Manitoba

So here I am – in Manitoba.

I left Kenora with a sense of relief. It’s a beautiful spot, but it felt like the walls were closing in – narrow streets twisting and turning through the downtown – and the tourists were pouring in for the weekend. I ran the risk of being trapped there by RVs and trailers with Seadoos on them. So hitting the open road felt good.

My first stop was a Coffee Roastery and Bakery on the edge of the highway in the middle of nowhere. Who knew that these two lovely women could make such great coffee! And they were full of enthusiasm about the trailer and my journey. They insisted on coming out for a tour. Which is a bit embarrassing because I still haven’t got the hang of getting everything secured, so there are things lying on the floor which shouldn’t be. But they didn’t seem to mind.

Next came the border – with an Information spot on the Manitoba side which was amazing. They were willing to make camping reservations at the local provincial parks. They had a daily printout of campsite availability. They talked about a shuttle service in downtown Winnipeg which would allow me to park and ride a tram to the Forks. She told me about the Jazz Festival – hands down the best information spot I’ve ever been to, and I’m going to take advantage of it all.

Finally, I had to find the farm where I’d booked a site through Campertunity. I plugged in the coordinates to my GPS and headed out. Check in time was after 5pm so when I was close, I pulled onto River Road and found a great picnic spot looking out over the Red River – which was an impressive sight. Lunch and a read watching lines of pelicans swoop one after another, playing in the updrafts above the river. Quite spectacular.

I still had time, so I went looking for the town of St. Andrews, the address (supposedly) of my destination. It does not exist it turns out, but in the process found a lovely old Anglican church and a rectory which has been turned into a museum. Had nice chats with the kids there, all in period costume.

The Rectory which looks out over the Red River.

And always on the lookout for some great knitting - here is a tartan tam and mittens that someone has done for display.

The church. The usual rock pile.

The picture doesn't do him justice! He was either very short, or compacted to save on stone.

Then I found Lower Fort Garry – a National Historic site. Beautiful place, again with obliging young people in period costume. They were enthusiastic about the buildings and the girls in the ‘main house’ where the big shots lived were keen about how nice it would have been to live there. I can’t imagine anything worse. Nine people – several couples – lived together in this house. The men spent the day going about their business and the women gathered in the parlour to do their needlework. There was a formal dining room! Imagine living with that through 6 months of a horrific winter! I had visions of murder/suicide. The place was lousy with pointless china that some poor sods had dragged halfway around the world in the most appalling conditions. And the living conditions of the other (mostly) men who worked at the Fort where dreadful. There was no privacy anywhere. Either people’s expectations of privacy were not as fully developed as mine, or they lived a miserable life.

Apparently the Indigenous presence was usually on the other side of the Red River. I don't blame them - that's what I would have chosen too. 

The farmer's house - his job apparently was to figure out what grows and how to grow it. Wonder if he thought to ask the Indigenous folk next door?

While it would have been a miserable place to live, it would feel safer than some spots - with guardhouses on all four corners.

The pelicans dance in a line above the river - the picture really does NOT do them justice. They are quite beautiful - flashing their whiteness as they turn.

Having whiled away sufficient time, I picked up some provisions and headed to the address I’d keyed into the GPS. I pulled in to a ‘farm’ about 430. The house was rundown. There were 5 derelict cars in the yard. When I got out and approached the house I noted a dog run and the storm door had a huge sign declaring “Beware of Dog”. I didn’t knock. I returned to my trailer, ate my dinner, and at 5pm started honking my horn to announce my presence. Nothing. Not sure whether I was relieved or not. Since there was no response, I contacted Campertunity and found that I was at the wrong address. Somehow, when I keyed the address into the GPS it had been mistranslated. When I used my cell phone to click on the address in the confirmation email, Google Maps brought up the correct one immediately. So off I went. I had Campertunity contact my host to let her know I was coming. And there she was at the end of her drive! She didn’t look at all like an axe murderer, so I’ve set up camp here for the weekend. We had a lovely chat sitting in her garden last evening and I’m off this morning to visit Winnipeg. I’m going to have to watch the GPS – it’s not as clever with addresses as Google Maps is.

Spent the day in Winnipeg at the Forks and at the Human Rights museum, mostly at the latter. I took no photos other than one to remind me to look up Taiaiake Alfred, who has written on Indigenous worldviews and philosophy. I was glad I was on my own. As I made my way up the walkway lined with glowing alabaster I realized that by level 4 of 7 I was sufficiently engaged that if someone had made a dismissive or rationalizing comment I think I would have shattered. It was a difficult journey, but along the way I met some people who offered their help. One was an Indigenous woman from Alert Bay who lived very near Prince Rupert where my mother was born. We talked about the power of the ocean to draw you back and the importance of family and knowing your roots. She was lovely.

The Indigenous Day celebrations taking place at the Forks was interesting, but I was a bit disappointed that the food consisted of food trucks with nothing (that I saw) approaching traditional foods. There were people selling beaded items, but my favourite was seeing people in their traditional dress - one young girl in a dress covered in jingling bells was so excited! The music was mixed - which makes sense - so was the audience.

I ran out of steam early and headed home. Tried to find a coffee shop where I could post - in Ontario there's one on every other street. Here, not a one. So I'm back at the farm for the night. Tomorrow I hope to head north to Gimli (just because you have to go to a place with a name like Gimli) and stay for a couple of days,  then across between the lakes to the big National Park - Riding Mountain - where I'll stay for a few days.