Poutine And Bears: Part 3

We planned to go to Winnipeg but we looked at tourist stuff on-line. I don’t know who does the Winnipeg chamber of commerce or whatever but they made the place sound extremely boring; like “if I have to watch another YouTube video of the same three lame attractions I’ll set my computer on fire” boring. Maybe the place is awesome. I’ll never know.

I had high hopes for Kenora which was “just across from Manitoba”. That phrase is crazy stupid. Ever been to Texas? When someone in Texas says “it’s a little across the state” you know you’re in for a fucking marathon. Same with Kenora Ontario. We drove 292,273,376,200,028,521 miles… then another 100 kilometers because why the fuck not; all to get to Kenora.

I’d never been to Kenora. You know what’s on the outskirts of Kenora? Nothin’. There’s spruce, dirt, rocks, lakes, etc… but as far as human activity, it’s the year 1730 out there. This was the part of the trip I expected to be “suburban”! Whoops!

Kenora, has about 15,000 people but they’re doing their best to create all the bullshit of Manhattan by squeezing a commercial district into something like six city blocks. I was a country mouse, addled by the city traffic, in mere six blocks. Car horns honked and I was out of my league. We stopped at a hipster lookin’ microbrew and had to pay for parking. (I’m a rural cuss, I forgot that paid parking existed!) The parking kiosk had more technology than my home county. It happily billed my American debit card.

The tiny mini-Manhattan was awash in colors and activity. As with all such places I wondered where all the rich people come from. Or rather, all the people that look rich and demonstrate weird social habits to signal their elite status. On the one hand I get it but on the other hand they’re in… Kenora. The middle of nowhere where the main social activity is catching pike. How does a trendy elite happen… there?

Trying to embrace “urban living” I drank a stupidly over-hoppy IPA (hipsters and IPAs go together like saltwater and rust). I finally got that plate of poutine I’d been craving! The dog sat with us in the outside dining area of a fancy microbrewery and basked in the activity like a rock star. Everyone loved the fluffy dog. They inched around the grumpy owner until Mrs. Curmudgeon said “you can pet the dog, she doesn’t bite”. She never said “my husband doesn’t bite”. I suppose it was implied. But if any of them had reached for my poutine, I’d have taken a finger off!

Ever go on a trip and think the dog is more in the moment than you?

We spent the night at a hotel. Ever since the Bidenverse, prices have sent me into conniptions. I start sounding like Red Foxx from Sanford and Sons.

We’ve worked out a plan for when Mrs. Curmudgeon and I travel. She rents the hotel room and I avoid asking the price. “If I can’t read them, the numbers can’t hurt me.” It’s a joke in our household, and deeply embedded fiscal policy in both nations from this trip.

When I travel alone it’s a whole different ball game. I go to my natural fiscal level, which is slightly above sleeping on a park bench but hyperventilates at the cost of a Best Western. Ideally this means “free dispersed camping”. If I can’t swing that (and it’s hard if you don’t know the area) I’ll spring $25-$35 for a State Park and bitch about it for weeks.

That’s a long way of saying Kenora wasn’t cheap. Every fucking thing is expensive in America (especially given our inflation) and everything in Canada is worse. (Yes, I know about exchange rates.) The point is, if you live long enough in rural nowhere you lose that sense of money flowing away like vapor. I’m not used to it. Every microbrewed beer was priced like I was in the height of tourist season in Paris. Which is weird, because Kenora is really not that big at all.

I wanted to buy a tourist t-shirt. I approached a store. Through the window I spotted six man buns, a being with purple hair, and a woman who desperately needed a sandwich. She looked eager to tell me about yoga and crystal healing. I noped out of there and split.

Enough dumping on sweet innocent Kenora. We drive on in the next part.