A trip to the outside

When Pierre Burton lived in Dawson city as a child, he said that people referred to anywhere south as the “outside.” If you weren’t cooped up in Dawson for six months of winter, you were “outside” in the rest of the civilized world. While it is not quite that bad here in Tulita, I can say that seven months in the same small town can get to you. I have felt the first hints of cabin fever, and although I could always get on the internet or turn on the TV, after seven months you need a change of scenery.

We left for vacation of July 7th. 07/07/07. The luckiest day of the year. And I was inclined to agree. I had just spent six weeks running the store, shorthanded. I was burnt out to say the least, and in the last few days before we left, I started to not care that things were less than perfect at the store. My one useless stock boy had buggered off, and the cashiers were showing up late and leaving early. But none of that mattered. I couldn’t even sleep the last few nights. I had finally recaptured that feeling one gets in the run-up to Christmas when one is six. But this was going to be better than Christmas. Christmas is a mere day. I was looking forward to three weeks in the civilized world.

Leaving Tulita is no small feat. One must first board a plane at the airport and fly twenty minutes north to Norman Wells, Imperial Oil’s bastion of the north. Unlike every other nearby community, Norman Wells is a fairly new town. It was founded in the 1940s because of its oil reserves. The Americans built a pipeline to help the war effort. From there you catch a Canadian North flight to Edmonton, with a half hour stopover in Yellowknife to go through proper security. It is clear that the Canadian government doesn’t care what you bring north of sixty on a flight, but god help you if you try to bring anything back.

We got a ride from the Norman Wells airport with Larry, owner and proprietor of one of the local hotels. As we were driving into town, I noticed that the van wasn’t kicking up a cloud of dust.

“What do they use on the roads around here?” I asked Larry.

“Oil.”

“Oil?! Like, crude oil?”

“Oil. It’s better than dust.”

Anywhere else in Canada, if your furnace tank leaks, Environment Canada will come dig up your front lawn and leave you with a $20,000 bill. In Norman Wells, they spray it on the roads.

It was so strange to be somewhere other than Tulita and to know I would be without responsibilities or deadlines for the next three weeks. I picked up a copy of the Globe and Mail. It was the first time I had seen a newspaper that wasn’t at least a day old in seven months. Nicole often brings me back newspapers when she travels to Yellowknife. I hoard them like gold and often read every column and section. Even papers that are a month old have interesting stories. Our store gets only one paper a week. It’s a northern publication called News North, and even that arrives a day late. Sure we have the internet, but it’s not the same as seeing the news in black and white.

We ate at Larry’s hotel (which also has a small restaurant). It was the first of too many meals out. Our flight to Edmonton left at three. We boarded a 737 without even going through a metal detector. It’s still a strange feeling in this day and age.

I thought that my return to civilization would be a bit of a shock. More than one person had warned me that the pace is often too much for people who have spent a lot of time in the North. To me, it was as if I had never left. But it was strange to see a group of people and not know the names of any of them. Working at the store, I know the names of almost everyone in town.

With our luggage checked, we wandered around the airport, waiting for our flight to St. John’s. At one point, a businessman who was walking in front of us suddenly stopped and spun around.

“Hey Michael! How’s it going?”

Nicole and I jumped back and stopped. It was only then that I noticed the tiny Bluetooth headset resting on his ear. We both kept walking and laughed to ourselves. Later, a security guard whizzed past on a segway scooter. The future arrived while I was away.

Our flight to St. John’s was hellish. We somehow ended up in the emergency exit seats. They don’t recline, and since we were in the aisle and middle seats, sleep was all but impossible. There were seventeen empty seats in first class by my count, but the stewardess would not let us sit there.

“I’m sorry sir. I can’t upgrade you to first class.”

I wasn’t asking to be “upgraded” to first class. I just wanted to sit there and sleep for a few hours. But I let it go.

We arrived in St. John’s on Sunday the 8th at ten thirty local time. Nicole’s dad and sister were there to meet us at the airport. Her mom was home cooking up a massive “sunday dinner.” Besides a turkey and glazed ham, we had potatoes, turnips, carrots and cabbage boiled up with salt beef, and too many other sides to mention.

The next morning, five of us climbed into a new Daewoo car for an 11 hour drive across the entire island of Newfoundland. Our destination was Rose Blanche, a small fishing village on the south west coast, near Port-aux-Basques. It is the ancestral home of the Light’s Family, and it is where Nicole and I bought a small house with some of our savings from our first year in the north.

The drive was eventful to say the least, but I promised not to record any of it. These are my future in-laws, after all.

We arrived at our house at nine-thirty that night, just as it was getting dark. Having never seen the house in person, it exceeded all of our expectations. Nicole’s cousins came over and we had beer and pizza. Then we spent the night talking and checking out the features of the house.

The next day was mostly spent visiting relatives. First cousins Dave and Dianne. Then Aunt Marie and Uncle Willie, then cousin Tanya and Aunt Geraldine. And finally, Aunt Rose, who is actually Aunt to nobody. As Farley Mowat wrote in his book, Bay of Spirits, “Aunt” is a title bestowed on respected women all along the southwest coast of Newfoundland. She welcomed us into her house, which was lined with pictures of her children (one of whom is now a doctor). She offered us a drink of whiskey, noting that the doctor had told her a small drink was good for her now and then, as long as it was mixed with water.

“I like to mix mine with ginger ale though,” she said with a false whisper and a big grin.

Although seeing old friends was fun, by the end of the day that feeling of Christmas returned. I had been out visiting relatives when I really wanted to be home, playing with my toys. Only this time, the toy was my home.

The next morning we left for the east coast again. We stopped for a night in Corner Brook to look up old friends, most of whom were not home or had moved on.

The next week in St. John’s was uneventful. We spent our time visiting tourist attractions and going to the mall. I bought a few shirts, but even flush with cash I was unable to bring myself to spend 25 bucks on a shirt or 50 for a sweater. Fashion in the north tends towards the practical rather than the stylish. What I did buy was books. About 15 by the end of three weeks. I walked through Chapters, grabbing anything that looked interesting. It was the one pleasure I refused to deny myself. At one point, while carrying about seven books, a customer stopped me and asked me if I worked at the store. I guess he needed some help.

On Monday the 16th we went downtown to see the White Stripes concert. Although we had floor tickets, and although we started out very close to the stage, the notion of standing for two hours amongst a bunch of pierced and colorful teenagers didn’t appeal to us fogies. Luckily, Mile One Stadium has a restaurant up among the private boxes. We got two seats with a prime view of the stage. Jack White looked kind of small, but we could hear him fine and the beer tasted good.

The next day we flew to Nova Scotia. We spent a lot of time visiting family and friends, and there was more shopping. It was over all too quick. On the way back to the north, we stopped for a night in Edmonton and spent an afternoon at the West Edmonton Mall, once again buying almost nothing.

I will admit, it felt good to get back to Tulita. That really surprised me because I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here when we left. Too much of anything (or anyplace) is a bad thing. Now I’m ready for another year.

After having spent a year in relative isolation, I’ve compiled a list of things you should not take for granted:

1. Family and friends
2. Bookstores
3. Cold beer with family and friends
4. Long drives to nowhere in particular
5. Fresh meat and vegetables
6. Newspapers (especially the weekend edition)

Everything else you can probably live without.