I gotta tell you, all these “top sexy awesome travel bloggers” lists are making me feel quite left out. I’m hurt. Amid all this controversy over what constitutes a “sexy blogger,” and whether or not such posts are just ploys to gain traffic, I think you’re all missing one very good point.

Me.

Was I not the Hot Turkey Sandwich for Halloween?

I mean, I work out. I’ve got biceps thicker than your neck, and I can plank for a FULL minute. How about we arm wrestle?

Alright so I’ve got a beer gut that would put most 60-year old men to shame, but still.

So in light of keeping good humour circulating the travel blogging sphere, I thought I’d give you some food for thought. What makes someone sexy? Is it the ability to still look hot as balls after six days of not showering on the road? Is it a winning grin? Is it confidence?

And actually, who even cares? Why does everything need a point? Can’t we just have a good giggle every now and then without searching for an epiphany? It hurts my heart.

And maybe – just maybe – the next time you do a round-up, you’ll think of me. And this picture.

Because I blog in my underwear all the time. Just sayin’.

In the past two years of travel and freelance writing from home, I’ve become bit of a hobo.

The thing is, I live for comfort. I do love fashion and I do love dressing up, but after leaving the office world behind, my life kinda fell into “I’m gonna wear pyjamas all day at my kitchen table until it’s time to go to the gym and then I shall swap for sweat pants” disrepair.

Comfort clothes

Initially, I bought gym clothes that were the cheapest available. $5 cotton pants? HELL YEAH! All things considered, I’m still pretty cheap. I tend to buy my leggings at Costco, after all.

Shirts with built-in shelf bras? Be still, my heart.

But now I strive for quality, and it’s always the yoga pants that win me over. When I put on yoga pants, I enter a state of transcendent peace. My ass feels great. My ass LOOKS great. I can climb mountains, hike Signal Hill, jump over boulders, and arm wrestle a bear.

Yoga pants.

But let’s get this straight: I was never a “lululemon” girl. I don’t buy into that cult and I didn’t have any particularly favourite brands.

And then I was asked to review lucy activewear’s Walkabout Pant.

When the postman showed up with the package, I shoved him back out the door and stripped down to my underwear in the porch to try them on.

I was thrown off by the internal draw cord and the zipper at first. How could such a thing be comfortable? But they fit like a glove, with every curve flattered and every flaw downplayed. I practiced my squats, touched my toes, danced around the room like I was wearing NOTHING. Just a thin piece of fabric between me and the outside world! Oh glorious yoga pants! I envisioned myself at a yoga retreat in India, suddenly made flexible with the sheer willpower of perfect pants. Doing headstands and bridge poses like nothin’.

Would they stand the Ultimate Sit Test of eight consecutive hours in front of my computer, a process by which I calculate my comfort- to-rage ratio for future long stretches of travel? YES! They passed with flying colours! I even poured some water on my crotch to test their water-resistant and quick-drying capabilities. My crotch remained as dry as a desert.

The one thing these pants failed to do, however, is make me better at yoga.

This is embarrassing

Trying to reach zen through tree pose

DAMMIT

ZEN ACHIEVED!

But there, you can’t have it all.

Thanks lucy activewear, for making me understand the importance of quality active wear. I will gladly drink the yoga pant cult Kool-Aid just to buy more.

This one time in Mexico, I was undressed by a dolphin.

That sounds worst than it is. I can only imagine what kind of Google results I’ll get for this post. DOLPHIN SEX!

During my first trip to the Yucatan with my ladies, I was able to be a little indulgent with my money. I had what some people like to call a “real job.” So the extravagant $200 price (including a photo CD) with Delphinus didn’t deter me, and I’m glad it didn’t. Plus that whole silly H1N1 thing was going on, and my friend Ashley and I were eager for a distraction.

Meet the dolphins.

I was a little nervous. Dolphins are cute and all, but damn, they big! We were given a safety brief and instructions, equipped with lifejackets, and introduced to these babies in the dolphin pool.

The whole thing took about 45 minutes, and the trainer instructed from her platform stretching across the pool. We were given techniques to make them sing, dance, spit water, and twirl in the water.

Lookin' a little out of sync there, Candice.

DANCE PUPPETS, DANCE!

Please don't fall on me.

The best part, however, was when the trainer instructed us to swim to the middle of the pool (one at a time), float flat on our stomachs with legs extended, and brace for the dolphins to push us through the water.

She warned that the force of water might push down our bathing suits.

I bravely volunteered to be the first, struck a pose in the middle of the pool, and braced myself. I was hardly prepared for the impact of flying through the water at 32989232 miles/hour. Down came my bikini bottoms while I struggled to keep my dignity intact.

My attractive face

Makes for a good picture though, right? Kinda like that time I kissed the Blarney Stone and smashed my head off the rock, perfectly timed with the photographer’s snapshot of me wincing in horror and pain.

God I miss Mexico.

True love.

*One of the reasons we went with Delphinus was because of their environmental campaigns and reputable breeding program. They come highly recommended!

There’s been many an occasion since last May when someone has brought up the city of Montreal in a casual conversation and I immediately start gushing, “OMGILOVEMONTREAL!!!!” And then I struggle to find the adequate words to describe just how much I love the city.

I almost feel traitorous to St. John’s about it all. St. John’s is a different ballgame entirely, and yet I feel like both cities can draw many parallels with its historic feel, vibrant dwellers, and fierce independence. It’s the people.

Matt and I had a conversation recently about how while we don’t know the names of many major politicians in the city, we can name and identity every eccentric character that walks the streets of downtown on a regular basis. The city is currently mourning the death of a downtown figure who constantly roamed the bars on the weekend, inquiring his signature “flowers for the lady?” and handing out flowers for men to give to their dates. It’s why I love this place.

I got that same feeling of “home” when I was in Montreal, and I was surprised. I’ve said it before: I’m no big city gal. I’m not impressed by skyscrapers or concrete blobs of government buildings. Public transit makes me squirmy. The funny thing is, I spent only four days in Montreal, but it was enough to convince me I have to live there at some point.

When people ask me why I love it, the only explanation I have is, “There’s a vibe.” An undercurrent of excitement, a pulse of happy people, and a “joie de vivre” I haven’t found anywhere else except maybe New York City.

And this is all just a long-winded way of introducing you to 10 reasons why Montreal is awesome.

1. Poutine, smoked meat, beer pubs, and Montreal bagels. Hangover cures of awesomeness (including the beer pubs).

2. The best subway system I’ve seen outside of London.

3. The historical district of Old Montreal, where artists paint in cobblestone alleyways and performers entertain for those dining on “terraces” around the square.

4. The nightlife of Crescent Street and Saint Laurent. Endless pubs, clubs and bars, many with outside decks.

5. Eye candy. I’ve never felt more attractive than when I did while in Montreal. I remember beautiful, suited men smiling at me in the street, and me thinking, “OMG is there something on my face?!” before realizing – nope – they were just being friendly. Ask me about Danny the soccer coach. Hubba hubba.

6. The Tam Tams at Mont Royal. Hippie fest. There’s a strong artsy community in Montreal, and it rocks.

7. The friendliness. From the enthusiastic security guide at the train station who pointed us in the right direction to the butcher who displayed his meat just for us in a store window so we could film it…Montrealers are just as friendly as Newfoundlanders, it seems.

8. Festivals, festivals, festivals. Whether it’s IglooFest in February or Jazz Fest in June, Montreal always has a reason to celebrate.

9. The French. I love hearing French being spoken, even if I can barely speak the language myself after 25 years of learning it. It’s not hard to get by with English, though, and there are a billion language learning programs.

10. The anonymity . One of the biggest drawing factors for me living in a big city for awhile is the anonymity factor, something I’ve never had here. Quel surprise!

And here’s a fun fish photo from the Biodome, just for you.

So, who has a room for me to rent in the big city?

Since Cailin O’Neil tagged me in this, I am obligated to fulfill my destiny and carry out this burdensome task. You’re all getting to know me too well. I can feel my ratings plummet.

Here are the ABCs of ME.

A: Age in which you first internationally travelled.

20-21. Five years ago. A “green” traveller, as we Newfs like to say (in other words, a “Newbie”).

B: Best (foreign) beer and where.

I enjoyed a scattered pint of Cusquena in Peru, a whole slew of beers in Mexico like Tecate, Pacifo, and Bohemia…but my favourite beer ever was the first Guinness I had, in England. Yes, in a little English pub in Harlow. It’s like a goddamned meal, and it’s delightful.

Note: Guinness in Canada tastes nothing like does in England or Ireland. I avoid it like the plague here. *is a beer snob*

C: Cuisine (favorite)

Guerrin goodness

D: Destinations (favorite) and why? Least favorite and why?

Favourites: Montreal (Quebec), Scotland (the Highlands and Edinburgh), Gros Morne National Park (Newfoundland & Labrador), the Cape Breton Highlands, and Peru. Clearly I love Highlands, mountains, and the kind of scenery that makes even Chuck Norris weep with appreciation.

Least favourite? That loathsome experience I had at a shady hotel in New Jersey, in January. I was hungover, dressed for Mexico weather, and starving. Pretty sure I got bedbites and/or lice.

E: Event you experienced that made you say “wow”

The Writers Festival at Woody Point filled me with more inspiration than I knew possible. The Gay Pride Parade in Amsterdam filled me with more booze than I knew possible.

Dancing queens

F: Favorite mode of transport

TRAIN. Or boat. Or both, at the same time. A train on a boat.

G: Greatest feeling while travelling?

Gratefulness. The knowledge that even though you might have went through hell and back to get to where you’re standing, you are truly, truly blessed to be where you are.

H: Hottest place you’ve ever travelled to?

Mexico has been my only true sun destination to date. Guess what? Redheads TAN! It’s true! This year I’m hitting up Dominican Republic though, so we’ll see how that contends.

I: Incredible service you’ve experienced and where?

I now have a free round-trip ticket from LAN airlines to anywhere in South America after a flight debacle during my Contiki trip caused us to miss out on Brazil. Now I just need to find a US gateway.

J: Journey that took you the longest?

From Buenos Aires to St. John’s: About 90 minutes to Chile, 11 hours to Toronto, and then 3 hours to St. John’s. Agh. I combated my nerves with free booze. Note to self: Don’t do that on a plane.

K: Keepsake from your travels?

Clothes or jewellery. I love when people ask me, “Where did you get that sweet alpaca purse?!” and I can respond with, “Oh, this old thing? Peru!”

Or liquor, except it’s not so much a keepsake as a use-now-sake.

L: Let down sight? Where and why?

Most of the cathedrals I saw in England. It took awhile to realize I’m not nearly as impressed by man-made structures as I am by real nature.

M: Moment where you fell in love with travel?

Being in the Highlands in Scotland. Felt like I was coming “home.” It was an uncomfortable and thrilling and vaguely sexual feeling.

N: Nicest hotel you’ve stayed in?

The Pan Pacific in Vancouver, BC. THEY HAD TEXTURED BUTTER BALLS.

O: Obsession. What are you obsessed with taking pictures of?

Outdoorsy things. Things like mountains and rivers and oceans and beaches. If only they could find a way to capture the smell of pine trees and salt water.

P: Passport stamps. How many and from where?

Err, I think I’m at like…9? Mexico, England, Amsterdam, Scotland, Ireland, USA, Argentina, Peru, France…yup, 9. I can’t believe I guessed that right.

Q: Quirkiest Attraction you’ve visited?

The Prime Berth Heritage Centre in Twillingate, just because of its incredibly awesome mannequins.

Or maybe these creepy as shit scarecrows somewhere in Deer Lake.

R: Recommended Sight, Event or Experience?

A hockey game in Canada. I wasn’t at the hockey game in Vancouver, per se, but the celebration in the streets after the Canucks claimed a victory in the play-offs was one of the most fun, energizing experiences of my life.

S: Splurge! Something you don’t mind forking over for while travelling?

Food and booze: Two of the most significant highlights of travel for me.

T: Touristy thing you’ve done

Oh god, I’m a tourist at heart. I’ve done Machu Picchu, Chichen Itza, the Eiffel Tower, the London Eye, the CN Tower in Toronto, a Parliament tour in Ottawa, whale watching here in Newfoundland, kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland, wandered through the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam. Etc.

Back before I believed in "exercise"

U: Unforgettable travel Memory.

Machu Picchu, Peru. It is impossible not to be overcome with the energy and historical significance of such a place. Bring smelling salts in case you collapse in a dead faint and a llama tries to eat your hair.

V: Visas. How many of them and for where?

One! Brazil. Which I didn’t get to use.

W: Wine. Best glass of wine had while travelling and where?

Ask my friends what happened to me at Winefest, and you’ll understand why I never drink wine.

X: eXcellent views and from where?

From the top of Sulphur Mountain in Banff, driving through eastern British Columbia, the boat cruise through Western Brook Pond Fjord in Gros Morne National Park, hiking the Pisac ruins in Peru, Cloud 9 revolving restaurant in Vancouver, etc.

Y: Years spent travelling?

Have only been travelling since I was 21. N00b.

Z: Zealous sports fan and where?

NOPE, but I like the energy at hockey games. Makes me proud to be a Canadian, or something.

Your turn

I’m supposed to nominate people, but I’m pretty sure I’m the last blogger to actually complete this meme, so I nominate YOU. Yeah, you.

I might have mentioned once or 300 times that I grew up in central Newfoundland, and yet my jaunt around the area this past summer had many surprises in store. That’s what happens when you live somewhere for 18 years: you start taking things for granted.

One perk of being a travel writer is learning how to look at things a little more critically, and in a new light. That’s how I rediscovered home.

48 High in Grand Falls-Windsor

I absolutely did not expect to find such the incredibly upscale 48 High restaurant in the middle of Grand Falls-Windsor. The walls are adorned with thoughtful quotes, and the wait staff is super friendly. I ordered the bacon wrapped scallops over pasta and mushrooms, and promptly went into a food coma.

The Gaultois Inn

Swanky accommodations and a gourmet meal at the Gaultois Inn, located on an island only accessible by ferry and without any vehicles other than ATVs? I ordered a delicious seafood medley, served up with perfectly toasted garlic bread. There’s some kinda weird food revolution going on in Newfoundland right now, and I freaking love it.

The Rafting

Rafting on the Exploits River was one of my most memorable experiences of 2011. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder, and the full-day tour was worth the money and more.

The amazing scenery of the Coast of Bays

I’ve never driven around the Coast of Bays before. I had heard lots about the towns there—English Harbour, Rencontre, Belleoram, and more—but I never bothered to check them out.

English Harbour took my breath away with its ocean views, and but when we drove into Wreck Cove, I was blown away. Rolling green hills, craggy cliffs giving away to long stretches of sandy beach, red roads, and purplish rocks. Lobster pots and fishing sheds crowded the shore, surrounded by cozy saltbox houses. I wanted to set up a tent and spend a few days near the water, if I weren’t such a big baby.

Wreck Cove

I want this house in English Harbour

The life of a fisherman

While in Twillingate, I swung by the Prime Berth Heritage Center to visit my friend, David Boyd. He gave up a career as a teacher to follow in the footsteps of his father, as a fisherman. The lifestyle suits him well. Ange and I gathered along with a dozen other tourists in Boyd’s fishing shed, surrounded by buckets of cod oil and fish remains, and watched him demonstrate the art of his trade.

He cracked off the cod’s head, split the stomach to spill the insides with one deft manoeuvre, and showed us how to salt the fish. He explained how no part of the cod goes wasted, not even its little white ear-bones which are sold in the gift shop as earrings. Then he recited his own poetry to a room of silent, respectful tourists. If we were all half as passionate about our work as Boyd is, we’d all be better off.

One of my faves

I don’t think I’ll ever be done exploring.