ROYAL visit

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 01/06/2024 (526 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

After parking at southern Alberta’s Prince of Wales Hotel in Waterton Lakes National Park, the front desk broke the news about Margie: “She took off with the bellman.”

I beseeched, “Where?”

With an English accent, a staffer revealed, “Lifted her. To the fourth floor, then the fifth.” Forty years ago, I neglected to lift Margie over even a threshold.

The Prince of Wales Hotel is Canada’s quirkiest grand hostelry. It relies on one of North America’s oldest hand-operated manual elevators. Guests summon a bellhop for a lift. And the elevator doesn’t ascend all floors. Our fifth-floor room was reached by more stairs. That’s where I got back together with Margie — a second-chance relationship. With all our baggage. The bellhop apparently relinquished.

It’s charming when motels boast “TV. Air Conditioning.” Despite us paying more than ever for a room, the Prince of Wales offers no TV or AC. And no tub, fridge, microwave, radio, internet, or coffee maker. Or bed. I’m joking with that one. But it’s wonderful.

Instead of TV, views from our wood-panelled room were also greater than ever. Gaze across 11-kilometre-long, turquoise Upper Waterton Lake lapping between towering Rocky Mountains. Watch bobbing passenger boats cruise to Montana’s distant border. Waterton Village lies down along the shore.

Instead of AC, chinook winds gust over 100 km/h. They don’t just slap this boldly unsheltered hilltop hotel. They penetrate each crevice. Fashioned from lumber, the Prince of Wales is an endearing woodwind instrument sounding high-pitched whistles, mid-range whooshes, and sub-bass woofs. Winds even sneak from interior corners. I remarked to Margie, “Wasn’t one of the three little pigs’ homes built of wood?”

Drafts fluttered Margie’s hair behind our closed window. Outside, it’s bad hair day, every day. I joked with folks, “Know where to buy a hairbrush?” Hats must fly. Where do they land? Medicine Hat? Capstone? Tilley, Alberta?

Staff don Royal Stewart tartan kilts — a favourite of the royal family. And punk rockers. The gift shop stocks maple cookies, maple tea, maple candy and, yes, maple syrup, but also Royal Stewart accessories, plus bumper stickers announcing “Anything can happen in the kilt.” That got me asking a bellhop the question that determines authenticity: “Wearing anything under your kilt?” He confessed, “With these winds, I’m sure not free-blowin’ it.”

At the hotel entrance, a sign above a water dish announces, “For dog, cat, deer, bear, fox, birds, sheep and anything else with fur, feathers, or hair: Help yourself to a nice cool drink.” I earnestly told Margie, “As if all those read English.” I added, “But, oh, oh — wait ‘till the turtles and toads read this!”

Find free morning coffee and tea in the lobby. The Royal Stewart Dining Room’s breakfast is graced with great peameal bacon Canadian Benedicts. Although craving tea and dainties, we declined Afternoon Tea, totally unrelated to a detail: $49 each. But we enjoyed the Windsor Lounge’s Shepherd’s Pie and Cod and Chips, and especially the picturesque Strawberry Rhubarb Eton Mess. It became an eaten MESS.

An affable Australian staffer lectured guests about this iconic hotel. Open from mid-May to mid-September and operated by Pursuit Hotels, it was built in 1927 by St. Paul-based Great Northern Railway so thirsty Americans could end-run Prohibition. It was a whiskey investment.

She surprisingly said Waterton isn’t named for its watery locale, but for an odd English chap named Charles Waterton. Maybe the neighbouring town of Cardston isn’t named for its card games either. Or Canmore for its jams and pickles.

Charles Waterton never saw Alberta. As an administrator of plantations with an enslaved workforce, explorer, and pioneering conservationist, he obsessively hunted brown rats and combined taxidermized animals as a hoax. He reportedly hid in trees as a scarecrow, acted like a dog, and bit his guest’s ankles. How did toddlers get labelled ankle-biters?

Our lecturer then said, “If you liked my presentation, how about a high five?” We all raised our palms. She successfully added, “And, in this here basket, how about a real five?”

Waterton Village is peacefully devoid of crazy crowds. It offers more affordable lodging and quaint shops and eateries. For tasty bites and brews, we discovered The Thirsty Bear. I joked with Margie, “If there is a thirsty bear, I’ll bet he doesn’t read English.”

Nearby we found the Village’s photogenic Cameron Falls. Margie’s sunglasses disappeared from her pocket as she balanced atop a fence and against a rockface to take a picture. An Edmonton couple exclaimed, “We walk here every morning!” They didn’t even appear tired. Leaving, I saw them balancing for the same photo angle. Readers should visit — even if to collect lost items.

Parks Canada’s new visitor centre offers insights into area features and Blackfoot culture. I asked an interpreter, “Hear any silly questions?” She replied, “There are no silly questions. But a woman just asked, ‘When ya filling up that dry creek? Animals depend on it!’”

Staff suggest hiking, notably the steep Bear’s Hump Trail for top-notch views. But I think she said a landslide caused a trail shutdown and caused me to again suggest The Thirsty Bear.

At check-out, I asked the Prince of Wales’ parking attendant, “Wearing anything under your kilt?” He obliquely replied, “My boss says we can’t have guests gasping.”

Nonetheless, at this astounding destination, gasp you will.

gordmackintosh9@gmail.com