Stainless Dreams

I haven’t become neither bear fodder nor a quitter. These dispatches turned out to be similar to escaping from a bear: impossible to get away from and hard while juggling family time after a 16-year gap. Needless to say, we’ve dug up a lot of memories. Walks in nature have become family archeological sites. I will use the coming fortnight to bring them to you.

There was no other way to start this dispatch than Angelo Badalamenti’s eerie mood.

The Garneau Theatre has been a standing relic since 1940. The recent “Moon Garden” was a cinematic reminder that our fears grow when fed. The next day I found myself feeling like the little girl wandering among strange stop-motion characters.

Edmonton’s Chinatown, amidst the damp day, hardly matched the bright brand promises I saw. The streets were littered with shattered dreams. No fortune cookies could fix it. Crack and meth pipes lit up at bus stops. Material possessions reduced to what fits in a shopping cart. Bodies laying on the ground — living or dead, hard to tell. Only a fifth of those passing by weren’t homeless.

The reality was harsh. A woman’s face was glued to the pharmacy window. Her partner inside, restless. Her gaze was as empty as the Stainless Dreams carpark.

The scenes were too heavy to capture. Many words came to mind: fentanyl, the opioid crisis, poverty, mental illness, battling addiction, social nets, no community support and what not. None can fully explain what I saw.

On the way, the classical music blasting from a 7-11 had the intensity of a Wagner piece. Momentary relief came from the heartening warmth of a beef stew at a local indigenous restaurant. The bannock bread, with its crispy crust and tender inside, evoked the comfort of grandma’s homemade loaves.

My day led me to the Alberta Art Gallery, where a William Hogarth exhibition was on display. The English caricaturist poked fun at all social classes, religions and governments of the 1800s. His piece, Gin Lane mirrored my earlier walk through Chinatown.

As I was writing this, I wasn’t sure how to end this dispatch. Europe may not be perfect, but it sure feels more humane.