I’ve Never Met a Stranger!

May 9, 2006

Winnipeg – Muddy waters in Cree.
The mingling of the Assiniboine and the Red Rivers at a spot now known as ‘The Forks”, stirred up the silt into a murky mixture. The result was ‘Win-Nipi’.



The day we spent in the city was an unexpected pleasure. I had preconceived notions of what Winnipeg would be and a distant memory of a quick one-day visit in the summer of 1970. The city centre is far more bustling now but people move mostly below ground in subterranean malls like those in Toronto and Montreal – the cold cities. I didn’t recall how green the city was – Winnipeg is full of trees. Lovely boulevards lined with stately elms; flowering trees dressed in their spring blossoms; even in the residential neighbourhoods tree-lined streets prevail.

There was a residue of sandy gravel on the sidewalks, remnants of the winter
snowbanks, which probably didn’t disappear very long ago. While walking down to “The Forks”, a sudden unusual humidity filled the air – I was perplexed until a few minutes later, rain drops started to fall. The rain passed quickly and the humidity dropped – strange sensation.

Later in the afternoon, the sky darkened gloomily and we heard a distant roar that sounded like a deep growling wind but it was thunder – just not the crashes that we experience in Vancouver. As the storm moved overhead, the thunder rolled like scores of bowling balls down an alley – the rumbles travelled from north to south as if in stereo. A chemical odour permeated the air and monstrous raindrops speckled the pavement. It was a localized store – we could see blue sky on the horizon in all directions while the huge black mass loomed overhead.










The friendliness of Winnipeggians is unrivalled in my experience. We had just pulled in to the Walmart and I was outside guiding Fernie in to our chosen spot. An old Chevy chugged over beside us and an aging couple rolled down their windows to chitchat. They offered advice on where to park to avoid the truckers. “We have one too,” they said proudly, alluding to the motorhome. “Here’s a pic of our baby” he handed me a snapshot of an old micro-mini motorhome on a Datsun chassis “But we have to sell her soon, we’re in our late 70’s you know.” It was a sad moment.



Another older gent walked by about ten minutes later. “That’s a beaut!” he expressed, as he looked Maggie over. “How long?” he asked. “Mine is 28 foot”. He visited for another ten minutes or so before walking on to the Walmart.



While Fernie was washing the windshield that evening, I heard a vociferous “Jeez! That’s quite a bus you got there” an apparently homeless vagrant stopped to admire without rancour. Many cars drove by, slowed down and smiling faces gazed up at Maggie and waved if they caught sight of us – we soon pulled down our daylight blinds to regain our privacy in true Vancouverite fashion.