It was an exercise in letting go, and it reminded me that traveling is more than just checking things off a list – it’s about laughing with strangers, finding new paths, and having a little faith it’ll all be worth it.
–Rachel Amico.
One of my biggest flaws, which must be very irritating to others, is my tendency to tell a long story to make a point, even when all my interlocutor wants is a short answer. I usually take the long and winding road to reach my conclusion. So, here I go again. Please be patient with me. Bon courage!
According to Oscar Wilde’s famous remark Life imitates Art, it appears that we have a propensity to mimic what is presented to us in the movies, television, internet, the printed press, and Art in general. The significant impact of the media on the way we think and behave is common knowledge and has been the subject of numerous studies. I suppose we engage in this imitation game because we are dissatisfied with reality as it is, and seek to transform it. The downside of this inclination is that when we are unable to change our circumstances, we create alternative realities, myths and legends, angels and demons—we believe in them and live our inadequate lives accordingly, disconnected from the true nature of our existence.
Believing in television dreams and alternative realities, however, will definitely put us on the path leading to disappointment. That’s precisely what I experience at the beginning of my trip every time I travel. Typically, after an overnight flight across the Atlantic Ocean, I land in the afternoon. Once I have checked into my hotel, I wander around the area. When this preliminary excursion is finished I invariably find myself saying, “Wow.” Yes, like that, without the exclamation mark; meaning that what I just saw was not what I was expecting; it was different from what I had seen in the travel guide books and TV documentaries. The following day though, I usually start exploring the place clinging to the hope that it will all be worth my while; and it always is. By the conclusion of my trip, I always feel that my time there has somehow enriched my life.
No, real life is not comparable to what we see in movies and sitcoms. No destination looks like those perfect postcards, with the possible exception of one location: the Canadian Rocky Mountains. Actually, no; even they are different. No travel guide, documentary, or postcard can capture their true essence. They are far more stunning, breathtaking, and magnificent than any representation.
We landed in Calgary, rented a car, and set out to explore the mountains, from Canmore to Hinton, with Banff, Lake Louise, and Jasper in between. Every site we visited— Johnston Canyon, Lake Louise, Lake Minnewanka, Moraine Lake, Mount Norquay, Stuart Canyon, Sulphur Mountain, Vermillion Lakes, Waterfowl Lake, Bow Lake, Peyto Lake, Parker Ridge, Athabasca Glacier, Howse Pass, Mistaya Canyon, Sunwapta Falls, Athabasca Falls, Whistler Mountain, Pyramid Mountain, Pyramid Lake, Maligne Canyon, Medicine Lake, and (which brings us to the title of this story) Maligne Lake—elicited from us an endless string of “Wows!!!” Yes, this time with an exclamation mark—actually three.
Whenever I mention my travel plans to friends and acquaintances, they usually respond with, "Have a great trip, enjoy yourself, and take many pictures." My friend Réal didn’t. “Je te souhaite des belles rencontres” he said. ." I found that to be the most lovely farewell wish I had ever received: "I hope you meet amazing people."
For two weeks, mountains, lakes, rivers, water falls, canyons, hiking trails, elks, marmots, chipmunks, mountain goats, long-horned sheep, bears, and many kinds of birds, were part of our daily life. And as if Réal’s words had been prophetic, we also met beautiful people on the road.
The little baby girl from Montreal at the Indian Restaurant in Jasper, who kept waving and smiling at me, and then said good-bye, when she and her parents were leaving the restaurant.
The young boy, around 13 who was hiking Maligne Canyon by himself. I was concerned for his safety, so I approached him to inquire about his family and why he was alone on the trail. He reassured me, saying his parents had given him permission to hike on his own and that they were waiting for him at the parking lot. Throughout the hike, I ran into him several times and would ask: “Is everything OK?” He would always respond, “Don’t worry, sir, I am fine.” I usually replied with a warning to “Be careful” as I continued on my path.
At Whistler Mountain we met Mike, a 68 year old man from Glasgow, Scotland. He was embarking on a solo journey around the globe in 60 days, all by himself. He had just come from New Zealand, and soon was going to Machu Pichu, Peru. We had a brief conversation, and before we said our goodbyes he snapped a group photo of us with his camera.
And, at last, there was the girl at Maligne Lake. As we were strolling along one side of the lake, a girl in a yellow rain coat with a hood, due to the rain, approached us and asked for some information. After we provided it, she turned and walked away in the opposite direction. She appeared to be hiking alone, and I thought she looked too young to be doing that. I mentioned to my friends that if she were my daughter I would be quite concerned. We continued our walk to the far side of the lake, and, to our surprise, we encountered her again, this time walking toward us. She didn’t say a word, but I was curious. “Isn’t that the same girl we just saw across the lake?” I asked my friends. “How did she get here?” “Did she walk on water?” “Did she fly over the lake?” “Does she have some sort of magical powers?” And we all burst into laughter.
One week later, while we were at the summit of Sulphur Mountain, I spotted a girl who looked like her, although this time she was not wearing the hood, and had her hair down. I pointed her out to my friends, but they didn’t think she looked like the girl from Maligne Lake. Nevertheless, I walked up to her and asked: “Were you at Maligne Lake, Wednesday last week?” As it turned out, it was indeed she, and she recognized us. Then she shared a bit about herself. Her name is Rachel; she had been driving alone from her hometown of Chicago, Illinois, exploring various American and Canadian National Parks. With medical school starting in September, she had decided to take a month-long trip before her classes began. I told her what we had said about her at Maligne Lake, which made her laugh. She said her mother worries just like I do and that she has to call her everyday to reassure her: “I am fine Mom, everything is going well; I haven’t been eaten by bears yet.”
I asked her whether being a young and attractive woman didn’t make her worried when travelling by herself. She replied that it didn’t; she believed that everyone visiting the Rockies was kind-hearted, arguing that someone who appreciates nature couldn’t be a bad person. We took pictures of one another, and before parting ways, I wished her a long, joyful life, and a successful medical career. I considered asking if she would be interested in keeping in touch and whether she would share her email address with us. I decided against it, thinking she might be uncomfortable giving her email address to three guys she had just met.
In the past, whenever the chance to travel alone came up, I often felt hesitant and even uneasy about it. I had travelled on my own several times before and experienced moments of loneliness. Now, on the contrary, when similar opportunities come my way, I think of Mike from Glasgow, and Rachel from Chicago (or should I say from Maligne Lake?), and I instantly feel a current of air lifting me up and propelling me forward. I feel motivated and eager to take on the adventure.
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2018
