After several weeks at home in Canmore—working long days, getting minimal exercise, chafed by the reality that little hiking is available in the Canadian Rockies until June—we felt strange, unsettled. The nomadic life is strong in us. So after taking care of essential business and stacking the rest onto our laptops, we migrated south. Early spring is ideal hiking time in southern Utah.

Leaving the icy mountains behind, we headed to the land of sun-pounded slickrock domes and sandy-floored, sinuous canyons. We traded a palette of grey and straw, for red, orange and yellow. We pitched our tent under grand cottonwoods, sat out late beneath the starry, cobalt sky, woke up to temperatures that invite hiking in shorts.

We hope you can take time this year to visit Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, or Zion national parks, or the vast, high-desert regions surrounding Moab, Torrey, Boulder, or Escalante. Bring our book Hiking from Here to WOW: Utah Canyon Country. It will ensure you make the most out of each day. You live in western Canada? A 20-hour drive is all that stands between you and another planet: southern Utah. If your home is in the northwest U.S., you’re close enough that four or five days is all you need for a quick but fulfilling canyon-country adventure.

While driving through the outskirts of Calgary, we passed a housing development with a huge sign: FINAL PHASE! Our interpretation was, yes, this is indeed the historic, final phase for these absurdly huge, utterly unsustainable, hilariously boxy, anti-architecture mansions. Even a dim awareness of reality (peak oil, climate change, global economic decline) is sufficient to recognize that these trophy homes are monuments to excess and will soon be unwanted embarrassments. Besides, homes and mortgages of that magnitude have always been anchors that severely curtail one’s independence. They represent the final phase of whatever liberty their owners previously enjoyed.

Continuing our drive south of Calgary, we saw other housing developments spilling across the prairie. All the homes are boxes. All are “detached” but none is more than a couple meters from the nearly identical box next door. All are drab shades of the drabbest colours: taupe and grey. We could not live there. Such pervasive monotony would quash our creativity. The comforts those boxes provide would not compensate us for the soul-deadening affects of uniformity, repetition, and predictability.

We’d rather be in a downtown Calgary condo, where we’d have the Bow River and several big parks nearby, and where we could participate in stimulating city life.

Approaching Lethbridge, we could see the weather was worse on the southern horizon. We stopped for gas and discovered the approaching snow storm had already knocked out the city’s electricity. Without electricity, gas pumps are inoperable. Plus the Coutts border crossing was closed, as was the highway in northern Montana. “Don’t try it,” someone told us. “Cars in the ditch everywhere.”

It seemed the snow had defeated us. Our four-hour drive south was wasted. We turned back north. But nomad determination kicked in. “I bet we can outflank this storm,” Kath said. “We’ll drive west over Crowsnest Pass into B.C., then probe south.”

It was longer by four hours, but it worked. It was a more interesting drive, too. And it allowed us to keep moving. That’s the nomad philosophy: Keep moving.

Resuming our anniversary tour (celebrating 20 years as Canadian citizens), we’ve spent the last several days in Quebec City, Ottawa, and Montreal. Here are a few observations:

Quebec City… The European charm seduced us, but it was quickly evident the old city comprises more tourist-oriented shops than authentic businesses serving locals. Compared to  Montreal’s Plateau Mont-Royal, old Quebec feels like shallow entertainment. We were also startled to discover that locals call Quebec City “the national capitol,” one of the city’s most impressive buildings is labeled “the National Assembly,” and not far away is a regional park that Quebecois call a “national park” and where we were told our Canadian National Park annual pass was invalid. So is Quebec a Canadian province, or not? We think all Canadian citizens should be deeply offended by this national posturing within Quebec. If Quebecois are that desirous of independence, let them have it.

Ottawa… We arrived here hoping the capitol of our adopted nation would impress us. It didn’t. As capitol cities go, it’s very modest. Parliament Hill and its immediate surroundings (the Chateau Laurier, the Rideau Canal, the Ottawa River, the Museum of Civilization) are beautiful. But the Parliament buildings are so slavishly imitative of British architecture, it’s rather embarrassing. Nothing original here? No innovative Canadian architecture? What a disappointment. And while touring Parliament, we were reminded that for any bill to become law in Canada, it must have “royal assent.” Come on, Canada, why do we continue to bow and scrape like this? Let’s have some self respect and sever these humiliating Commonwealth ties. What did impress us in Ottawa was the extensive network of bike paths. Bravo! We spent most of an entire day cycling throughout the city. The sight we found most engaging was John Félice Ceprano’s balanced-rock sculpture garden in (yes, in) the Ottawa River. We admired it for half an hour. While touring Ottawa, it was continually apparent that residents of our nation’s capitol are unhappy. Almost nobody smiles at, or even makes eye contact with, passing pedestrians. They all appear to be shouldering a weighty mental burden. What’s the explanation for this? In New York City, people recognize each other, often smile, and appear very content.

Montreal… A beautiful city, with many elegant, historic, stone buildings. The stately, leafy neighbourhoods of the Plateau Mont-Royal (north of Rue Roy, south of Ave Laurier, in the vicinity of Rue St. Denis, Ave Duluth, and Ave Laval) are a national treasure. Very European yet distinct. We walked here for hours. Not just on the more commercial Blvd St. Laurent (shops, boutiques, restaurants) but also through the residential enclaves, where three-story homes rich in character are squeezed together for block after block. We call this kind of walking “urban floating,” because we have no particular destination and we’re sauntering at about the pace of a float in a parade: allowing time to see, be seen, and interact with everybody and everything we pass. Urban floating in Montreal is a joy. The city oozes creativity and fashion. And the people who live here are obviously very social. Restaurants everywhere, and most of them full! If we were urbanites, this is the Canadian city we would call home. We especially appreciated how alive the city is at night. People are out, the sidewalks are buzzing, the shops are busy. It’s invigorating. What also astounded us about Montreal, however, is the high percentage of citizens who smoke cigarettes. Everywhere you look, you see people lighting up, puffing away, blowing smoke in your face, tossing butts in the street. It’s disgusting. Nowhere else in Canada have we seen such a high concentration of smokers. These people are apparently oblivious to the health risks of smoking and the unfair burden they’re placing on our healthcare system. Still, we loved Montreal.