Journal: My Winnipeg

What visit to Winnipeg would be complete without a stop at the world headquarters of the Nutty Club?
The Canadian stops for a few hours in Winnipeg. I had learned very little about the place when I suddenly found myself there. It was noontime on a cold day with a sky that said more snow. A fairly large metropolis, it seemed uncannily vacant or else hidden behind dim windows. To the East were high rise buildings, signs of life, so I headed that way.
After a few blocks walk, I noticed a line of people on the sidewalk in front of an office building. They were wearing in-door clothes in between piles of snow. A few quiet emergency trucks parked nearby came into view.
A young lady directed me to a mall. At first I couldn't see where she's pointing, until I realized it was a subterranean deal. As with the deserted sidewalks, it's all about getting out of the North wind when it blows. There's a bustling food court inside the shopping bunker. There the lack of charm in a maze of small formica tables is compensated for by the large portions served.
Afterward I hit a few shops for small provisions. The clock was ticking toward train-time while I attempted to buy a few stamps. The counter-girl tried to send me to another place when I exclaimed, "I've got a train to catch... I don't want to have to spend the night in Winnipeg!"

My resonating faux pas notwithstanding, I enjoyed the visit. I made the train-time even with side trips for photos on the way back. As we slowly pulled out over its railroad bridge, I felt an odd warmth and an amusement toward the city of Winnipeg. I watch the temperature there in the newspaper these days, and I often ponder the place, its products, and personae.
I thought about all of this even before I discovered the intriguing films of Guy Maddin. His films are densely layered dreams of a surrealist conception of Winnipeg. They expand on my interest and my uncanny feelings about this primordially remote civilization in Mid-western Canada.

23 November 2005