismiss it as simply TikTok's trend of the month. Demure means being modest, mindful, and a little cutesy. Yes, this sounds pretty close to the classical definition of the word but for beauty influencer Jools Lebron, who put it into everyone's lexicon this month, demure is so much more. It's about being respectful but not trying too hard. It's about rejecting the messy world, subtly  protesting crassness and drama by sipping your drink with one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. And I predict that this is going to be much more than a social media trend. I think it's going to be an ongoing lifestyle movement akin to the Danish hygge (homey coziness) phenomenal, because demure folks have been waiting SO long for their moment to come in a world of excess.

Demure and travel go hand in hand. Staying in your seat until the aircraft has come to a complete stop at the gate? Demure. Kindly greeting your seatmate? Demure. Putting on your headphones, sipping your drink, and ignoring your seatmate? Also demure. Demure travellers are always polite with airport staff, never put their bare feet on someone else's seat, and pack carefully considered snacks without being too fussy about it. 

I wanted to have some fun with the idea of demure travel and talk about the best travel-inspired demure nail polish shades. Now, do I really know all that much about nail polish? Nope. Am I secretly hoping to ascend the ranks of beauty influencer? Definitely not. But your girl knows travel and is demure to the core. 

I chose OPI polish because A.) It has so many wonderful travel-inspired collections and B.) It's basically the only brand I know. Like I said: travel, not beauty, is my wheelhouse. Plus, the brand is so popular I know it will be easy for most readers to find. So mindful of me! Enjoy.

​I can’t tell you when Labrador first hit my travel radar. 

This rugged, remote Canadian region, a part of the province of Newfoundland and Labrador but physically connected to north-east Quebec, is not a spot for a wimpy traveller like me. Distances are far, amenities can be sparse, and the mosquitoes will strip you bare in seconds. Yet the place they call The Big Land has been calling for me for years. Labrador has topped my travel wish list since the beginning of the pandemic. When I had the opportunity to visit as part of the annual Travel Media Association of Canada conference, I knew I had to go.

I dearly wanted to make Labrador’s acquaintance, but it’s doubtful that the region wanted the likes of me. I have no good reason to be enamoured with small Labrador fishing communities like Red Bay and Battle Harbour. My aversion to boats is both legendary and well-founded. Similarly, I can’t tell you why stories from events such as Cain’s Quest, Labrador’s legendary annual 3,100-kilometre snowmobile endurance race capture my heart. I dislike cold weather, sporty things, and noisy fanfare. Frankly, even the process of getting to Labrador is determinedly very non-Vanessa-ish. I like cold foam on coffee, not ferry decks, thank you very much. So, sure, the villages are cute, and the events are spirited, but this is clearly the kind of place I should appreciate through a documentary and not my own Gravol-addled brain. 

Thankfully, my heart is immune to common sense.

My beaten, battered, dog-eared 2001 edition of Lonely Planet Malawi opens by describing how tourism brochures hype Malawi as “the warm heart of Africa” and, as much as they like to avoid generalizations, this seems particularly true as Malawians are among the friendliest people you’ll meet anywhere.

​It’s been 20-some years since that paragraph was written, but it still holds as true to me today as it did when I first read those words in 2004, and I was preparing to leave graduate school for an internship with the Malawi Department of Fisheries and the Canadian International Development Agency. I worked as a gender analyst, and my work took me throughout the country, from cities to tiny villages. Malawi’s warm heart made for an unforgettable experience. 

Malawi is a small country in southeast Africa. When I first applied for the internship that would take me there, I knew nothing about Malawi. In fact, I was all muddled between Maui, Mali, and Bali – and I wasn’t close to any of them! The country borders Tanzania, Zambia, and Mozambique. Visiting here is easier than you might think. It’s just a short flight from Nairobi to the north, Victoria Falls to the west, and Johannesburg to the south. 

While Malawi is admittedly not a destination for a classic “big 5” safari, the country has fantastic wildlife destinations plus many other experiences and attractions that should put it on any traveller’s bucket list.

​Here are some of my favourite must-do Malawi moments.

In years past, Pittsburgh was known as “the Steel City” – thanks to its 300-plus steel-related business – and the city was associated with industry, building, and growth for decades. However, it’s also known as the “City of Bridges,” thanks to its 446 bridges and today Pittsburgh is just as famous for its food and art scene as its aluminium manufacturing and corporate headquarters. Pittsburgh is laid-back, friendly, down-to-earth, and eager to welcome visitors. Sounds like the perfect formula for a romantic weekend to me! Here are 12 things to do in Pittsburgh for couples.

Maud Lewis was born Maud Dowley in 1903 in the southern Nova Scotia community of Yarmouth. By her death in 1970, she was recognized as a leading Canadian folk artist. Yet the woman who would become Nova Scotia’s treasure spent her life undervalued. If you love paintings by Maud Lewis, you will appreciate her talents even more after learning about her life and visiting the places in Nova Scotia that showcase her gifts.

In the most barren of circumstances, Maud created art – spectacular art. Her adulthood was a story of poverty, crippling and terrifying, and far from the romanticised austerity that sometimes creeps into her present-day narrative. Living with what we now recognize as degenerative juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, Maud bore constant pain. Married life in Digby brought a meagre house and a worse husband. Only a few neighbours offered comfort through hot meals, hot baths, and furtive visits. 

Defying her circumstances, she generated one of the most impressive yields of any artist. She painted shutters, baking pans, and scallop shells, along with nearly every surface of her diminutive house. She sold thousands of paintings depicting rural life, including oxen teams with gilded yokes and fluffy farm cats with wary eyes, often for just a dollar or two from her perch by the side of the road, a ploy devised by her husband to exploit sympathies and coax sales. 

Maud is often remembered as childlike with her petite stature and shy smile. But she was a gritty survivor, canny enough to turn her talents into a livelihood, carving a space for herself in an inhospitable world. 

I grew up in Nova Scotia, and I can’t remember a time when paintings by Maud Lewis weren’t a part of my life. As such, I’ve come to love these tourist attractions dedicated to her. Visiting them should be on any art lover’s travel list.