the Alberta "Badlands"

A road trip to Drumheller and the Alberta Badlands.


Four girls pack themselves into an air conditioned SUV and head EAST - yes, east. Not to the mountains, but the other way - where the landscape begins to slowly transform into the flatter plains of the Canadian prairies. Once we leave the construction-bound traffic of Calgary, we drive along a relatively open stretch surrounded by hilly green pastures and grazing animals -cows, goats, donkeys, horses. Nothing particularly distinctive appears in the horizon except maybe a few trees and then I start to register a new silhouette - one I have not seen before in such a landscape - oil pump jacks. These little machines are scattered through the fields, all pumping up the black gold at a slow, even rhythm. I guess oil is everywhere in Alberta and everyone is pumping it.

Badlands - I don't know exactly why they are called the Badlands...I ask a couple of people and they look at me oddly, like my accent isn't Canadian or something. Anyways, on the Internet I find some explanation about they the name took as nothing much can survive out there because of the desert like conditions...well, except for the numerous critters and cacti...and dinosaurs a few thousand years back! Either way, I'm drawn to the Badlands because places like this intrigue me - to us humans they don't seem to have much value or a manicured beauty, but there is something to them and my hunch is satisfied when I finally stand at the top of the massive canyon of the badlands - yes, its a place that holds it's own magic and doesn't advertise it on a billboard.

Driving through Drumheller...well, it's like driving through any other small Canadian town...lots of billboard directing you to tourist attractions (that do little to inspire the imagination); Safeway, Dairy Queen and MacDonald's types line the streets that do little but inspire me to get out dodge. Being "famous" for the dinosaur fossils found this region, I guess it was decided that placing a bunch of plastic, toy-like dinosaurs all over Drumheller was a good idea/appropriate. We kept driving.

We hit Horsetheif Canyon...I start to dream up a "cowboy and Indians story" about why it's called "Horsetheif Canyon"...I contemplate calling my dad, who's imagination would definitely add colour to this story; but in all honesty, the ruggedness of this canyon distracts me and absorbs me. Before entering into the canyon, there is a sign: "Enter at Own Risk"...ok, I'm in. "Hiking in" is a funny sensation because we are starting at the top and making our way down in this huge, open hole. The ground underneath feels like old sand - crunchy, hard. There is spots of black scattered throughout - it's coal. The textures and contours of these rocks are stunning - some have etchings of ocean-like waves, others look like they have been in the hands of a potter, except the potter were the elements of air and water. As we hike along, the expanse of this place opens up before us and the visual drastically change as the true depth and size of this canyon mouth reveals itself the further you go in. I am once again in awe of the amazing space offered up by the Canadian landscape. At the bottom, for a while we walk along a dried up river bed. The mosquitoes do not like our company and let us know. The sun is hot, but coupled with a cool breeze, its a perfect day.

We head out and hit a small town called Wayne on the way. You have to cross 11 bridges to get to Wayne. Most are old and one way and with each passing bridge the land scape alters, becomes a bit more wild. Wayne is small. It's so small, its not really a town. There is no MacDonalds or Wal-Mart here. Its cradled in the nook of a foothill. It carries the essence of it's residents: the houses are sturdy looking but not particularly adorned, the surrounding plots have lots of over grown grass and shrubbery. The main drag has a few homes along it, all of which have a number of old, beat up cars sitting in the front or back of the house. I am intrigued why people in Wayne collect so many cars? A friend told me about the Last Chance Saloon in Wayne - yes, a real western saloon a 2 hour drive outside of Calgary! This is really why we are here - to check out the an old saloon, Alberta style, and have a cold beer. We pull up and the SUV parks next to a long line of bikes. A simple sign hangs over the door - "Last Chance Saloon". Next door is a hotel (I suppose in case you used up your last chance). The inside of Wayne's has tables, a small bar and walls lined with memorabilia one would expect to find in a western style saloon - hunting trophies (heads of deer and bears line the walls), and other things I didn't register because the decapitated heads of these animals kept grabbing my attention! A nice young guy, slim, with a strong voice and big hands takes our order. He eyes us a bit (there's a bit of a squint when he first approaches our table), but his eyes are brown and moist - I sense he is a nice person. He's direct and takes everyones' orders without ever writing anything down.

We share a table on the back patio with a Wayne local. He is rather tickled with our company. He seems like a nice enough guy, but I get a sinking feeling in my gut as he tells us snippets of his life - about his 12 children, that he's been drinking and smoking for 60 years, that his "wife" is prison... The romanticism of a small rural town takes on another shade. There is something harsh in the ruggedness here. A lingering sense of isolation does hang in the air. I suppose in a land so vast, it's relatively easy to find an isolated corner. I consider that this is also an intrinsic part of the Canadian landscape. One which some hope to escape and some will always find comforting and call home.

thursday morning

I miss Cambodia...I miss Chan, I miss Nimol. I miss the noodle breakfast and assing-kicking vietnamese coffee. I miss the sounds of the hospital first thing in the morning. I miss not hanging out with the kids at the orphanage on tuesday afternoons. I miss the bloody heat. I am thinking about it more these days again.

I contemplate going to Cambodia in the next 3 months. The idea leaves me feeling exhausted. I don't understand it, but I trust my internal checking system enough to know its not time yet.

Here, in Calgary, things don't have that edge and or that intensity. That sense of immedicacy doesn't exist here and it makes time expand and get thick...sometimes even slow. There is something here, right now, that works for me...maybe it's Lee's cooking, maybe it's the mountains. For now I am here, exploring the western landscape, reading Anja's blog from Kabul and writing letters with my Cambodian friends who continue to live their realities which I, a "Westerner", percieved as such a struggle. And yet when I read their letters I relate to the way they describe their days, their lives, their wonders, their worries and problems. I love having this awareness so vividly at the forefront - that we are really not that different.

Elements

I must admit - I am not the kind of person that pays a lot of attention to weather (the day to day fluctuations) or discusses it often. I've never quite understood this courtesy of striking up a conversation about the weather. If anything, it says to me: "there is so bloody little to say or talk about, that we need to state the fact about the fact that the sun is out or that it snows in the winter". But being of this generation and culture, where environmental awareness is becoming an intrinsic part of our post-modernistic consciousness, I am becoming more appreciative of these weather curiosities and conversations...particularly of the oddities we are witness to as the earth starts to spin a slight skewed axes.

I must admit, I was surprised at receiving e-mails inquiring about the odd weather in Calgary. However, I suppose, snow in late spring is a bit of an oddity, so it will draw attention.
So, in response to a few e-mails - yes, we had an impressive snow fall at the end of May in Calgary and it was quite the site. Waking up to a world covered in snowy quiet, especially when the day before everybody was basking in the splendor of patio season (a great Canadian tradition), required a couple cups of coffee to register that yes, it's the end of May, and yes, this white is stuff is out of place! The budding flowers and new leaves full of bright greenness were covered in a thick, wet, white blanket. It wasn't powder snow, or flaky snow, it was the wet snow that is perfect for snowball fights or building snowmen.

I fondly recall the drama that would take place in the Toronto area when there was a snow fall...it would be mayhem. Here, there was no school closures, no significant increase in accidents on the Deerfoot (which is equivalent to the TO 401 or Ottawa 417) no major delays in traffic. Everybody just carried on, some shaking their heads in mild amusement. I was impressed with how quickly and seamlessly everything adjusted from spring blissfulness to a winter wonderland.

And then, just as quickly, it all flipped again and we are packing the winter boots and gloves and pulling out the flippers - sorry, flip flops! Truth be told, most Calgarians don't pack those too far away - I've seen these nutters walking around in them in the middle of February! Yes, it was a day when the Chinook cast its warm magical spell, but still, for someone from Ontario who is cold even when its warm, seeing bare feet next to a snow bank results in an involuntary double take!

Anyhow. To satisfy the curious minds of those who are impressively affected by earth's temperament:yes, the weather here is variable and it can change mighty fast (I am told it has to do with the mountains). You always dress in layers (just like in the mountains!). It snows in the winter, but also in the spring, fall and even summer...apparently it is common to get a snow day in June!!! Now that I will write home about:) Otherwise, it can be blistering hot, but then moment that sun sets its course behind those mountains, it gets very "fresh".

Otherwise, the only other thing I have really noticed in terms of the elements is that it is damn dry (especially after living in the sticky humidity of Ontario and Cambodia); you feel it everywhere when you are not used to it - in your lungs, skin, hair.

Alright - pictures would probably capture a snow fall in May more poetically, but there you have it - story of the elements.

Passing Gas

I recently moved to Calgary (aka Cow Town aka Boom Town aka Gold Rush aka Dallas of the North aka aka Foothills City and if you are lost, ask for the home of Da Flames) from Ontario (out here referred to as "the east").

I've been roaming around this city for the last 3 months, getting to know its pulse, its smells, its colours, its flavours. However, I wasn't quite feeling it. My senses were pleasantly surprised by some elements, but the undercurrent was not within my reach. And then I ended up at a dinner party. As we go around from person to person inquiring where we are from (a great Canadian custom since it is at the core of our identity that nobody is from where they actually are), I meet Scott. Scott just returned from traveling - so he has this lazy slash pleasantly crazed look in his eyes. I asked Scott what he was doing in Calgary - he leaned in and very earnestly responded "I'm passing gas". I blushed (not Scott, me). Oh...but really, what do you do?. 'No really', he kept on (earnstly) 'yes, I work in the oil and gas industry (stock market analyst of some sort)' he starts with bored matter of fact tone '...but really, I pass gas all day'. Nothing that a little Cuban Rum won't cure. But there it was - I felt a pulse....

So, I'm starting this blog because, well, I have this opportunity to spend sometime in Calgary and the Western end of this massive piece of land. When in Canada, most of my life I has been lived in Ontario and I have aquired a mildly "ontario-centric"perspective, particularly about regions of this country that are far away from Ontario. So this is a challenge to myself - to check out the sterotypes and to confirm or deny them; to bring out the undercurrent that exists here; to see how the landscape (human and otherwise) changes as the miles from the central pulse (that is Ontario, or rather Toronto) increase; to tap into those boring old questions of "what is Canadiana?".

In a city whose downtown is dominated by modern day momumental high rise structures that leave me with an impression of competing phalluses, a city in the midst of a gold rush, and a city whose culture is undeniable affected by the cowboy culture that is deeply entrenched here...I think the potential for adventure exists.