Penny Hunter

We are sailing under a blanket of heavy fog somewhere between Canada and the southern reaches of Greenland in the Labrador Sea. All is white outside, with any trace of Newfoundland smothered in mist. If I were a Viking, I might release one of my ravens and follow its flight path to find solid ground. Fortunately, our ship, the appropriately named Viking Star, has far more sophisticated navigation tools at its disposal. Within hours, the haze clears and the jagged peaks of Greenland loom into view like a Tolkien-esque fever dream.

‘Wind. Bus. Patagonia.” Type those three words into Google and you’ll find a video of tourists having a memorable but very chilly ride in a bus with its windows blown out. Southern Chile’s infamous wind has snatched gravel from the road and hurled it at the glass with such force that the panels have shattered. Before I arrived in Torres del Paine National Park, I’d heard tales of trekkers being blown off their feet. The town of Puerto Natales, gateway to the wilderness reserve, even has a waterfront sculpture called Monument to the Wind, depicting a man and woman joyously being held aloft by a gale.

The tourism industry’s best and brightest were honoured at the Qantas Australian Tourism Awards on Friday night.

Winter has turned Edith Lake just outside the Canadian town of Jasper into a pale sheet of turquoise. Across the icy surface on the ­opposite shore, log cabins hunker among spruce and pine trees, overlooked by the snow-riven point of Pyramid Mountain. It feels like a classic Canadian Rockies scene, except for the stark silence. Normally, the breeze would be rustling forest fronds but where I’m standing, on the southern lake shore, there is no vegetation. Instead, I’m surrounded by the pencil-straight trunks of charred trees. When I hear a sudden crack and thump, it’s the sound of a dead branch falling into a thick blanket of ash. The landscape has been utterly transformed. It’s eerie but also strangely beautiful. Blackened logs shine silvery in the bright sunshine; tree trunks dotted with vivid golden patches, caused by sap boiling through the bark, are silhouetted against a brilliant blue sky.

On a trip to Canada back in February, I gently tried to read the room on Trump, tariffs and the idea of becoming the 51st US state. It turned out the room didn’t need reading. It was shouting back a hard “no”. Overwhelmingly, and unsurprisingly, Canadians were united in their opposition to trade barriers and the US President’s geopolitical manoeuvres. They were boycotting US-made products at supermarkets and cancelling holidays south of the border.

This premium airport lounge impresses with its range of facilities and and views stretching all the way to Botany Bay.

“Get up! Get up!” The words are an order, shouted emphatically like a captain rousing army cadets from sleep. But we are very much awake, albeit lying down. Bobby, senior coach with the Rip Curl School of Surf in Bali, is urging us to our feet as our boards surge forward on to a wave.

The carry-on about carry-on-only travel shows no sign of abating, with travellers proudly touting their packing expertise on the likes of YouTube, Instagram and Reddit forums. These hardcore flyers will smugly head overseas for a month with one tiny bag weighing not a fraction over 7kg. The trend is even more visible on domestic flights, where people are often on short jaunts away.

If asked to name Canada’s national dish, most people would scratch their heads before nominating poutine, a crude concoction of hot chips, cheese curds and gravy. Believed to have originated in rural Quebec, the snack is the kind of unrefined fare that might appeal to carb-loading marathon runners or those who treat their cardiac health with disdain.

With a Michelin-starred restaurant in the mix along with vintage clothing boutiques, and cool cafes, galleries and bars, this thoroughfare has style and swagger.