Friendricton

Randy is a twenty-five year old construction worker. He's quiet and speaks french with his friend Geoff but later joins in conversation with me.

Elroy is an older man, a regular at Pier 23, that sits and sips his beer, eats his wings, and makes casual conversation.

Terry is a middle-aged, dynamic man that gave me the privilege of taking in the best rant I have ever seen someone have over a piece of technology.

Friendly stranger #1, his son, and his employee (I cannot remember their names) are in town for "jeeping".  They throw a few of my beers on their tab and they sit and enjoy casual conversation with a lone girl from Winnipeg.

WINNIPEG? What are ya doin' here all the way from WINNIPEG?!

In Fredericton, many people speak a hybrid of French and English so much so that they don't realize that they are doing it. I am not referring to the practise that you encounter with a lot of French-Speaking people of the world where they switch to English only for words in which there is no French equivalent or when they switch to French for privacy. No. In Fredericton there is an endearing quality to the way in which the people, unconsciously, speak this Frenglish hybrid (not quite a creole). Between the Eastern accent and the Frenglish hybrid I had a difficult time understanding the exact words coming out of my new friends mouths but I never had a problem understanding the message. Although I didn't know what they were saying, the manner in which they said it told me enough. Randy, Elroy, Terry, and the trio of strangers kept me company over the last few nights in Fredericton. They didn't hesitate on giving me travel tips or hold back on telling me where to skip going even though they are claimed to be "touristy" spots. Thanks guys for all your help! 

Tanya is the bartender at Pier 23. She is currently on a six-day stretch. She has four teenagers at home and has been working at Pier 23 for at least eight years. Pier 23 isn't the busiest place - which surprised me because as you'll soon find out, it has a comfortable atmosphere, it is reasonably priced, and it provides outstanding service. 

For three nights Tanya chatted with me, gave me more tips on places to go, and very importantly, places to avoid. Tanya also may (or may not) have given me the friends and family discount. Essentially, she hung out with me. Some of you may be thinking that she was doing it for the tips, or "she's in customer service, that's her job." Well yeah, you are correct. But I challenge you to ask yourselves how many times you've gone out to a bar, restaurant, mall, grocery store, etc. in the last few weeks where you can truly say that you received the service you were expecting because it was that person's job?

An expectation is one thing. A thing that doesn't always happen. Tanya provided me with one of the best experiences I have ever had at any restaurant/bar/pub I have ever been to and that's because she was approachable, friendly, and welcoming. She took care of me but wasn't afraid to start and maintain a conversation. I like to think I made a friend.

For the hospitality, service, and all around friendliness of everyone in Friendricton, and especially Tanya: thank you for having me. 

Tempting Fate

We all knew it was only a matter of time before I did something stupid.

I'm not gonna say that it involved driving in the dark,

down a deserted highway.

Or a close call with a moose.

But you could probably guess that it did.

Let me start from the beginning:

I finished my "to-do" list for Montreal on Tuesday early in the morning. So I headed to the nearest Flying J, had a shower, and decided I was going to drive as far as I could towards my first destination in New Brunswick - Miramichi. When I punched the city into my GPS it said the arrival time would be 10:45 p.m. and I knew I would not make it the whole way because I don't like driving at night. So, I decided I would try and make it to New Brunswick then stop for the night.

As it would go, I actually made it into New Brunswick around 4:30 and figured I would keep driving a little longer until I saw a place to stop.

Around 6:00 I came upon another city that had lots of places that I could stop but I figured, what could it possibly hurt to keep going a little while longer. It's still bright out. 

Around 7:00 I took an exit that literally had be pass right by a 24 hour truck stop/restaurant that would have been the perfect place to stop for the night but I got greedy and decided to push forward, just a little bit. There HAD to be another little town within the next little while that I could stop at.

Right?

Shortly after I passed that perfect truck stop my route led me to a highway (Highway 108 aka Plaster Rock) which I have nothing to compare to. Picture a dirt road with a mediocre pave job, barely wide enough for two lanes (one in either direction), no shoulder and pure wilderness on either side. Next gas station - 138 km. That was at 8pm. 

What had I gotten myself into. 

For the next 100 km I drove, cautiously, going 80 km/hr furiously scanning from left to right, right to left for any and all signs of movement that may be wildlife. I thought it was kind of odd that there wasn't a single warning sign on this highway to warn of deer or moose considering it ran literally through the middle of the wilderness. Almost every highway I have travelled on thus far has warning signs all over the place. It was very weird and I didn't trust that. In the 100 km I had already driven, there were maybe three cars that passed me travelling in the opposite direction. The sky was cloudy and the moon was hidden. My headlights were virtually the only light I was relying on. I watched kilometre by kilometre as my GPS ticked down letting me know I was almost at the next turn on my route. I have to admit, for a little while, I was thoroughly convinced that this was going to be how I died. 

Then, up a little ways I could see red lights flashing. 

My first instincts were that it was someone having car trouble and had their flashers on to warn oncoming traffic and to request assistance. Then, I thought maybe it was someone pulling a heavy load and they had their flashers on to warn that they were moving slow. Then, I noticed that there were three lights - two tail lights and one higher up. As I slowed down and came up to this car I could see it was a minivan towing a tent trailer. I thought they must be having problems or were going slow because of the trailer. As I inched, slowly, to the left to see what the problem was low and behold, there was a moose! Awkwardly trotting down the highway. Hooves criss-crossing over one another as it panickedly tried to work out an exit strategy - picture the the scene where Bambi is learning how to walk, now imagine Bambi being 6.5-7 ft tall. 

This BEAST was gigantic. It's legs alone were almost the height of the van. So I kept back. I slowly followed behind this stranger as they drove slow and steadily, guiding the moose with their headlights until the moose finally trotted back into the bushes. 

At this point I was shaking. I look up to the GPS - only 40 km to go. You better believe I trailed that van like my life depended on it. I was not going to let a moose get between us because this driver clearly knew what they were doing. 

For almost two hours this entire stretch of highway was deserted. Just as danger presented itself, out of no where came a stranger in a minivan to save the day and probably my life. As soon as I got off the highway I pulled over at the first place that I possibly could - a gas station in Blackville, NB - clearly named after the amount of night time visibility. 

So, lesson learned. Moral of the story - trust my instincts and no driving after 6:30 p.m.

 You can't really see it but that white spot in the bottom right corner in front of the car is the back of the moose.

Good 'ol Blackville. I parked to the left of where that yellow truck is. 

Au Revoir, Ontario!

Eighteen days; that's how long I spent exploring Ontario. Seven; that's how many cities I stopped in along the way.

Seven to ten years; that's how long it's been since I've seen some of the people I connected with throughout those eighteen days.

If you think about all the time throughout your life, throughout the day that you spend saying goodbye to people. Friends, family, even complete strangers. It's a custom, part of our everyday vocabulary that comes so natural we don't even have to think about it and unless we know the person - even then, we rarely think about the hellos and the next time we'll see them. I know I never did.

Five years ago Lauren and I worked together at a little paint your own pottery studio in Winnipeg, MB. We worked together for less than a year. And when she left Winnipeg in 2008 for Toronto for University we said goodbye.

Seven (or eight) years ago Sylvia was the dynamic, friendly, charismatic Ontarion that showed up in my English class in high school. Sylvia was, and still is, unforgettable. But seven (or eight) years ago probably on the last day of school we said goodbye.

Ten years ago Brittany started grade nine with me in Winnipeg only to move to Burlington, Ontario a few months into the school year. Again, only after a few months of friendship we had to say goodbye.

Three goodbyes with three short time friends. To be honest, goodbyes I never thought would be met with another hello. I haven't seen these girls and some I haven't even talked to much since the last time we saw one another but the selflessness of all three of them has been astounding. A few weeks ago when I posted on my Facebook page that I would be starting my travels East not a single one of these girls missed a beat at opening up their homes to me. The kindness, generosity, and companionship these three offered to what, realistically, was more or less a stranger, will never be forgotten and I truly hope that one day I am able to return the favour. You know, once I get home, then work my way out of debt and can finally offer up a place of my own to you as well.

Before I end the chapter of this adventure that was Ontario I have to share one of the single most heartwarming series of events I witnessed in the last eighteen days:

I spent the night in Ajax, Ontario and decided to go for breakfast. So, being resourceful, I searched restaurants in my GPS and when no recognisable names came up I decided the one called "24 hour breakfast" was a safe choice.

Select.
Go.
Start new route.
Drive.
You are arriving at your destination.

Sit down at a table. It looked to be one of those family owned restaurants that when you order the $5 breakfast special it's actually enough food to feed you and three friends - I'm not complaining, I'm on a budget here people. As I sat eating my breakfast I noticed the table directly across from me, comprised of three older people. One in a wheelchair, one with a walker, and one more mobile. I could tell by the communication between these three guests and the waitress that they were regulars of this 24 hour breakfast place. So I sat, and discretely watched as the waitress came back time and time again to refill coffee, bring more ketchup, bring more jam, another knife - without even being asked. She knew the customers orders and how they wanted their eggs. And when it was time to bring the bill.... drum roll...

She brought them three lollipops.

Nobody else got lollipops. Nobody. The look on these three customers faces was priceless. I'm fairly certain I even let out an "aww" at my table. It is one of the most precious acts I have ever witnessed and a perfect example of people doing good for no other reason than they can. The three got up, gigantic smiles on their faces, lollipops in hand, and proceeded to make their way out of the emergency exit - because they were clearly VIPs they were allowed to use the emergency exit as it was closer to their car.

I left Ajax with a smile on my face and so did these three customers simply because the waitress that had been working since 3am decided to give three seniors lollipops.

Au Revior, Ontario!

Herd-y Up

"Moo," grunted the only light-hearted, smiling stranger in a group of hundreds upon hundreds of strangers as we inch-by-inch converged through the turnstile opening that was barely large enough to fit one person at a time as each and every single one of us tried to get into the line for the Maid Of The Mist boat tour through Niagara Falls.

"There's always one person that does that," laughed Brittany to me. But it wasn't the whole mooing thing that made me laugh. Several things made me laugh, in fact. But the mooing wasn't one of them. In that particular situation what made me laugh was that here were hundreds of us waiting in this line (each boat apparently holds 600 people and they looked to be leaving every 10-15 minutes, you do the math), but anyways, here we were. On a Monday afternoon in August. Clearly none of us were at work. It was a beautiful day out. Really, we could not have ordered better conditions for a visit to Niagara Falls yet with the exception of Britt, myself, and the mooing stranger, every single person being herded through the gates was covered in a complete look of misery. I didn't know waiting in line to ride a boat through one of the most beautiful places in the world was such a terrible way to start the week. Apparently, it was the worst.

Then, the mooing paired with the apparent NEED to be the first person through the gate just so that you could get on the same boat and end up in the same place as everyone else really made me laugh. Because this whole need to be first weaving your way through crowds of people seems to be the theme of life in Ontario, maybe even life in general.

Ride the subway - heaven forbid you've never ridden the subway before and may need to pause and ask a question or purchase tokens. If you haven't planned your day 12 moves in advance to the point where the token guy is already handing you your tokens before you even have to open your mouth to tell him how many you need, you might as well get out. Seriously just leave, because you're a real inconvenience to the rest of the planet.

Driving on the highway? Any highway in Ontario? You better be prepared to speed. I'm not talking the usual 10-15 kms over the speed limit that most of us Manitobans are used to. At some points I am going 20 km over the speed limit and STILL majority of drivers are whipping past me. And even as I write this I feel like some of you that don't know me may think I am actually a 65 year old woman complaining about those crazy young drivers on the road. But in all honesty, what is the big rush?! Majority of people that had passed me at some point or another had to stop or we'd run into the same construction and all get to the same place in more or less the same amount of time. The only difference is I didn't have to constantly be keeping an eye out for a cop pulling me over to give me a speeding ticket. I got to enjoy the scenery. I didn't have one eye on the odometer, one eye on the clock rushing to get to my next destination only to be early, bored, or have to kill time.

Whether being herded through a subway station to keep up with the crowd, herded down the highway forced to keep up with the pace of traffic, or herded through the narrow gate one painful inch at a time it didn't seem to be my choice when I was going to arrive at my destination, the only choice I had was what my destination would be. I urge people to take your time, take a step back, SMILE at a complete stranger because to my mooing friend in line at Maid Of The Mist I'll never forget you. I believe my exact words were: "Wow, I want to be on the same boat as THAT guy because he seems to be the only one here that doesn't absolutely hate their life." Slow down people!

It's not all bad though, honestly. On Friday night Lauren and I (yes two Laurens I am not referring to myself in the third person) went to Metro in a busy mall in Toronto right around dinner time and the place was completely packed.  For all my Safeway friends, think of your worst day or your worst line up - that's their every day. But here was Lauren and myself standing in line to buy a couple bottles of juice (okay, it was mix) and a salad for dinner. Then to my surprise the man waiting in line in front of us that had nearly a full cart of groceries looked at us, looked back to his order of turnips and bok choy, then graciously offered for us to go before him. I declined and said it was no big deal we weren't in a rush but he absolutely insisted. Little things like this man not being in a rush solidified my hope for the hustle and bustle of the Ontario way of life. For that, thank you.

What's The Deal: Questions I asked Ontario

I've been on the road for three solid days of driving now: Clear Water Bay to Thunder Bay, Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, and Sault Ste. Marie to Ajax. For those of you that do not follow me on Twitter (@laur008) or are not my friend on Facebook, you've missed a few witty updates. Like, for example, the old man that asked me how the fishing situation was at a rest stop ... as I sat eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I've had to stop for a deer, kept a close eye on a little red fox at the side of the highway, fed some seagulls, and most entertainingly watched a couple black bears sprint across the highway - one of which made a point of looking both ways before crossing. The scenery along Lake Superior on HWY 17 is absolutely stunning, which is probably why it took me so long to get from one place to the next. I had to stop and take pictures! Aside from the wildlife and stunning view, there are a few things that have come to my attention and I would really like some answers, Ontario.

In Winnipeg we have a few different license plates on our cars. But they are either sports teams themed (Jets, Goldeyes, Bombers), veterans, or the standard "Friendly Manitoba". Why then, Ontario, are some  of your license plates blue and some black? I'm mostly curious about this because it made trying to decipher where other travellers were from a little more difficult - B.C.? Ontario? Quebec? Oh well, it isn't life or death.

Ontario, you do an awesome job of reminding drivers about safety via gigantic billboards on the side of the road - seat belts save lives, don't drink and drive, fatigue kills, etc. These signs told me over and over how much my fine would be for speeding and always reminded me that large trucks need more room, duh. Thanks for the reminder, signs, but those all seem to be fairly strait forward safety tips. What lacks clarification, however, is the following: you post literally 5 million signs about watching out for Moose .... at night. 1) OBVIOUSLY not a single moose will attempt to cross the street during the day, they know better than that. and 2) WHAT SHOULD I DO IF A MOOSE DOES CROSS THE ROAD? I know deer are basically terrified of their own shadows so as long as you slow down and let them cross, lay on the horn a few times if necessary, they run. But a moose? Those guys are big. I feel like they would see me and my horn as a threat and charge. So, signs, thanks for informing me of the totally new information that seat belts save lives but maybe a little crash course on moose safety wouldn't hurt.

Finally, my biggest annoyance of all - a picture of a picnic table on a sign the size of a piece of paper is NOT sufficient information for someone to distinguish the contents of a rest stop. I thought at first there was maybe some code - the ones with a blue background had a washroom, the ones with a brown background didn't. That theory was shut down quick.
Maybe it was the opposite?
Nope.

I went to three different rest stops with a bladder that was about to rupture and the only thing awaiting me was LITERALLY a picnic table. After the third stop I gave up and wasn't gonna trust those bad boys again. Made sure to keep my eyes open for a gas station. Then another rest stop came up. In my anger I sped past it without even considering slowing down. Low and behold, I could see the washroom from the highway.

So, Ontario, if anyone out there has answers to any of my questions please share.

For now, Ontario, at least you're pretty.

Lake Life

I've spent the last four days at Clearwater Bay, Ontario with some of the kindest people I am lucky enough to know. Aside from the given that Lake of The Woods is a stunning place to be, it was an incredible experience. From the moment I arrived there was a clear sense of calm and relaxation in the air - and I'm not talking about the weather or the water. It's almost as if the moment I stepped out of my car I crossed this imaginary threshold from reality to Pleasantville.

All the stress and worries of normal, every day life had some how escaped the realities of lake life. Whether you have two exams coming up, a new university semester starting in a couple of weeks, a rent cheque due in two days, or an ailing family member back at home - it doesn't matter. There is no such thing as worry at the lake.

Aside from the escape, picture yourself gliding across the open water, mist spraying in the air with every wave you intersect, sun beaming down on your head.  Suddenly, another boat goes by, a group of complete strangers. And they wave to you! Then it happens again. And again. And before you know it you find yourself scanning the shoreline in search of any sign of human life whatsoever just so that you yourself can join in the hospitality and friendliness that a simple wave invites. There is an overwhelming sense of acceptance at the lake. Whether you're brand new or have been going for decades, it's the place where nobody knows your name yet everyone is your friend. It's incredible. Odds are you are never actually going to meet majority of the people that you wave at. But the act itself is enough. Because for one brief and fleeting moment you were friends.

My hope is that the lake life attitude could transcend the threshold back into reality and we could all bring a little more of the friendliness home and take it with us every where we go. So to Clearwater Bay, it's residents, and my gracious hosts - Stephanie and The Maceks: thank you for a wonderful first stop on this journey!

Homegrown Hospitality

For twenty-five years I have been locked in an awkward, junior high-style slow dance with The City of Winnipeg. You know what I am talking about: at least a full arms length away from each other to avoid any true intimacy, awkwardly swaying from side to side, not much rhythm or technique involved yet still going through the motions. The way we all danced when we were scared someone might see us, someone might misinterpret our feelings, or when we were scared our partner may find out we actually cared about them.

Winnipeg has been the longest relationship I've ever had. We've been in fights, we've made great memories, we've fallen in love with one another. But as low as the lowest lows ever were, the highs have always outshone them. The highs being the people, of course.

I'm not just talking about your random acts of kindness: a stranger buying a complete stranger coffee, or another stranger passing on their already paid for parkade ticket to another stranger because there is still three hours left on their meter. I'm talking about the way people treat each other for no other reason than it is the right thing to do.

When thinking about Winnipeg, whether to write about you first or last was a debate I have been having since this whole idea came into being. The one thing I knew for certain was that it would be an overwhelming injustice to not.

Just over five years ago I walked into a Safeway to apply for a second summer job. Little did I know that what started out as a part time, two shift per week, second summer job would eventually become my full time job for four years while I attended university. It is in these five years and in this job that I have met some of the most remarkable people:

There's the ones that ask you how you are, and genuinely mean it, every single day. Even when you're grumpy or rude or having a bad morning they don't let it deter them from coming back the very next day with the same question; and they always remember what you told them.

There's the ones that have been told they can't have children or have endured multiple cancer diagnosis  and/or treatments themselves or a family member, yet they haven't let these horrible, horrible lows jade them from an astonishingly, inspiring positive attitude and an overall zest for life.

There's the ones who'll put everything aside in their lives, drop everything they're doing to come and give you a hand whether it is convenient for them or not.

There's the ones who are students. They uncharacteristically give up hours or full days of their weekends that could be spent studying or hanging out with friends to donate their time to a charity barbecue or pancake breakfast.

There's the ones who will, when they can't even afford to pay their own bills, give the last five dollars of their pay check to a complete stranger because that person can't afford to feed themselves dinner.

And finally, there's the ones who will give up one of the last long weekends of the summer to spend it in Winnipeg saying goodbye to some crazy girl with a crazy dream of travelling North America instead of anything else, anything better they originally may have had planned.

It's not complicated. Technically, none of these ones are super heroes. But in my eyes they are. Sometimes listening to someones story is so much more valuable than any amount of money could ever be.

So thank you Winnipeg, for your kindness, our awkward love hate relationship, and for reassuring me without having to travel far that there are genuinely good people in this world. I cannot wait to see what the rest of this continent has in store. I'm the lucky one for having met, and known these people. And it all happened simply because five years ago I walked into a grocery store looking for a second summer job.