Find My Country

My experiences in the Yukon Territories has been nothing short of fascinating. I started off by selecting the Canadian capital I knew least about (Whitehorse) and took a 7 hour flight to get here. With nothing except some book reading about the place – and the knowledge that my favourite Canadian author (Pierre Berton) was born here – I found myself in a tiny airport with no separation between arrivals and people waiting. Getting my bag, I hopped into a cab with the front window smashed – and said to myself “Oh God, I made a big mistake”. Then he proceeded to get me to my hostel without a problem, with no “scenic tours”, and helped me with my bags. What??

My first inkling of the helpfulness and kindness of the locals was when I went to go get my rental car. I had booked the wrong dates and had to make some changes. The girl at National changed the dates, changed the car on my request, and spent 20 or 30 minutes explaining the various places I might want to go and see.

I went back to the hostel and talked to my hosts a bit. I was staying at the Hyde on Jeckyl, which is owned by a German man and his Austrian wife. They leave the building itself in charge of other drifters like me who agree to stay for a while, in exchange for room and board. I can’t vouch for the people you will meet, but Elena (the person who was mainly responsible while I was there) was very professional and very hard working – too hard working even. Always greeted me with a smile and always was wonderful to talk to. Incidentally, she has a website at www.tierracirca.de to cover her journey by bicycle. The other people at the Hostel were great too – everyone was friendly and upbeat about how things were going. Other people I had met who were fantastic were the American med student who took my blood pressure 3 times in one day (practice she claims), the two Japanese travellers who were helping Elena who ALWAYS went out of their way to converse with me, and George, a black American who had come to meet his Internet girlfriend.

Within Whitehorse, I had the opportunity to walk into this charming antiques store that was run by a young (at heart) lady named Fran. Sick of the stress at her old government job, she decided to take a leap into retailing and started her own boutique called “Frantiques”. Running under the idea of selling antiques at rates low enough that anyone can afford them, Fran only started two weeks ago. Eventhough I only spent a dollar, she spent quite some time talking to me about business and how things were in the city – definitely a fun time when you consider how lonely a long trip can get. If you want to stop by, look for the Log Cabin sky scraper on 6-210 Lambert Street – and tell her I say hello.

At the tourism info desk, I had the opportunity to say hello to Linda, who turned out to be from the same suburb of Montreal as I was (!). She went to great lengths to explain the various parts of the route, and even gave me names of people to meet when she found out about my site. Oh Linda, I’ve already met some of those characters you were talking about…

At the same time I had the opportunity to meet Nora, who runs a PR company. She was off to Dawson City the next day – and had only been given one day’s notice. We spent a few hours roaming around Whitehorse and talking about stuff, ranging from politics, religion, and travel. It was an eye opening experience for me, since I don’t get to talk to people involved in her field very often – nor do I often meet people who have an open mind. Definitely a wonderful touch of serendipity, as she put it.

Kindness can descend into, uh, creepiness at times. This poor native american fellow at Pelly River was hanging around the general store. Smelling of alcohol he shook
my hand, gave me a hug and asked me if I could come and photograph his parents’ 50th anniversary celebration. I was too scared to tell him that I was too busy checking my pockets to make sure he didn’t take anything. (He didn’t – and I’m a bit embarassed to admit my reaction.).  I blurred out the face of his nephew who asked me to do so.  I don’t blame him really.