A Travelogue Of Sorts
Canada, I love you.
Now I can say that I have driven a good chunk of this country, (although there is much more ground to cover) and I have loved each and every minute of it.
Let me backtrack just a wee bit: I’m finally relocating to Alberta permanently. It’s been a long journey (and I’m not talking about the drive here), but things are changing and the love of my life and I can finally look to the future together. For that, I am eternally grateful. So as we began the backing-and-forthing process of moving me west, the first thing we thought was that we should get my car out here. After all last winter and this with no transportation to call my own, my world was very, very small. I needed my car. It is, I admit, an extension of me. We go places together. We’re a team. It was necessary for the two of us to be in the same place.
So we flew home for The Contrarian’s 90th birthday (Yes, my mom hit the big 9-0, and we’re darned happy that she did), and combined that with a bit of packing, purging and planning. After a good visit and some emotional goodbyes, we hit the road west. Well, north first.
Ontario is a large province. No, it is huge. Located in the centre of Canada, it will take you upwards of two days to drive from Toronto to the Manitoba border. But let me tell you: It is worth it. The geography is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, from flat prairie in the south to rocky rolling hills in the north. Driving around the Great Lakes in a driving rain with a threat of snow in May makes you feel quintessentially Canadian: Whether you’re focused on dodging the wayward moose or blinking your eyes at the sight of mighty Lake Superior in the clearing, you can’t help but appreciate the sheer beauty of it all.
At the very point that you cross into Manitoba, the rocks disappear, the rolling hills flatten and miles and miles of prairie stretch out before you. You have to know that, in 1867 when our founding fathers were drawing up the map, they had to have said “Right! Ontario? You get the rocks and minerals. Blast away and do what you need to do. Manitoba? You get the plains. We’ll draw the line riiiiight HERE.” There’s a protected wildlife area as soon as you enter Manitoba, so after hours of rock and road and wayward moose, you can actually see Elk and Pronghorn Sheep and Deer roaming freely, with no danger of becoming roadkill.
After our long and winding drive through Ontario, we stopped for the night in a great town called Steinbach, Manitoba. It’s about a half-hour southeast of Winnipeg, has a lovely little Mennonite Heritage Village and the swankiest, most welcoming Smitty’s restaurant around. The thing that I loved about this place? Everyone had a sense of humour, including our waitress who told me that I would either have to drink my coffee out of a chipped cup (that I humbly asked to exchange) or do without. And speaking of coffee, the restaurant ENCOURAGED lingering over a pot or two. Every table around us had a carafe, and everyone was enjoying the sheer pleasure of drinking, gabbing and relaxing. It was glorious. Needless to say, we want to live there.
Saskatchewan reminded me a bit of Florida without the palm trees. It started out where Manitoba finished, flat as a pancake. Then it morphed into something a little different, with dark, rolling hills breaking up the long, flat stretches of prairie. Stunning, I tell you. Absolutely stunning. What surprised me was the discovery of huge alkaline deposits across the province: We took a double-take at the first sight of a large pile of white, thinking it was leftover from the snowstorm two days earlier. But no, it was salt, pushed up into huge banks as if it were being mined. I had no idea that salt flats came this far north, but there they were.
The people of Saskatchewan were as memorable as the good folks of Steinbach: In a tiny little town called Chaplin, we stopped for gas and a stretch. As we fired up the pump, the woman next to us filled up her pickup and asked us which direction we were coming from. When we told her east, she said “Ah, then you’ve come through the EXPENSIVE gas area. It’ll get better now. It’s ridiculous down that way.” The woman was right. For some reason, the centre of Canada was paying at least a dime per litre more than the rest of us. When I went in to pay for the fill-up, the woman behind the counter was advising another customer to use the washroom at her own peril: She had just started cleaning it, you see, so there were mops and buckets and cloths all over the place. She didn’t want us to get the wrong impression. As she swiped my credit card, her modem timed out three times. Each time was met with the same reaction: “Awwww crap!” Not something you’d expect out of the mouth of a grandmotherly farmer’s wife type of woman. But there she was, laughing it off, and cursing mildly.
As we made our way back to the highway, we noticed that she had a street sign at her driveway: Bullshit Boulevard. I want to go back and visit her someday.
Southern Alberta brought us ever-so-close to the foothills of the Rockies, but not close enough. As we made our way north towards Drumheller (the famous “badlands” of Alberta where the dinosaur once roamed), I craned my neck southwest to see what I could see, and saw nothing but a few rolling hills. One day, I’ll see the mountains. One day…
If you do get to Alberta and you’re not in the mood for prairie, have a look around Drumheller. It’s pretty darned impressive, with it’s rugged rock and towering cliffs. You might have to dodge the tourists, but it’s worth the trip.
Five days and 3500 kilometres later, we were home. Back on the prairies, back to reality, and back to thinking about the future. My life is starting a new chapter, and as frightening and fraught with emotion as it is, I’m very glad I’m here.
