Maybe the hardest thing to believe about Las Vegas is that exists at all. It’s the world’s largest oasis, set smack in the midddle of the Mojave Desert. The resort’s origins date back to 1946, when mobster Bugsy Siegel’s built Las Vegas’s first glitzy casino, the Flamingo, named, for his long-legged girlfriend, Virginia Hill. Modeled after the resort hotels in Miami, the Flamingo was what Siegel called a “carpet joint.” He didn’t live long enough to see the Flamingo flourish. After going $5 million over budget on construction, Siegel was murdered in 1947 by his East Coast financial partners. But the Flamingo gave Las Vegas exactly what it needed to become Nevada’s number one gambling destination–a luxurious hideaway where the high rollers could spend their money in style. The Flamingo, a riot of vibrating pink neon, still exists today, but Siegel wouldn’t recognize it, or anything else about the town.

In Siegel’s day, less than 9,000 people lived here. Today, with a population of two million, Las Vegas is the fastest-growing American metropolis. The city’s setting, in a desert basin rimmed by rust-coloured mountains, affords several spectacular nearby sightseeing options, including an array of national parks and Hoover Dam, Lake Mead and Red Rock Canyon. But the majority of the city’s 35 million annual tourists don’t come here seeking natural wonders, but rather those of the artificial kind, which are plentiful in a place that has been described as “A Disneyland for adults bad at math.” According to the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority, 87 percent of tourists will gamble during their stay, and although the LCVA doesn’t mention it, most of them will lose. Gambling revenues in Vegas in 2007 totalled more than $6 billion.

It’s no mystery why Vegas has never felt much need to diversify its economy beyond the tourism and gaming sector. Seventeen of the 20 biggest hotels in the world are found here, including the largest, the MGM Grand, which has more than 5,000 rooms and 12 theme restaurants. Unlike other cities, where hotels are built near the major attractions, in Vegas the hotels are the major attractions. Each megaresort boasts a crowd-attracting gimmick. The Mirage has a volcano that erupts nightly at 30-minute intervals, the Bellagio boasts a nine-acre lake and fountains that dance to classical music, Treasure Island stages an epic battle between pirate ships, Paris sports a replica of the Eiffel Tower, Luxor features a 10-storey tall Sphinx with laser-beam eyes and a full-scale reproduction of King Tut’s Tomb, while the Venetian has a network of canals, replete with crooning gondoliers.

I checked out virtually every major hotel on the Strip during my stay, but ended up playing most of my poker at the Imperial Place. Located across the street from Caesar’s Palace in the heart of the Strip, the Imperial Palace, or “the I.P.” as the locals call it, is an anomaly in Vegas, a worn relic where the fakery is completely see-through. Built in 1979 on a narrow parcel of land, the Imperial barely has space for a driveway, much less a volcano. Its lone sidewalk gimmick is a white, jump-suited Elvis impersonator—you pose with him in front of a giant slot machine, then collect your free photo inside the casino. For many years the Imperial was owned by Ralph Engelstad, the grandson of a Minnesota potato farmer, who made it big in real estate, earning his fortune in 1967, by selling 145 acres to Howard Hughes, who used it to build the North Las Vegas Airport. Under Engelstad’s command, the Imperial became known for room rates geared toward the middle class, celebrity impersonators and an antique-car collection considered the third-largest in the world. Included among the old Cadillacs, Duesenbergs, and cars of former U.S. presidents were a number of autos that once belonged to leaders of the Third Reich, including Adolph Hitler’s 1939 parade car and a Mercedes owned by Heinrich Himmler, the commander of the S.S.

Engelstad’s collection of Nazi memorabilia grew in the mid-1980’s, as he planned to accompany his cars with a public museum. The hotel’s collection, which became known as the “war room,” included Nazi knives, propaganda posters, uniforms and swastika banners. In late 1980s, Engelstad ran into trouble when local reporters revealed that he had held two private parties in the war room on April 20–Hitler’s birthday–in 1986 and 1988. The festivities featured “a cake decorated with a swastika, German food, and German marching music,” according to Jeff Burbank’s book License to Steal: Nevada’s Gaming Control System in the Megaresort Age, which devotes a chapter to Engelstad’s collection. As Burbank wrote: “Bartenders wore T-shirts bearing the words, ‘Adolph Hitler-European Tour 1939-45.’ A life-size portrait of Hitler with the inscription, ‘To Ralphie from Adolph, 1939,’ hung on the wall. Beside it was a second painting with a likeness of Engelstad in a Nazi uniform with the message ‘To Adolph from Ralphie.’”

Nevada Gaming Control Board agents found a plate used to print hundreds of bumper stickers with the message “Hitler was Right” that were sent out from the hotel. In the media frenzy that ensued, Engelstad released a statement saying, “I despise Hitler and everything he stood for.” He insisted the parties were “spoofs” designed to celebrate the purchase of several new additions to the hotel’s Third Reich collection. But the damage had been done. The board, citing harm to Nevada’s national image, fined Engelstad $1.5 million. After his death in 2002, the property was bought by Harrahs.

I knew nothing about Englestad when I was in Vegas, but his hotel definitely qualified as eccentric.  Although its pagoda towers suggested Japan, the indoor theme was closer to Hawaii with a Mai Tai lounge and a poolside luau buffet. Geographic consistency may not have been a priority, but organized lunacy appeared to be. The blackjack “dealertainers” were made up to resemble Bette Midler, Michael Jackson and Ray Charles, and were liable at a moment’s notice to break into song. The first time I strolled through they were dressed as the Blues Bothers with black fedoras and Ray-Bans. On the stage in the centre of the casino one of the dealers was doing a frenetic impression of John Belushi singing “Soul Man.”

I picked the Imperial after researching poker rooms online at www.allvegaspoker.com, where the various venues are rated according to such factors as ambience, quality of competition and the attractiveness of the cocktail waitresses. One review stated that the Imperial’s casino resembled ”the villains’ den in a Bruce Lee film,” a description that I found irresistible. By Vegas standards, the Imperial was actually quite low key. Its diversions don’t come close to matching the hubbub at the MGM Grand’s 23-table poker room, which is ringed by a bar with go-go dancers and a rock band, a sports book decked out like a NASA control centre, the Rainforest Cafe and a glass-enclosed lion habitat. All the tables at the I.P. feature low stakes Hold’em, which renders mirror shades and killer stares ridiculous and erases any chance of rubbing shoulders with Ben Affleck. What passed for extravagance was the complimentary tray of sandwiches and cookies they brought out every few hours. The room’s quirky, low-rent atmosphere was completed by the dealers, who although not official “dealertainers,” are no less distinctive, with the men resembling extras from the Sopranos and the women loudly cracking their gum and calling everyone, “Hon.”

My trip to the desert, much like the game of Texas Hold’em, was a series of revelations. Vegas, I learned, has the key to unlock our inner child. Virtually anything you want to do here is legit. Guilt and adult responsibility are suddenly swept away and you are free to indulge your vices. Want to eat chocolate cake at 3:00 a.m.? No one cares. Craving a lap dance at 2:00 in the afternoon? No problem. Want to gamble all night? Go right ahead. No one is going to judge you. It’s somehow reassuring to know that no matter what your particular kink is, there is someone else in the hotel, perhaps even in the next room, doing far worse things.  

Among its unique qualities, Las Vegas is one of those rare places with the power to banish time, and not simply by removing all the clocks from its casinos. The city encourages you to live in the moment and indulge in fantasy. Casino poker was mine, and the dream unfolded in style. I loved the disarming camaraderie I found among the players, the eccentric charm of the dealers and the hypnotic swirl and clatter of chips and cards. Even better, I won some money. Against all odds, alone in the weirdest city of them all, I felt right at home.

Photo Credits:

 #1: letstravelvacations.com

#2: engagementguide.wordpress.com

#3, 4: photobucket.com

Hollywood star power created Puerto Vallarata as a tourist destination. The transformation of the sleepy fishing village of 2,000 souls began on November 11, 1954, when Mexicana de Aviación airline inaugurated its Guadalajara-Puerto Vallarta flight. One of the first visitors was American movie director John Huston, who built a home here in the small cove of Las Caletas where he lived until his death. In 1963, when Huston was hired to direct the film version of Tennessee Williams’ play, The Night of the Iguana, he changed the story’s setting from Acapaulco to his adopted home. The famous cast, headed by Richard Burton, Deborah Kerr and Ava Gardner, and the exotic locale soon attracted a swarm of international media, especially after Elizabeth Taylor arrived to join Burton. Both married, the two created a major scandal with their illicit romance. In addition to generating reams of gossip, the media, and later, Huston’s film, showcased the primeval beauty of the place. From then on, Puerto Vallarta ceased to be a secret hideaway waiting to be discovered. Today, the resort is one of the world’s most visited beach destinations, attracting 2.5 million tourists each year.

In the latest issue of Westworld magazine, Vancouver journalist Jeff Topham writes about his recent visit to Puerto Vallarta, where he explored the resort’s historical underpinnings and its modern evolution as viewed from the perspective of an eco-conscious green theme. Topham sat down with me to answer some questions about his experiences there.

1. Was there anything that surprised you, or that you didn’t expect to see in Puerto Vallarta?  

Honestly, I was a bit stunned that the place was so beautiful–and that it actually felt like Mexico. I have to admit that prior to this trip, Puerto Vallarta meant big hotels, parasailing and bad sunburns. I would not have considered it a place for a cultural experience. But I was genuinely surprised to find otherwise.  

2. Puerto Vallarta makes a big deal about director John Huston and the American movie stars that originally put the town on the tourist map. Is there any of that old Puerto Vallarta left to see, or is it simply dusty nostalgia?

Actually, the authenticity and charm of the old town was also something that surprised me. I really arrived expecting just generic hotels and happy-hour bars, but the old part of Vallarta still has a very real feel. And if you go just a few miles north or south, life probably isn’t that much different from the way it was 40 years ago. It’s easy to see what Huston was drawn to.  

3. How did your experience of Puerto Vallarta differ on this excursion from your previous visit to the resort. When was that and was it a vacation? 

From what I can remember, I think it was a spring break trip when I was in university maybe a dozen years ago–which was obviously the source of some of my prejudices surrounding Vallarta. I sure didn’t recall all the high-end art galleries or five-star restaurants. And I didn’t do any Jell-O shots from a waitress’s navel this time around.

4. Did you get the feeling that ecotourism and going green is a major theme in Mexico, or is it merely a sideline aimed at the gringo tourist trade?  

I might not say ‘major theme,’ but you can definitely see it is becoming part of the local collective consciousness. I think even seeing basic stuff like the recycling of plastic water bottles is an indicator that there has been a genuine shift. Sure, there are definitely a lot of ecotourism operations where the eco stands far more for economy than ecology–there are a lot of 4×4s and big powerboats taking people to experience the “pristine nature”-–but I’m hopeful both travellers and tour operators will evolve.

5. What was your dominant impression of Sayulita, the beach town north of Puerto Vallarta? 

I’d hop a cheap flight to Puerto Vallarta and take the $2 bus ride for a surf weekend in Sayulita in a heartbeat. I think it would be about the same cost* and travel time as a Vancouver to Tofino trip–and the water is a little warmer… (*carbon offset credits not included).

6. The Hotelito Descondido, which is located south of Puerto Vallarta, sounds like a very interesting place. What sort of tourists does it attract? Was the hotel busy? Is there anything else you can relate about it that you didn’t include in your article? 

It really was beautiful–just so thoughtfully planned out. But really just so simple. I always find it amazing how much we will pay for simplicity. It’s not a big place, so even at full capacity I don’t think it would seem busy. Funny, but maybe not surprising, that the hotel guests I met there were Canadian, from Vancouver–from my neighbourhood.

7. How much courage does it take to ride the zipline through the jungle canopy with Vallarta Adventures? 

I think as long as you’re ok with heights, it’s actually not quite as extreme as you might think. It also depends on the quality of the tequila you were drinking the night before, and the magnitude of your hangover. (Don’t get me wrong, there’s still plenty of room for hedonism in Vallarta.)

8. On my last visit to Mexico I bought a piece of Huichol Indian art, just as you did on your trip to Vallarta. What it is about their art that appeals to you, and did you do any additional research on the Huichol?  

I’m going to go with the attention to detail. The effort the artists put into this work is staggering. There’s a lot of stuff that’s pumped out just for tourists, but ask around and you’ll quickly see the difference between the real artists and the manufacturers. I had planned on visiting a Huichol community to see where all the tourist money goes, but it didn’t pan out. One of the Huichol artists also offered to show me the artistic inspiration that peyote provides for them the next time I was there, but that would be a whole other trip.

Photo Credits:

 #1: z.about.com

#2: vallarta.blog.wexico.com

 #3: discoveryvallarta.com

Although there is no scientific basis for Moore’s claims of leech-assisted “blood detoxification,” that didn’t stop her from seeking out and spending a good deal of money on this unusual rejuvenation therapy. She is just one of a growing number of spa goers (most of them women), who have dispensed with the traditonal massage and manicures and are now pursuing increasingly bizarre health and beauty treatments. The novelty factor is clearly a major part of the appeal. But do any of these therapies actually work? I’ll let you be the judge.

Soothing Serpents
Israel’s contribution to the world of massage tourism is a spa called “Ada Barak’s Carnivorous Plant Farm.” Among the shadows of northern Israel’s famous orange groves, Barak has long opened her home to curious travellers to see her collection of carnivorous plants and other natural oddities. When snakes became part of the exhibition, she noticed the soothing effect they had on visitors–and the snake massage was born. For 300 shekels (US$70), the spa will treat clients to what it claims is a relaxing massage to cure aching muscles and joints using six non-venomous snakes. The larger reptiles are supposedly good for deep tissue massage, while their smaller counterparts are ideal for delicate areas such as the face. (Rats balanced on one’s feet during the massage are apparently optional).

Lotta Bull
Is your hair feeling limp and uninspired? If so, then maybe what you need is a trip to Hari’s Salon in London, England. The upmarket salon uses bull semen as a protein-rich hair treatment to nourish hair follicles and brighten and repair. The bull spunk is combined with Katera root, another protein powerhouse. The mixture is massaged into the client’s tresses after it has been shampooed. Then the customer is put under a steamer so the treatment penetrates to the roots. Finally, it is blow-dried. Salon owner Hari Salem claimed he had tried hundreds of products, including wild New Zealand avocados and truffle oil, before adopting his new conditioner. “I have been searching for an organic product with a lot of protein because that is what hair is made of and lacks when it is dry. All the best treatments are protein based. Synthetic treatments are good, but they are heavy if you have fine hair and can make it look greasy. In the end, the bull’s sperm was the winner,” he said, adding that the liquid is refrigerated before use and doesn’t smell. The treatment costs $125 and uses semen from Aberdeen Angus bulls.

Dung-Faced
At the Diamond Spa at the Diamond Hawaii Resort & Spa in Maui, spa-goers looking for a little face finessing can now turn to the complexion-healing power of nightingale dung. The skin is treated with coating of dehydrated droppings, a technique used for centuries by Japanese Kabuki actors and Geisha girls to remove heavy makeup while leaving their skin fresh and supple. Nightingale droppings are said to contain natural enzymes that act as exfoliants and skin brighteners, so what looks unsightly on the ground actually makes your face look great. “The reason this product may work is the high concentration of urea in the fecal-urine combination in bird feces,” says dermatopharmacologist Brian Keller. “Urine has a lot of urea in it and it has long been used as a skin-softening agent.” Also known as Geisha Facials, the cost of a single treatment ranges between $144 and $225.

“Beam Me Up Scotty”
The newest in weight-loss therapy is the Oxy-LED Spa Capsule, a machine that looks like it belongs on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. Acoording to the Med Spa Clinic in Tunbridge Wells, England, the capsule emits light in wavelengths ranging from 625 to 980 nm, that stimulate your body in such a way that you shed the pounds. It also will rejuvenate and relax you, reduce stress, increase circulation, detoxify your body, relieve pain and improve your sleep. This light therapy can be combined with other spa treatments, like the dry thermal heat and vibratory massages for even better effects. The company’s website mentions that the machine provides “intense physical stimulation,” which sounds suspiciously X-rated. A session will set you back anywhere from $130 to $200, depending upon whether you stay inside 30 or 100 minutes.

Electric Buns
Smooth Synergy Cosmedical Spa in New York City offers what it calls “the Fanny Facial.” The spa has skipped the face completely and headed directly south with a treatment that combines a body scrub, microcurrents to zap zits, and a sunless tanning application. The microcurrent therapy also helps reduce the appearance of cellulite and tones your backside. According to spa owner Nicole Contos, “The derriere is an area that is often neglected, but people are concerned about keeping it in shape and there aren’t many other spa treatments that pay attention to this area.”

Dr. Fish
Sticking your feet into a tub full of flesh-nibbling fish and calling it a pedicure is already de rigueur in several parts of Asia—but at the Sampuoton Spa in Selangor, Malaysia, the garra rufa (a small fish in the carp family that feeds on dead skin cells) is used for full-immersion purposes. The process is simple: you lounge in a heated pool for an hour while swarms of “nibble fish” snack away at rough spots and deep-clean your pores. While feeding, the fish also reportedly exude an enzyme that slows the return of skin problems like acne. The ticklish need not apply.

Midas Touch
They say that Cleopatra maintained her youth by wearing a face mask of pure gold to bed. Now in luxury-obsessed Japan, you too can gild your features and feel like a modern-day queen. This treatment, which was showcased at Beautyworld Japan 2007 by Umo Inc., is now available at some 30 salons and spas across Japan. In the 24-Karat Gold Facial, sheets of gold are applied directly to the skin. This metallic mask “hydrates, lifts and firms, fights free radicals, lightens and brightens and leaves a golden glow.” Gold leaf supposedly accelerates cell growth in the basal layer of the skin. “The effects of gold include anti-ageing. It can also remove wrinkles and blemishes that women often worry about,” said a UMO spokesperson. The price of one session, which lasts between one and two hours, runs around $300.

Yeast of Eden
“It was the dream of many men, to swim in beer, and now it’s a reality, says Mojmir Prokes, general manager of the Chodovar Beer Spa in the Czech Republic. Visitors are immersed in a hot bath of dark Czech lager and mineral water enriched with active beer yeast and dehydrated crushed herbs. The warm water opens pores providing skin with a “wide range of vitamins, proteins and saccharides” that soften and regenerate the skin. Prokes claims that “the mineral water is good for people with high blood pressure, and the hops in the beer are good for relaxing the body.” After a 20-minute soak, clients enjoy 25 minutes of bed rest, covered in a fleece quilt, and then 30 to 50 minutes of massage. One question remains unanswered though: Do you come home smelling like a bar?

Photo Credits:
#1: chinadaily.com
#2: daylife.com
#3: farm3.static.flickr.com
#4: trendhunter.com

We arrive in Whistler just in time to enjoy a fantastic lunch at the Four Seasons Hotel. From there we proceed to the Squamish-Lil’wat Cultural Centre, which opened in June 2008. The 30,400 square-foot complex is designed to evoke a traditional Squamish longhouse and a Lil’wat Istken (pit house), with pictograph-adorned boulders gracing the walkways along the approach to the carved cedar entry doors. Anchored by massive Douglas fir beams and columns, the glass-skinned exterior opens the building to the surrounding mountain scenery. The entrance and the axis of the building align with the celestial points of the compass, as is traditional in First Nations cultures. When the site was under construction, a mother bear and her cub wandered through the building, which was interpreted as an auspicious omen.

The $30-million structure is the product of a collaborative effort between the Lil’wat and Squamish First Nation, who signed a Protocol Agreement in 2001, the only one of its kind in Canada. The agreement affirms the Nations’ shared heritage and commits them to identify issues of mutual concern, explore economic opportunities and consider shared jurisdiction and co-management. Oral histories of the Squamish and Lil’wat people of southwest B.C., dating back several millenia, tell of their relationship to the land as well their connection to each other. In fact, they were so interconnected that they once shared a village named Spo7ez (SPO-ez), at the base of Garibaldi Mountain about 16 kilometres south of Whistler. Trade, social events and intermarriage formed the basis of their peaceful coexistence. Unfortunately, the village was buried by a rockslide resulting from a volcanic eruption or earthquake thousands of years ago.

The building showcases the cultures of the two tribes–dance masks, woven cedar baskets, Salish blankets, dug-out canoes, carved spinning whorls and ceremonial headdresses are just some of the treasures on display. The woolen blankets are especially impressive. Each one is hand woven with each inch representing over one thousand lovingly executed hand movements. For the cultural-centre project, 10 Squamish Nation weavers were specially chosen to design and create 10 monumental and distinctly different weavings. The techniques used for these weavings were based on those of the blankets worn by a delegation of B.C. chiefs during their trip to London to discuss land issues with King Edward VII in 1906. Equally striking are the wooden Salish canoes, including one which hangs suspended from the soaring ceiling of the Great Hall. The largest, measuring 18 metres in length, was carved from a single cedar tree by master carver Ray Natrall, who spent years researching historical records and seeking advice from the elders in order to revive the unique Squamish style of carving. According to tradition, it must be removed from exhibition each year and taken on a journey in the ocean to honour the spirit of the canoe.

Somewhat surprisingly, Nancy Nightingale, the cultural centre’s gift shop manager, tells me that the classy facility has not yet been discovered by too many of Whistler’s tourists. I sense that this situation will not last long. Our trip through the interior of B.C. has vividly demonstrated to me how many different and fascinating types of aboriginal cultural experiences are out there waiting to be discovered. Although this sector of the provincial tourism industry may still be in its infancy, all the indications suggest it is going to grow up to be a muscular force. As the saying goes, “the Natives are restless.”

Photo Credits:

#1, 2, 3, 4: Kerry Banks

At Hat Creek Ranch we swing west on Highway 99 and motor through Marble Canyon, which is famed for its pastel-coloured limestone walls. Within the canyon there are a series of lakes that drain down toward the Fraser River. The largest of these is Pavilion Lake, which is home to a large colony of microbialities, unusual and ancient carbonate structures built by bacteria that resemble freshwater coral. These strange formations, which were discovered by recreational divers in 1997, have recently become the subject of astrobiology research by scientists who believe they may help them answer questions about how early life took hold and began to flourish on Earth.

Pavilion Lake is considered a “spiritual place” by the Tskwaylaxw people of Pavilion. Overlooking the scenic lake is an eroded limestone pinnacle called Chimney Rock that they believe is a “Transformer Stone,” created by the actions of the “Transformers,” a group of supernatural beings who travelled around the country putting things right by changing things into stone. The Tskwaylaxw call the formation “K’lpalekw,” which means “Coyote’s Penis” in the Shuswap language.

We roll into Lillooet around noon. Originally known as Cayoosh Flat after the cayuse ponies that once grazed the area, Lillooet boomed into existence in 1958 with the dawn of the gold rush. Designated Mile 0 on the original Cariboo Wagon Trail that led to the goldfields, the frontier outpost became a buzzing hub of activity. By 1860, Lillooet had 13 saloons and a population of 16,000, which made it the largest city west of Chicago, with the exception of San Francisco. Lillooet’s dusty main street, lined with Wild West-style buildings, hitching posts outside the saloons and drygoods stores and saddleries, became known as “the Golden Mile.” However, only a few years later when the main Cariboo Road was completed and bypassed Lillooet, the town faded in importance.

In Lillooet, we are welcomed by representatives from the St’at’mic First Nations at the St’at’mic tribal offices. They have lunch waiting for us inside their recently completed replica pit house. It’s a striking building, the largest and most beautifully constructed one that we have seen our tour. In olden times, 25 to 30 people would live in these structures during the winter months. Lit by soft sunlight seeping in through the pit house’s roof opening, we dig into a meal of smoked sockeye salmon, salmon and vegetable pate, salad and soap berry juice. Dessert is a cake made with Saskatoon berries and huckleberries. Band member Erin Leech gives us a talk about her people and regales with a song. She also poses for photos wearing a bear head and hide used in traditional St’at’mic dance performances. 

Later in the day, we visit a salmon channel created by the band to give the fish a safe pace to spawn. The congregation of salmon often attracts hungry bears, which they have to drive off by banging pots and pans. Walking along the trail we spot fresh bear scat, and someone suggests it might be time to leave. As we are about to depart, Leonard impulsively puts his CD of Metis fiddling music on at full blast, gets out of the van and starts dancing a jig with a big grin on his face. Amy and Dannielle try to follow the steps, but it’s not as easy as Leonard makes it look.

We then drive north of town to view the largest late 20th-century Native fishery on the Fraser River. Every summer, hundreds of Native people gather here at the confluence of the Bridge and Fraser Rivers to dip-net sockeye salmon from the turbulent waters. The fish are filleted and hung on covered racks to dry in the warm canyon winds. This rock shelf, known in gold rush times as the Lower Fountain, was reputedly made by the trickster Coyote, leaping back and forth across the river to create platforms for people to catch and dry fish on. 

Considered to be one of the oldest continuously-inhabited locations on the continent, the area is reckoned by archaeologists to have been inhabited for several thousand years. As we stand on a cliff high above the chasm, watching the fishermen and admiring the pictographs painted on the rocks, Elaine James of St’at’mic Cultural Adventures demonstrates how the salmon is filleted and cut with hatched marks before being hung up to dry. She says that during the summer families can catch and dry enough salmon to last them all winter. As she finishes, we spot a black bear prowling along the other side of the river. For Shilong, Zoe and Amy, it is cause for major excitement. It is the first bear they have seen in the wild.

We arrive back in Lillooet in late afternoon to check into our lodging for the night–the Retasket Lodge and RV Park. After unpacking, I stroll outside and take a few pictures of the motel sign, a lonely urban beacon set against the brooding backdrop of the mountains. Night falls quickly. The next morning they tell me that there was a wild party next door in the adjoining RV Park. “It sounded like someone was getting murdered over there,” says Leonard. I guess I’m a heavy sleeper. I didn’t hear a thing.

(To be continued …)

Photo Credits:

#1, 3, 4, 5: Kerry Banks

#2: dailygalaxy.com

Westworld writer Daniel Wood travels to Rapa Nui, also known as Easter Island.

In this episode he learns more about the civilization that created the monumental statues called moai and chats with local tour guide Josephina Malloy about the rise and fall of the Rapa Nui people.

The Xats’ull (pronounced hats’ull) First Nations community is known to non-Native society as the Soda Creek Band. Xats’ull translates as “on the cliff”. The Xats’ull are part of the Secwepemc Nation, and Soda Creek is the northern-most Secwepemc (translated into English as “Shuswap”) Band. The Xats’ull people have occupied the benchlands north of Williams Lake, high above the Fraser River, for some 5,000 years. At one time, several thousand lived in the area, but a smallpox epidemic decimated the population. Today, there are only 350 left in the community.

This heritage village is not a luxury destination. There are showers and indoor bathrooms, but visitors sleep on hardboard floors inside tepees, and socialize and eat around a campfire. However, everything about the place, aside from the tepees, is authentic. The tepees, which were imported from Alberta and erected by a Piegan medicine man, are a concession to the expectations of German visitors, who make up a large segment of the village’s clientelle. Germans have a deep fascination with the North American Wild West and aboriginal people. The seeds of this interest date back to the late 1800s and a German author named Karl May (pronounced “my”). May wrote more than 60 books but his most successful and beloved characters were Old Shatterhand, a German immigrant trapper and his blood-brother Winnetou, noblest of all the Indian warriors. Initially aimed at a juvenile market, May’s romantic yarns began appearing in print in the late 1870s. He was quickly adopted by a wider reading public and became more famous throughout Europe than any other writer on the subject, including American authors.

Ironically, May never set foot upon the American plains and largely researched his subject in German prison libraries while serving time for, among other things, fraud and impersonating a police officer. Despite being peppered with historical inaccuracies, May’s stories continue to be immensely popular. His works have sold more than 100 million copies worldwide, far more than any other German author, and his fans have included the likes of Albert Einstein, Albert Schweitzer, and even Adolph Hitler.

“When we started this project in 1993, the band didn’t want to do it,” recalls tribal elder Ralph Phillips. “They said, ‘We’re selling our culture.’ ‘I said, what culture? We don’t have any culture left.’” Phillips, a lanky, grey-haired character with a wicked sense of humour and a cackling laugh, conducts the camp’s sweat lodges. Phillips says there are several types of sweat lodges: regular, medicine, healing and warriors’. A warrior’s sweat–used when men go into battle or before a hunting expedition or a long journey–is the strongest. “There are 28 rocks in a regular sweat; 48 in a warrior’s sweat. Each round lasts one hour, and there are four rounds. Between rounds, the men will come outside and drink a cup of juniper tea.”

Traditions regarding sweat lodges vary among different tribes, says Phillips. “Some allow women, some don’t. In some you have to be clothed. In others you can be nude.” The mention of nudity causes Phillips to launch into a story. “We had a lot of guests and I’d been running sweat lodges all day. I said, ‘This is the last one I’m doing.’ There was a large Dutch woman sitting there with a towel wrapped around her, and she announces, ‘Well, I’m going in this one.’ She stood up and dropped the blanket and she was buck naked. All this flesh jiggling around,” says Phillips, grabbing his heart in mock horror. “There was a bunch of Korean students on a bus trip standing there and their eyes were bulging out of their heads. I said, ‘Woman put that towel back on!’ Those Dutch people have some different ideas about nudity.”    

Later in the day, George Keener leads us down to the river for a demonstration of dip-net fishing. With his fair complexion, blue eyes and battered ball cap, Keener may not look like an aboriginal, but he is the genuine article. The product of a broken home, he was raised by the tribal elders, who passed on a wealth of traditional knowledge. Simply walking through the forest with Keener is an education. Lighting up another of his ever-present cigarettes, he points out a red Oregon berry. It’s used for a wine-coloured dye on buckskin and to make a tea that stops bleeding in women. Farther on, he shows us a choke cherry–the juice is used as a tonic for cleansing the system and its seeds are used to make beads. He grabs hold of a Balsam fir. “You can make an antiseptic from the blisters of the tree.” He opens up one of the blisters and squeezes out a milky sap. “If you put a bit on your tongue it will go numb.”

Farther down the trail he points to a hillock in the bush. “There’s a gravesite here,” he says. “We traditionally buried our people sitting up facing the east, but the priests told us this was sacrilege. They made us bury our dead lying down.” Keener claims that the entire area is rife with ancient artifacts and calls it “the richest archaeological site in B.C.” He estimates that there are about a thousand gravesites in a nearby stand of poplars. “There were 300 to 500 cache pits on the ridges above the river; places where my ancestors stored dried meat, berries and fish.” As we imagine the scene as it used to be, a pair of bald eagles soar past overhead and Keener calls out to them, “Hello grandfather! Hello grandmother!”  

There is a lot of wildife in the area, including black bears, whose grunting and snuffling sounds Keener sometimes imitates near the tents at night to give the tourists a thrill. One bear became a pet. “I called him Buddy,” says Keener. “He came by as a yearling and returned every year for six years. I remember when I was building a sweat lodge, he sat and watched me from a few feet away.” Other bears are not so genial, like the stubborn, young black bear that showed up when was taking a British tour group down to the camp. ”He was on the trail and wouldn’t let us past. He wanted a fight.” Keener got out of the truck and held his black jacket up over his head to make himself look as large as possible, then shouted and growled and charged the bear. The beast turned and fled. “The sweat was just streaming off of me,” recalls Keener. “My legs were shaking so badly I could hardly stand up. But when I turned around these English tourists had their video cameras out and were shooting the whole thing. They started applauding. They thought it was all just part of the show.”  

That evening some of us accompany Phillips into the sweat lodge. Back at the campsite, a woman arrives selling handmade dreamcatchers and Native youths pass through on their way to the river. They are going to fish off the rocks with dip-nets and flashlights. Considering the power of the current, this sounds like a dicey undertaking. A few hours later, after our salmon feast and another round of stories, we retire to our tepees. Nora freaks out when a mouse runs across her sleeping bag and opts to change tepees. There are no mice in mine, but I have to contend with a more daunting obstacle–Leonard’s wheezy snoring. I awaken the next day with a sore back, but the morning sun and the arrival of Ralph Phillips and his wife Winnie with a hot breakfast, soon chases the stiffness away. As we begin to pack up our gear, I take a last look down into the gorge at the raging river. I wish we had more time to spend here. It has been a unique experience. 

(To be continued …) 

Photo Credits:

#1, 3, 4: Kerry Banks

#2: aboriginalbc.com 

Our destination is Xats’ull Heritage Village, a couple of hours drive to the north. Heading up Highway 97, we pass through Clinton, formerly known as 47 Mile House. The Cariboo truly begins here at the junction of the Cariboo Wagon Road and the original Gold Rush Trail. Clinton was an important town during the Gold Rush era, but it can’t make that claim any longer. Even so, it bills itself as “the Guest Ranch Capital of North America,” a grandiose title for a place with a population of 740. However, the village does have several unique attractions. Each year since 1868, it has hosted the Clinton May Ball, the longest running event of its kind in North America. The first Ball was the idea of Mary Smith, co-owner of the old Clinton Hotel, the finest hotel on the Cariboo Road. Guests came by invitation on horse-drawn equipment from as far away as San Francisco and Chicago. The event lasted for days as guests dressed in elegant imported fashions dined and danced in beautifully decorated halls. They say that people still come from far away to attend. This year’s musical entertainment will be provided by a band called The Evergreen Drifters.

Clinton also plays host to the annual Clinton War, a week-long event staged by the Society for Creative Anachronism, a group devoted to the recreation of the Middle Ages “as they ought to have been.” This full-costume festival and war attracts anywhere from 2,000 to 4,000 people, mostly Society members from western Canada. Another Clinton curiosity is a brick museum that once served as the courthouse for Chief Justice Mathew Baillie Begbie, the famous “Hanging Judge.” At six-foot four, with a black, waxed moustache and a white beard, Begbie was an imposing figure. But historians say he did not deserve his nickname, which was applied to him after death. He was lenient and fair and sent fewer criminals to the gallows than his contemporaries did. Only 27 of the 52 murder cases he heard in the history of the colony ended in hangings—and hanging was the punishment required by law for the crime of murder at that time. Begbie was a man of culture, an artist who drew sketches of the witnesses in his courtroom and an opera singer who gave concerts in Victoria. He was also a linguist who heard cases in the Shuswap and Chilcotin languages without needing an interpreter. How then to explain his menacing nickname? It may have been simply due to a confusion of words. The Barkerville Gazette once dubbed him the “Haranguing Judge” because he regularly lectured prisoners in the dock.

History buffs will find plenty to occupy their imaginations on Highway 97. Our immediate concern, however, is caffeine. A good cup of coffee is sometimes hard to find. Racelle and Nora are desperate for “Cowboy Coffee”–not the campfire version, but the Guatemalan brew made by a North Vancouver company called Bean Around the World. But since we can’t find one of their outlets, we pull into Tim Horton’s in 100 Mile House. The joint is jammed. In fact the line extends back to the doors. I pass two disappointed female customers, who are leaving, having decided the wait is not worth it. “Well, we could go the Chatreuse Moose,” says one.

Like Clinton, 100 Mile House has invented a big title for itself: “The Handcrafted Log Capital of North America.” The town also calls itself the “International Nordic Ski Capital.” In defence of that claim it boasts the world’s largest pair of cross-country skis. Standing on display beside the Visitor’s Centre, they are 10.9 metres in length and weigh 273 kilograms. Outside the Red Coach Inn you can also see a remnant of the Gold Rush era–the only surviving stagecoach of the Barnard Express and Stage Line.
 
Just up the road is 108 Mile House which features a heritage site with a collection of seven historical buildings on a three-hectare lakeside property, including a 1908 Clydesdale barn, one of the largest in Canada, the 105 Mile roadhouse, the 108 Mile telegraph office, and the 1867 hotel and store. Despite its placid setting, this place is also reputed to be the site of B.C.’s most heinous murder cases. From 1875 to 1885, the roadhouse here was run by a woman named Agnes McVee, her husband Jim and her brutal son-in-law, Al Riley. The trio are credited with anywhere from 10 to 56 murders of gold-carrying miners and the kidnapping and selling of young girls to guests. After the miners were killed, their bodies were bundled into a covered wagon, and Jim McVee dumped the remains into one of the many lakes in the area. Agnes meanwhile cleaned out their possessions, and buried gold and coins in the vicinity of the Inn. As a sideline, Jim collected the men’s horses, and when he had a sufficient number to make up a string, he sold the animals in Fort Kamloops.

The cutthroats continued their murderous operation for 10 years before finally being apprehended. Their arrest came after Agnes poisoned her husband in retaliation of his killing of another man that she had fallen for. Agnes and Al Riley were taken to New Westminster, jailed and charged with kidnapping and murder. In June 1885, shortly before she was brought to trial, Agnes committed suicide by poisoning. Riley was found guilty and hanged. Nobody is sure how much gold Agnes stole from her victims; estimates range from $100,000 to $150,000. Of that, an amount of $2,500 in gold nuggets and coins was unearthed by a farmer in the 1924, and a further $6,000 came to light when Block Brothers developed the area some years later.

It’s early afternoon when we descend down a dusty track and arrive at Xats’ull Heritage Village, a cultural camp run by the Soda Creek Reserve, the northernmost band of the Shuswap Nation. The camp, which stretches across a grassy bench above the roiling Fraser River has been a village site for 5,000 years. Fishing has been carried on here forever because migrating salmon concentrate in the huge eddies down below and can be caught with dip nets, and because the hot winds that blow through the gorge are ideal for drying fish. There is a wind blowing today, but it’s cool and it carries the scent of sweetgrass.

(To be continued …)

Photo Credits:

#1: bcguestranches.com

#2: briarfiles.blogspot.com

#3: bartadesign.com

Stagecoaches were a primary mode of transportation in the ranch’s early years. In fact, several years after Donald McLean’s death, Hat Creek Ranch was purchased by Steven Tingley, a famous stagecoach driver known as the “Whip of the Cariboo,” who became the owner of the BC Express Company, the largest transportation company in the province. Tingley established the Hat Creek Hotel as one of the best stopping houses along the Cariboo Wagon Road and added a west wing with a formal dining room, kitchen and six additional sleeping rooms upstairs, as well as two large barns to house draft horses, mules and stagecoach teams.

The 400-mile road, which ran from Yale to the gold fields in Barkerville through treacherous terrain, was built by pick, axe and shovel between 1862 and 1865 at a cost of $1,500,000. During construction, supplies needed to be transported into the road camps for the crews. A group of entrepreneurs, hoping to make a fast profit, purchased 23 Bactrian camels from the U.S. Army to be used as pack animals. Camels could carry twice the load and travel twice the distance that a mule could in one day. However, the plan was a complete disaster. The rocky paths soon tore up the camels’ feet, which were accustomed to soft desert sands. As well, their strong smell frequently caused stampedes among the regular pack animals along the trail. The camels were all eventually turned loose into the wild. The last one reportedly died in 1905.

In 1910, Tingley retired and sold the Hat Creek property to Vancouver businessman Charles Doering, who operated the house as a hotel until 1916, when motorized transport had become popular and travellers didn’t need to stop as often along the way. Today, the pioneer hotel has been preserved to resemble the way it would have looked at the turn of the century, with furnished bedrooms, a saloon, a sitting room, and a dining area featuring a gold-trimmed China set that once belonged to McLean’s daughter-in-law. The large kitchen is illuminated by an original Thomas Edison bamboo-filament light bulb that our guide claims has burned for 73 years without replacing. The meals served at the hotel usually included apple pie, which was made using apples from the still-functioning orchard out back.

McLean’s original log cabin still stands as well, its interior decorated with several archival photos, including images of his three mixed-blood sons (Allen, Charley and Archie) from his marriage to Sophia. Fourteen years after McLean’s death, this trio, along with a friend named Alex Ware, went on a wild rampage, gunning down police constable Johnny Ussher and a settler who refused to give them food, before finally being cornered and captured near Douglas Lake. The three outlaws were tried, convicted and hung for murder in 1881, earning 16-year-old Archie the dubious distinction of being the youngest person ever executed in B.C..

Interestingly, George McLean, a son of one of the “Wild McLean Boys” was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal in 1917 for an extraordinary feat of valour at the Battle of Vimy Ridge. Armed with a dozen bombs, private McLean killed 19 Germans and captured 14, before being severely wounded himself. Another of Donald McLean’s many descendants is Mel Rothenburger, a former mayor of Kamloops, who wrote a book about the McLean Gang, entitled We’ve Killed Johnny Ussher, and another about the events that led to his grandfather’s death, entitled, The Chilcotin War.

The Chilcotin War was the name given to an uprising by the Chilcotin (Tsilhqot’in) people in April 1864. The conflict was sparked by a road-building project led by a land speculator who threatened to bring smallpox to the area. The tribe, which was already ravaged by the disease, reacted in anger. A war party organized by a chief named Klatsassin massacred the road-building crew and several other settlers. Armed expeditions were sent out in response. The possees failed to capture Klatsassin, but during one skirmish, Donald McLean was shot and killed, reputedly by Klatsassin himself. Some would suggest McLean had it coming. Known for his brutality when he worked as a factor for Hudson’s Bay at Fort Kamloops, McLean proudly claimed “19 Indian kills.”

Klatsassin and several other rebellious Tsilhqot’in warriors were later persuaded to surrender on a promise of an amnesty, but when they came in to discuss terms of a truce they were arrested. Klatsassin was tried and hanged in Quesnel, along with his 17-year-old son and five other members of the war party. The chief’s last words before he was executed were “We meant war not murder.” To this day mystery persists as to his true identity. The word Klatsassin in Tsilhqot’in translates as “We do not know his name.”

This little known, but fascinating piece of frontier history is still very much alive among the Tsilhquot’in, who regard Klatsassin’s resistance to the colonists as a rallying point in their long struggle to protect their territory. In 1993, the government of British Columbia conducted an inquiry into the 1864 uprising, which resulted in an apology by the Attorney General for the hangings of the Tsilhqot’in chiefs and provided funding for the archaeological excavation of their graves to ensure a proper burial. This apology and the 1999 dedication of a memorial plaque at the site of the hangings on their anniversary date, led to the creation of an annual Klatsassin Memorial Day, an October 26 holiday that rotates annually among the Tsilhqot’in communities. A B.C. mountain was also named after Klatsassin, an honour that he now shares with the man with whom his bloody legacy is so closely linked–Donald McLean.

(To be continued …)

Photo Credits:

#1: hatcreekranch.com

#2: #3: Kerry Banks

#4: canadianmysteries.ca

The ranch is the centrepiece of a complex of 20 historic structures that include a working blacksmith shop, horse barn, teepees, a First Nations’ pit house, a hotel and a saloon. On display amid the buildings is a wide variety of historic artifacts and farm equipment used during the pioneer era. From mid-May to late September, the ranch offers tours of the site, camping, nature hikes and trail and stagecoach rides. Located 11 kilometres north of Cache Creek at the junction of Highways 97 and 99, the ranch began as a small log house built in 1861 by Donald McLean, a former Hudson’s Bay trader. McLean moved to the area with his third wife, a Native woman named Sophia Grant, and his five children, dreaming of a small fortune to be made by servicing the thousands of miners and settlers headed north up to the goldfields near Barkerville. The Cariboo Wagon Road came through two years later, filling McLean’s roadhouse with plenty of customers. However, McLean did not live long enough to enjoy the profits of his new enterprise. He was shot and killed while riding with a posse during the Chilcotin War only three years after he finished construction.

Ranch manager Liza Curran is on hand to greet us when we arrive at Hat Creek in late afternoon. Joining her are two members of the Shuswap Nation: Mike Retasket, chief of the Bonaparte Indian Band and fellow band member, John Pierro, who is decked out in full aboriginal regalia. Besides being a colourful, wisecracking character, Pierro is an accomplished traditional performer, well known for his unique dancing style and his elaborate regalia. He and his wife make all of his apparel by hand. After posing for photos, Pierro takes on a tour of the small First Nations’ village attached to the site, where he explains some of the local Shuswap customs and rituals.

That evening, after enjoying a dinner at the ranch house restaurant, we head down to a spot near the creek to take a look at our lodging for the night. We are staying in a traditional Shuswap winter dwelling known as a kekuli. These pit houses were built half above and half below ground. Pine logs were made into a conical structure on top of the support poles. Fir boughs, humus, stripped bark and other natural insulation was piled on and then finally the earth was put on top creating a heat-efficient structure.

Kekulis always featured two openings. The men’s entrance was down through the top using a notched log as a ladder. The lower entrance was reserved for elders, women and children. These two entrances were handy in case of attack by enemies or an aggressive animal. Each family would usually position the lower entrance toward the creek or river to create circulation and to push the smoke out the top hole. A movable reed screen would be positioned to block the weather.

As we inspect the kekuli, Chief Retasket begins building a fire. He encourages eight-year old Amy, who has never been camping before, or been exposed to an outdoor fire, to help him ignite the kindling. Her initial apprehension quickly gives way to excited wonder. We spend the evening sitting around the fire talking and listening to Retasket sing a few songs, which he delivers in syncopation with his hand-held drum. He tells us that 60 years ago he could have been arrested for singing like this. At that time, the practise of all First Nations’ rituals were banned by Canadian law.

As darkness descends and the wind picks up, Retasket asks us if we want to play a traditional game called lehal. He carefully unrolls a package from his bag, revealing a carved set of polished, painted sticks. Half of them have wolves’ heads on the top, the other half are crowned with frogs. One larger stick features a painted raven.   

Seldom seen by the public, lehal is an aboriginal gambling game played throughout B.C.. The painted sticks act as scoring devices. There are also a couple sets of bones. Each set of bones includes one with a stripe around it, and one without a stripe. The object of the game is to correctly guess the location of the unmarked bone while one member of the opposing team is shifting each of the two sets around behind his back. Guessing the correct bone wins sticks, until the game is finally won by the winning of the large kick stick. Each round has a winner and a loser and wagers can be placed on the outcome of individual rounds or on the result of the completed game. Both players and participants place bets. Retasket tells us that lehal is sometimes played for big money. “I once saw a game in Prince George where $60,000 was riding on the outcome.”

The game always includes singng. Songs are used to distract the other team and to pump up your team’s morale. Because none of us know any songs, Retasket decides he will sing for both sides. It doesn’t take very long before we have all gotten into the proper spirit. There is a lot of chanting and crazy dancing by the flames. The game takes about an hour to complete. The frogs finally triumph. Retasket looks crestfallen. “You know, I have played this game three years with this set of sticks and that is the first time my team has ever lost.”

Our night in the kekuli, spent sleeping on air-filled rubber mattresses, is an interesting experience, but not entirely restful. Vigorous stereophonic snoring makes it difficult to drift off. When I finally fall asleep I dream of howling wolves and firelight.

(To be continued …)

Photo credits: Kerry Banks