Road trips make for fun travelogues, and better anecdotes, but what they do best is package a whole week of experience into one tangible moment. For me, that's usually done with music.
In Newfoundland, that was Wagner's Ring Cycle. CBC was the only radio station I could find in those rocks, and since I was driving out to a viking settlement in the middle of a storm, the mood was too perfect for me to complain.
In Halifax, the song was Hawksley Workman's "Almost A Full Moon". Why? No fancy symbolism here -- that's just what I was listening to as I fell asleep in my rental car in an underground parkade. It is a great song, though... it's actually a recipe for pumpkin soup, with the title repeated incessantly in the background like a mantra.
Ottawa 2005: Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen. What can I say? I was at a wedding.
Ottawa 2006: Jumping Jack Flash, the Rolling Stones. What can I say? Elite Beat Agents is a fantastic game, and I finished it during that trip.
So, what about Yellowknife? I'm tempted to say "Go West" by the Pet Shop Boys, but really, that sort of karaoke lightning and thunder happens every time my friend Jason and I are together for too long.
Actually, my official soundtrack for Yellowknife, I turn to Kytami. She's a violinist from Whistler that eschewed the Royal Conservatory for her mix-master friends. The resultant sound is eclectic and electric. But more than just being nice to listen to, it's the sound of the Northwest Territorities. The strings of her violin humming over the thumping beats are like the crying winds, rushing over the heavy foundations. They're like the bush planes touching down on the lake, kicking up a spray as the sky meets the water.
Blast. I'm getting overly poetic here. Sorry about that.
Let me try this again -- the entire trip was a series of unexpected and incongruous discoveries. So's her music... and the sooner I re-discover each, the better.
This now concludes our ten-day writer's block, in which your faithful blogger could not seem to say "I had fun in Yellowknife". Please tune in tomorrow, when we return you to your regularly scheduled commentary about life in Medicine Hat, and/or Bangladesh.
Showing posts with label NWT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NWT. Show all posts
26.7.07
The Exploration City.
(continued from the previous post)
After camping at the border, it was a relatively quick six hours to Yellowknife. The local heatwave kept things interesting for all my friends, as they cajoled each other to take their turn in my non-air-conditioned car. What can I say? I'll never be a hardcore camper, capable of surviving three weeks in the bush with nothing but a knife and a bottle of barbecue sauce. I have to earn my merit badges in other ways.
A few hours in, we crossed the mighty Mackenzie River by ferry and entered the Mackenzie Bison Sanctuary. On the way through Alberta, you'll see signs such as, "Deer: next 3km", "Elk: next 9km", or "Moose: next 62km". Those are all practice runs. When you see the sign that says, "Buffalo: next 236km", your eyes stay open.
Not that you need to look too closely.
Further along this drive, my passengers decided to pass the time by playing the classic pajama party game, "What Would You Rather". Two scenarios are proposed; pick one and explain your answer. The game was a fun conversation -- at least, it was whenever it wasn't my turn. I tried to ask grand questions about the fate of mankind, or challenge people's perceptions of happiness, or force a re-examination of social values. What happened, however, was that I sounded like an ignoramus incapable of understanding basic human needs.
Just like my last pajama party, really.
Later that afternoon, we entered Yellowknife. I'm not sure if there exists a stranger city in Canada -- and I've been to St. John's. I mean, in Newfoundland, they've only got two languages (three if you count French). You can hear a half dozen native tongues being spoken in Yellowknife, and they're not spoken in many other places.
As for its appearance, "out of place" doesn't begin to describe it. To get there, you have to drive through the Canadian Shield for six hours. Don't forget, this is land where farms don't grow and trees aren't cut. Signs of civilization are loosely interpreted ("Look! There's a raven that isn't the size of a condor! Mankind must be interfering somehow!"), in an attempt to feel connected.
And then, you pass an airport, you turn right at the intersection, and a modern city of 20,000 leaps out from the rocks and trees. Upon your first drivethrough, you're delighted by the familiarity. Tim Horton's! Boston Pizza! Zellers! You recognise these things, and that makes them good! The shining government offices and the RCMP buildings even fondly remind you of Regina.
Then, you turn into the older section of town, and you're poking your way through native crafts, second-hand clothing, and organic coffee. Those of you from the B.C. interior will not be disappointed. After that, you're in Oldtown -- the city that was built back when it was just a bunch of bush pilots that liked to hang out together. Coincidentally, we visited during the city's Float Plane Festival -- one of the big events of the festival is the chance for a bunch of local bush pilots to hang out together.
Oldtown is a rock on a lake, where people built a house wherever they pleased, and let the officials worry about roads and power lines forty years later. There isn't a single 90-degree intersection in Oldtown, just like there aren't two houses the same shape or colour. This aesthetic extends out into the harbour, where boats and ships of all sorts float lazily in the Great Slave Lake, rusty, muddy, and perfectly content. It was upon this sight that the Haligonian in our group shed a single tear -- it must have been the seagulls in his eyes.
So, we've established that the city sounds different, and looks different. But does it feel different? I'll put it this way -- Yellowknife Airport is probably the last one in North America where the flight attendants offer you matchbooks as you step on the planes. Then, during that plane ride, the pilot will tell you to ignore the seat belts, and go wherever you please during the flight. He'll fail to notify you when the plane lands, and if he feels like it...
...he'll buzz the entire city.
The only way I can describe it is that Yellowknife is a city filled with the best type of apathy. They actually trust people to have a basic amount of common sense.
Oh, and the other way I can describe it is that it doesn't have ugly people. No, really. It's like Robson Street in Vancouver -- everyone is fit and healthy, and smokin' hot compared to the national index.
Like I said, it's a weird place. No wonder I love it.
Musicians love it too, it seems. Tune in this weekend to hear about the Folk On The Rocks festival!
p.s. Since the gypsy hick was so quick to defend herself in the last post, perhaps this time, she'd care to explain Louise Falls. Allow me to present the scenario. We're walking through some dense low-lying foliage. We hear something moving in bushes, rustling leaves and cracking twigs. Whatever it is, it's moving towards us very quickly -- and we're all well aware of the bear sighting at our campground last night. The sound draws closer until a friendly golden retriever bursts out of the bush, tail wagging furiously. We all have a good laugh, but we can't help but notice that Cara is hiding behind one of our friends.
I'm not sure how you can mount a rebuttal against the facts, but you're welcome to try.
After camping at the border, it was a relatively quick six hours to Yellowknife. The local heatwave kept things interesting for all my friends, as they cajoled each other to take their turn in my non-air-conditioned car. What can I say? I'll never be a hardcore camper, capable of surviving three weeks in the bush with nothing but a knife and a bottle of barbecue sauce. I have to earn my merit badges in other ways.
A few hours in, we crossed the mighty Mackenzie River by ferry and entered the Mackenzie Bison Sanctuary. On the way through Alberta, you'll see signs such as, "Deer: next 3km", "Elk: next 9km", or "Moose: next 62km". Those are all practice runs. When you see the sign that says, "Buffalo: next 236km", your eyes stay open.
Not that you need to look too closely.
Further along this drive, my passengers decided to pass the time by playing the classic pajama party game, "What Would You Rather". Two scenarios are proposed; pick one and explain your answer. The game was a fun conversation -- at least, it was whenever it wasn't my turn. I tried to ask grand questions about the fate of mankind, or challenge people's perceptions of happiness, or force a re-examination of social values. What happened, however, was that I sounded like an ignoramus incapable of understanding basic human needs.
Just like my last pajama party, really.
Later that afternoon, we entered Yellowknife. I'm not sure if there exists a stranger city in Canada -- and I've been to St. John's. I mean, in Newfoundland, they've only got two languages (three if you count French). You can hear a half dozen native tongues being spoken in Yellowknife, and they're not spoken in many other places.
As for its appearance, "out of place" doesn't begin to describe it. To get there, you have to drive through the Canadian Shield for six hours. Don't forget, this is land where farms don't grow and trees aren't cut. Signs of civilization are loosely interpreted ("Look! There's a raven that isn't the size of a condor! Mankind must be interfering somehow!"), in an attempt to feel connected.
And then, you pass an airport, you turn right at the intersection, and a modern city of 20,000 leaps out from the rocks and trees. Upon your first drivethrough, you're delighted by the familiarity. Tim Horton's! Boston Pizza! Zellers! You recognise these things, and that makes them good! The shining government offices and the RCMP buildings even fondly remind you of Regina.Then, you turn into the older section of town, and you're poking your way through native crafts, second-hand clothing, and organic coffee. Those of you from the B.C. interior will not be disappointed. After that, you're in Oldtown -- the city that was built back when it was just a bunch of bush pilots that liked to hang out together. Coincidentally, we visited during the city's Float Plane Festival -- one of the big events of the festival is the chance for a bunch of local bush pilots to hang out together.
Oldtown is a rock on a lake, where people built a house wherever they pleased, and let the officials worry about roads and power lines forty years later. There isn't a single 90-degree intersection in Oldtown, just like there aren't two houses the same shape or colour. This aesthetic extends out into the harbour, where boats and ships of all sorts float lazily in the Great Slave Lake, rusty, muddy, and perfectly content. It was upon this sight that the Haligonian in our group shed a single tear -- it must have been the seagulls in his eyes.So, we've established that the city sounds different, and looks different. But does it feel different? I'll put it this way -- Yellowknife Airport is probably the last one in North America where the flight attendants offer you matchbooks as you step on the planes. Then, during that plane ride, the pilot will tell you to ignore the seat belts, and go wherever you please during the flight. He'll fail to notify you when the plane lands, and if he feels like it...
...he'll buzz the entire city.
The only way I can describe it is that Yellowknife is a city filled with the best type of apathy. They actually trust people to have a basic amount of common sense.
Oh, and the other way I can describe it is that it doesn't have ugly people. No, really. It's like Robson Street in Vancouver -- everyone is fit and healthy, and smokin' hot compared to the national index.
Like I said, it's a weird place. No wonder I love it.
Musicians love it too, it seems. Tune in this weekend to hear about the Folk On The Rocks festival!
p.s. Since the gypsy hick was so quick to defend herself in the last post, perhaps this time, she'd care to explain Louise Falls. Allow me to present the scenario. We're walking through some dense low-lying foliage. We hear something moving in bushes, rustling leaves and cracking twigs. Whatever it is, it's moving towards us very quickly -- and we're all well aware of the bear sighting at our campground last night. The sound draws closer until a friendly golden retriever bursts out of the bush, tail wagging furiously. We all have a good laugh, but we can't help but notice that Cara is hiding behind one of our friends.
I'm not sure how you can mount a rebuttal against the facts, but you're welcome to try.
24.7.07
A night without nighttime.
The first night was perhaps our most adventurous. We'd driven all the way through Alberta, and gratefully snuck into the 60th Parallel Territorial Park after hours, ready to find an unoccupied campsite and pay for it the next morning.
Provided the next morning came at all.
You see, we were six people wired on long waits for great expectations. What was our reward? Lots of trees. Not quite the big payoff you might have expected, so we had no choice but to stay on, on into the night, and let the day end on its own terms. No big finale: just a long ride into the sunset.
Except, of course, that "sunset" doesn't quite mean the same thing North of 60. Here's a picture of our campsite at 11PM. It got a little darker, but not much.
You might notice the huge plume of smoke rising from the damp green firewood. That was a conscious decision -- our entire party became freaked out by the bugs within twenty seconds of leaving the car. The dragonflies looked like they belonged in the Cenozoic Era, and the biters weren't much smaller. I think we would have slept on a bed of Roman Candles that night, had we been confident that they'd work better than the mosquito coils.
Of course, all that green firewood took some scrounging and scavenging, not to mention some applied force. Here's a picture of yours truly, displaying my lightning axemanship. I might not have a single clue how to chop wood, and I might have nearly cut off my own foot a dozen times, but at least I got the merit badge for effort.
Like I said: Lots of energy, lots of excitement, lots of sunlight. It's a recipe for insomnia. I was one of the earliest to head to bed (which was why I was the first to get steamrollered*), and that was 2AM. I'm still surprised that some members of our group woke up at all that morning. Of course, once we were up, we finally got a look at where we were camping:
First you suffer the weirdness. Then you realise just how beautiful it is. That's the Northwest Territories in a nutshell.
That goes double for Yellowknife, but that's a post in and of itself... which it will be, tomorrow. See you then!
(*And no, I won't let the opportunity to mock my friends slip past. The steamroller incident? Three people jumped into the tent, and two of them rolled over me. The third one, however, rolled in the other direction, and stayed there. What was up with that?)
Provided the next morning came at all.
You see, we were six people wired on long waits for great expectations. What was our reward? Lots of trees. Not quite the big payoff you might have expected, so we had no choice but to stay on, on into the night, and let the day end on its own terms. No big finale: just a long ride into the sunset.
Except, of course, that "sunset" doesn't quite mean the same thing North of 60. Here's a picture of our campsite at 11PM. It got a little darker, but not much.You might notice the huge plume of smoke rising from the damp green firewood. That was a conscious decision -- our entire party became freaked out by the bugs within twenty seconds of leaving the car. The dragonflies looked like they belonged in the Cenozoic Era, and the biters weren't much smaller. I think we would have slept on a bed of Roman Candles that night, had we been confident that they'd work better than the mosquito coils.
Of course, all that green firewood took some scrounging and scavenging, not to mention some applied force. Here's a picture of yours truly, displaying my lightning axemanship. I might not have a single clue how to chop wood, and I might have nearly cut off my own foot a dozen times, but at least I got the merit badge for effort.Like I said: Lots of energy, lots of excitement, lots of sunlight. It's a recipe for insomnia. I was one of the earliest to head to bed (which was why I was the first to get steamrollered*), and that was 2AM. I'm still surprised that some members of our group woke up at all that morning. Of course, once we were up, we finally got a look at where we were camping:
First you suffer the weirdness. Then you realise just how beautiful it is. That's the Northwest Territories in a nutshell.
That goes double for Yellowknife, but that's a post in and of itself... which it will be, tomorrow. See you then!
(*And no, I won't let the opportunity to mock my friends slip past. The steamroller incident? Three people jumped into the tent, and two of them rolled over me. The third one, however, rolled in the other direction, and stayed there. What was up with that?)
23.7.07
Do Not Romanticise The Automobile.
An important planning detail for road trips is setting the right goals. Ideally, the goal should be something you can accomplish early on, so that you can relax for the rest of the trip. Secondly, it's always fun to make that goal utterly ludicrous. With those two details in mind, my only goal for the Yellowknife trip was this:
Arrive at Edmonton by 8:00.
Insane, I know. Depending on not one, not two, but three friends to be awake and ready for pick-up in the early morning? I was anticipating the experience to be much like herding cats -- drunken, belligerent cats that knew they'd be stuffed into a car for eighteen hours. By grace and by gas pedal, however, we pulled into Devon (just outside Ed. -Ed.) at 8h30, well within acceptable limits of a successful start.
In planning this trip, I'd felt much like the host of a dinner party... at least, how'd I'd imagine a dinner party host would feel. Now that the guests were assembled and seated, all I had left to do was drive, and the trip would take care of itself. Well, there were one or two side quests for the sake of my ego (Swan Hills! I'm back!), but aside from that, the first day of driving was just that -- a day of driving.
I suppose it's somewhat hypocritical of me to say this, but there's not a lot of magic to be found in road trips. It's not a quest, it's not exciting, and you don't discover anything that hasn't literally been paved over by humanity years ago. Really, the only things you have for entertainment are music and conversation -- and even those are hard to come by when the wind's roaring in your ears. There's merit to the contemplation it encourages, true -- but after eighteen hours, it isn't contemplation. It isn't even meditation. It's hibernation.
That sounds a little harsh, I know. Could it be that I'm making the drive sound worse than it really was, to better contrast it with the adventures that follow?
You bet I am.
(to be continued)
Arrive at Edmonton by 8:00.
Insane, I know. Depending on not one, not two, but three friends to be awake and ready for pick-up in the early morning? I was anticipating the experience to be much like herding cats -- drunken, belligerent cats that knew they'd be stuffed into a car for eighteen hours. By grace and by gas pedal, however, we pulled into Devon (just outside Ed. -Ed.) at 8h30, well within acceptable limits of a successful start.
In planning this trip, I'd felt much like the host of a dinner party... at least, how'd I'd imagine a dinner party host would feel. Now that the guests were assembled and seated, all I had left to do was drive, and the trip would take care of itself. Well, there were one or two side quests for the sake of my ego (Swan Hills! I'm back!), but aside from that, the first day of driving was just that -- a day of driving.
I suppose it's somewhat hypocritical of me to say this, but there's not a lot of magic to be found in road trips. It's not a quest, it's not exciting, and you don't discover anything that hasn't literally been paved over by humanity years ago. Really, the only things you have for entertainment are music and conversation -- and even those are hard to come by when the wind's roaring in your ears. There's merit to the contemplation it encourages, true -- but after eighteen hours, it isn't contemplation. It isn't even meditation. It's hibernation.
That sounds a little harsh, I know. Could it be that I'm making the drive sound worse than it really was, to better contrast it with the adventures that follow?
You bet I am.
(to be continued)
18.7.07
Land of the midnight coffee break.
Hm. I seem to have tiptoed directly from 3AM campground bedtimes into 3AM night shifts at the greenhouse. It's only for the rest of the week, but it does mean I'm not going to have time for a full recount of Yellowknife until a bit later. Here's the summary, though:
It's the freakiest city in Canada, and I love it dearly.
More on that tomorrow.
It's the freakiest city in Canada, and I love it dearly.
More on that tomorrow.
10.7.07
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights.
It hasn't just been cleaned, it's been readied for its appraisal. The dashboard's wiped down. The cup holder's fixed. The spare change has been taken from the coin holder, and the seat belts have been vacuumed.
Atanarjuat is now ready to receive visitors, and it's ready to get dirty all over again from the mud and bugs of the Northwest Territories. I'm leaving tomorrow, and I'll see you all on Monday night.
Have a good weekend, everyone!
Atanarjuat is now ready to receive visitors, and it's ready to get dirty all over again from the mud and bugs of the Northwest Territories. I'm leaving tomorrow, and I'll see you all on Monday night.
Have a good weekend, everyone!
12.1.07
Greater. Whiter. Norther.
/*I'M IN.*/
That is exactly the sort of e-mail I love to get. Because it means that this summer, I'm going with my friends on a road trip to Yellowknife. Why am I so excited? Well, to paraphrase Glenn Gould, no one who ever visits the North remains untouched. Do you remember the scene in The Muppet Movie, where Gonzo's singing about flying through the stars? That's me and the territories -- I'm going to go back there someday.
Wow. Glenn Gould and the Muppets, both in the same paragraph. If my friend Loretta ever read this blog, she'd be buying her plane tickets right now.
That is exactly the sort of e-mail I love to get. Because it means that this summer, I'm going with my friends on a road trip to Yellowknife. Why am I so excited? Well, to paraphrase Glenn Gould, no one who ever visits the North remains untouched. Do you remember the scene in The Muppet Movie, where Gonzo's singing about flying through the stars? That's me and the territories -- I'm going to go back there someday.
Wow. Glenn Gould and the Muppets, both in the same paragraph. If my friend Loretta ever read this blog, she'd be buying her plane tickets right now.
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