Paris of the Prairies
After seven long years, we finally returned to London, and this time, our trip was nothing short of an adventure. The last time we visited, the girls were so young that they managed to sleep through the entire hop-on/hop-off bus tour, missing all the iconic sights London had to offer. Determined not to let history repeat itself, we made up for it in the most ambitious way possible: by walking 15 kilometers with friends—on the hottest day of the year, no less! We strolled past the majestic Crown Jewels, marveled at Big Ben’s grandeur, and took in the beauty of Tower Bridge, soaking up London’s rich history along the way. The city, alive with energy and culture, didn’t miss a beat in captivating us once again.
But beyond the landmarks, what made our return truly special was reconnecting with our family and friends. Their warm hospitality wrapped us in comfort amidst the bustling streets of London, though we couldn’t help but feel a bit of culture shock from the sheer volume of people and the relentless pace of city life. For the girls, especially, who had spent the last few months wandering the globe at a slower pace, London’s fast-moving crowds and constant activity were a wake-up call. Still, there’s something magical about the city’s vibrant energy, and as we navigated the throngs of people and the hectic flow of traffic, we couldn’t help but fall in love with London all over.
Arriving in Canada from London felt surreal, like stepping into a postcard—one with perfect weather, coastal mountains topped with a sprinkle of snow, and the Pacific Ocean shimmering in the distance. Mount Baker, looking sharp and clear from across the US border, seemed like it was posing just for us. It had been a long journey over Iceland and the Arctic, but finally, we swooped down into Vancouver’s warm embrace. After ten hours in the air, we were completely jet-lagged.
We found a cozy spot for an afternoon nap as we waited for our flight to Saskatoon, which would bring us to family. Immigration was a breeze—too much of a breeze, actually. The officer scanned our passports and raised an eyebrow at how long we'd been away, but instead of the in-depth interrogation Kasia was hoping for, we got waved through with a brisk "Welcome home." Kasia was crushed; she’d been mentally preparing a TED Talk on our half-year of adventures.
The flight from Vancouver to Saskatoon was a complete blur. In fact, the only thing I remember is falling asleep as soon as the plane pulled away from the gate and waking up as we touched down. It was like teleportation, minus the cool sci-fi effects. Papa—aka Grandpa—was there to greet us with a grin that could’ve stretched across the prairies.
The first few days in Saskatchewan were, quite frankly, a bit of a haze. Days turned into nights, and nights into... well, more nights. For the first time in ages, we didn’t feel the urge to rush out and see everybody; we just stayed home, enjoying the company of family. The girls, however, were full of energy, regaling their grandparents and Aunt (who flew in from BC) with tales of our global adventures. Listening to them, I was amazed at how much they remembered—stories I’d completely forgotten, stories I wasn’t even sure happened. It’s like they’d been keeping their own secret travel diary, and it was way more entertaining than mine. Especially when those stories were accompanied by a slideshow of our six-month journey, courtesy of Grandma’s digital photo frame. Every picture sparked a memory, and every memory sparked a new round of storytelling. It was like a never-ending episode of "This Is Your Life."
Saskatchewan felt different this time. For starters, I wasn’t trying to juggle remote work and family time. This trip was all about play. And, like any self-respecting non-golfer who hadn’t swung a club in 30 years, I decided to take on the challenge of the driving range. Turns out, muscle memory is more like muscle amnesia. But, as the sweat poured down, I found myself enjoying it. So much so that I actually bought more balls to hit—because who needs pride when you’ve got persistence? Next thing I knew, I was playing nine holes with my father-in-law and sister-in-law, and loving it. Sure, I’ve got a long way to go before I’ll be competing in any PGA tournaments, but I couldn’t help but think of all the company golf events I’ve dodged over the years. Maybe I should’ve been out there hacking away all along.
Feeling emboldened by my newfound athletic prowess (or, at the very least, by my ability to not injure myself), I decided to go fishing. Now, fishing with the grandparents is an annual tradition, but it usually ends with me pulling up seaweed and declaring victory over underwater foliage. This time, though, was different. We headed to Crean Lake, a picture-perfect spot that looked like it belonged in a "Canada’s Top Lakes" calendar. And here’s the kicker: I actually caught my first fish!
Now, if you’ve never caught a fish before, there’s an unspoken protocol: put your beer down, reel it in, grab a net, and pray you don’t lose it. I wasn’t exactly smooth in my execution, but I pulled it off. When my first fish fish finally surfaced, my sister-in-law swooped in like a pro and unhooked it. But then came the part I wasn’t ready for—holding the thing. Everyone else handles their catch like they’re on the cover of Sport Fishing Magazine, but I, the city slicker, panicked. The minute I felt the fish’s teeth under its gills, I dropped it like it was made of lava. Chaos ensued. Blood was everywhere, and the white boat carpet will never be the same. Eventually, my sister-in-law handed me the fish for the obligatory photo, and I threw it back into the lake like I was disposing of evidence. I sat down, drained the last of my beer, and thought, "Well, I’m practically a fisher now."
Not wanting to stop there, I took the plunge—literally—into hot yoga with my mother-in-law. I was a little worried since I tend to sweat buckets even when I’m just blinking, but it turned out to be... dare I say it... enjoyable. I even went back for a second class. Stretching those travel-weary muscles felt like a reward for surviving all those flights. It was a new experience, one I never thought I’d try, but now I’m hooked. And hey, if the girls have to step out of their comfort zones, so do I.
Our trip to Saskatchewan was extra special this year. We joined our extended family for a touching ceremony to bury the ashes of the girls’ great-grandmother, GG as we affectionately called her, who lived a long and wonderful life. She had an incredible sense of humor and a zest for life that I’ve always admired. It was a beautiful weekend in southern Saskatchewan, spent with the extended family at our uncle’s lovely home and barn. Watching the girls run free with their cousins, climbing hay bales, and soaking in endless cuddles from their grandparents, I couldn’t help but appreciate the quiet beauty of this place. Saskatchewan, with its wide-open spaces and big-hearted people, truly is the Paris of the Prairies —though, let’s be real, Paris doesn’t have nearly as many mosquitos.
As we landed back in Toronto, Janice and I joked that we could’ve kept traveling, but the kids were having none of it. They were determined to make it back in time for the first day of school—especially Kasia, who was starting at a new one. It’s good to be home, though. We’ve missed our friends-turned-family and the comforting familiarity of our community. People have been hesitant to ask us about the trip, thinking we’d be tired of retelling the same stories. But how could we be? This trip wasn’t just a vacation; it was an experience we want to share with anyone willing to listen. After all, we’ve been on an incredible journey—and the best part? We’re still on it.
