Getting Perspective

My old neighbour, Aunty Vicky warned me, "When you love him, sometimes you want to kill him. You want to bash him over the head with a frypan".

Not the best way to start a post on a romantic weekend in Banff.

My work organised a day trip to Caraway Park, which sounded like a prime opportunity for a few rounds on a rollercoaster with friends Melissa, Tim and Marc. Turned out to be blisteringly hot and I, the Aussie shamed my country by being unable to cope, demanding that either we all get into the shade out of the line or I'd leave and meet up with them after, and somehow violated a Canadian code of courtesy. I still don't know how badly I behaved by local standards because Marc is too nice to tell me, but a apology delivered in verbal triplicate did go a long way to repairing the dents.

That, and a round of beers served by the fake lake.

Turnabout is fair play though and on the drive to Banff the idea was put to me that we catch up with his chef cousin in Canmore at the pub for one brief pint. Turned out to be several pints over a 2hour period with no dinner in sight. Whilst I do really like Dave and was glad we caught up, by the time we got to Banff and lost our way to our digs, it was 10.30 pm, I was starving, exhausted, cranky, dirty and despairing because I'd been promised a romantic dinner in the chalet town and packed a dinner outfit for it.

We settled for not changing but found a terrific Thai restaurant in town. We were the only people in it and if I believed in Feng Sheui (would help if I could actually spell it) I would think it the perfectly soothing supper after a big day out.

The next day I ran around taking photos of the Banff YHA, one of my favourites in the world, with both dorm-style rooms and 2 room chalets in one of the most beautiful locations I have ever been to.

Dave's wife, Bree was unavailable for brunch the next morning, so we faced a decision, brunch alone at a swisho restaurant or a picnic in the great outdoors. Correction. The most amazing outdoors in Canada.

We were on our way to pick up a takeaway coffee when I saw him. My Canada moment. The one I'd been waiting for all year, before, since and during my relationship with Marc.

The one man who could possibly give me an edge over Laura. A mountie.

I'd seen them on parade at Stampede, those men and women, who Laura had whooped and whistled at. We'd both had a romantic fascination with them ever since I first knew they existed. Less than 200 men formed the first RCMP and rode out of Ottawa to bring the law peacefully to the warring peoples in North America hundreds of years ago, thousands of miles across western Canada with inadequate kit, little accountability and some of the harshest weather conditions known to man. And they did it. They were not corrupted or lost.

I thought they were wonderful. Marc had tolerated my girlish fantasy with some amusement because I was a foreigner and the occasional muttered comment that I should have looked for them in Disneyland, since Disney owned the trademark.

But on the main street of Banff, there he was, in full dress uniform. All my tiredness fell away, I was so excited.

It was the first time all year that I didn't have my camera handy. I looked at Marc, "My camera, it's in the car !!" I wailed. He barely said a word, but tired and without his morning coffee he didn't hesitate, he turned and ran for the car for my camera before I could. So, we got this photo. I knew then who my real hero was, and it wasn't the one in the uniform. It was the one who thought my fascination was a little silly, but put it before his own comfort anyway without hesitation.

Of course to hear him tell it, he was just pleased that we'd found a mountie who was barely taller than me, to bring a little bit of reality to my fantasy world. After all, a 3/4 sized mountie was no threat to anyone but a shetland pony.