Whitehorse Serenade -- by Hikari

[JP David McDonald]

Come to think of it, Whitehorse Serenade would make an excellent story
title . . .But I won't write a story about Whitehorse because my
memories are all too painful to turn into art. That's what artists do,
turn pain into art, but I don't feel particularly artistic about my
sojourn up there. But just to prove I really was there, here's a few
of my less-painful recollections . . .

Whitehorse is a quaint little city (pop. 20,000). Only civilization
for fucking MILES. Nearest town of any size is Dawson, a 6-hour drive
away. Whitehorse is the territorial capital and has quite a bustling
international feel, despite its small size. Very popular with German
tourists for the hiking and outdoorsiness. Lots of Asians also, and
the indigenous peoples. Alcoholism and fetal alcohol syndrome among
the native people is a huge problem. Huge. My friend took me to the
university where he was working and the bookstore had a big display on
FAS. First one of its kind I had seen.

Many little boutiques and art galleries on the main street of
Whitehorse. Kick ass bookstore . . coffeeshops. Quite an active local
music scene . .I bought CDs from two of the most popular local
singers, though I didn't see them in person. One definitely a
lesbian . .the other, iffy. But they seemed to capture the local
flavor of the place. I also bought a hermatite pendant of an
'inukshuk'. If you watched the Vancouver Olympics, the inukshuk was
the logo--made of stone, they can be small-to-life sized and suggest a
human being with its arms outstretched. I guess inukshuk means 'man'
or 'human' in one of the indigenous languages, and was used as a
signpost to mark native territorial lands. Also functioned as a "hey,
hello, you are not alone" greeting in the vastness of the frozen
wilds. I was there in August. It was still light until after 11pm by
then, the white nights having passed, but it was getting cool. Mid-
August in Whitehorse felt like mid-October in Ohio, definitely needed
a jacket on most days. They get snowfall in October usually up there.
Every 2 or 4 years, I forget, the Iditarod passes through Whitehorse.
I don't know how I would cope up there come the snow--probably not
well. I'm prone to SAD as it is. But I did fall in love with the Far
North a little bit--I can definitely understand its siren call, as
there's really nowhere else on earth like it. I don't do bush living,
so I'd have to stick close to the city, but all in all, Whitehorse
would be an excellent place to spend the summer and fall in. You can
stroll into a shop and buy Cuban cigars, no prob, and one day for
lunch I had a caribou dog from guy who was selling them from a cart in
the street. I also got to sample Artic char and mountain ram. Pal of
my friend's fancied himself a great white hunter and had ram head all
over the wall in his living room that stared at us while we were
eating a compatriot of theirs.

I had lost some of my luggage en route and needed a few things, so he
took me to Whitehorse's brand-new Walmart. Inside it looked like any
Walmart in America, except for the price signs. Outside there was a
large vacant field used as a landing strip by all the bush pilots
coming in for supplies. The prices in Canada will make a Yankee gag,
oh yes. Felt kinda like being in Japan again. There is a 15% sales tax
on everything. At least, that was the rate 7 years ago--probably 20%
by now. That means if you go to a casual dining restaurant and get a
$10 hamburger and fries, by the time you've paid up, it's like you've
tipped twice. Gas was outrageous, and selling it by the liter just
made it seem worse. We did quite a bit of cooking at home, or cadging
meals off his friends. They have familiar chain restaurants like
Subway and Tim Horton's. I enjoyed riding the municipal buses which
were exceptionally clean and only cost a looney. Or maybe it was a
tooney. Anyway, that was a great way to see the city, which was very
sprawling. Encountered a group of Whitehorse schoolchildren and passed
through part of the Indian reservation. There's also a beautiful
community fitness center with a great pool where I spent an afternoon.
Some beautiful, woodland-lodge style homes . . .so, despite the
astronomical cost of living, some people are managing to live very
well in the Far North, indeed. Part of the reason the taxes are so
high is that the government hands out bagfuls of cash to anybody who
calls themselves an 'artist'. It makes no matter if you have no
discernible talent in the arts whatsover, anybody who fills out the
proper forms can be the recipient of an 'arts grant' from the Canadian
government. We saw a retrospective of art grant short films one
evening. Of the approximately 10 shown, 3 or 4 had real potential, the
rest were self-indulgent crap on celluloid. It seems that certain
people have developed a rather sophisticated way of sponging off the
government as a career . . .only instead of calling it collecting
welfare, they get to call it 'being awarded another arts grant.' On
the one hand, it must be nice to be able to get some money to get a
film made without being a Scorsese or the child of a Coppola. Their
way seems quite democratic. On the other hand, indiscriminate arts
granting to the undeserving puts undue tax burden on the backs of hard-
working Canadian citizens and does nothing whatsoever to raise the
quality of the Canadian film industry. How else do we explain the
legions of Canadian actors who came here to become movie stars?
Strictly amateur hour up there, that's why.

Apart from my heartbreak in love, the thing that slightly marred my
tourist experience was the fact that some folk, including friends of
my host felt it their civic duty to treat me as an official emissary
from the American government and regale me with the extent of their
contempt for George W. Bush and the Americans in general. The war in
Iraq had just commenced at the time, and I do believe that Canada, in
alliance, had also sent troops over there. Which was George W. Bush's
fault, and by extension, mine as an American citizen. I took these
jibes with as much good humor as I could, though what I really wanted
to say was 'look, assholes . .I'm just here on vacation. I am not an
official delegation. Write a letter to the White House, because
there's nothing I can do about your grievances. I am a guest in your
country, and you don't see me dumping shit on you about your Prime
Minister, do you? Cut me a break." Other than that, they were
hospitable people, so long as we stayed off the politics. Actually a
couple of the worst offenders were Brits who were just living there.
His other buddy, Great White Hunter, was not native of the Yukon and
had come from Ottawa, I think. So I don't judge ALL Canadians by three
or four people that wanted to argue with me about Bush . . .but there
was, and remains, a definite anti-Bush sentiment in Canada. Presumably
they like Obama better. Even though (digging through the brain
matter)--I can't recall as I saw a single black person in Whitehorse.
They have the good sense to stay where it doesn't fucking snow and
stay dark for half the year.

Actually very few whites could lay claim to being natives of
Whitehorse . . .most of the folks I met were transplants from
somewhere else, other parts of Canada or the United Kingdom. The Far
North tends to attract a higher than usual proportion of misfits,
weirdos, the politically far left and etc. Our own Alaska is a a case
in point. Alaska was just over the border, Skagway being fairly close
to Whitehorse.

So my experience was not exactly Jack London-esque. Even little
Whitehorse was too citified for that. I was there about 2 and a half
weeks. A real Jack Londonesque experience would require more time,
plus a vehicle to get out to the hinterlands, which we did not have,
money to lay in camping supplies, which we also did not have . . .and
the possibility of sharing a small tent which would have been welcome
if things had been going swimmingly, but they weren't. I did get to
see some of the natural beauty of the area, though . . .the salmon
spawning up a man made causeway, a river gorge . . .it was starting to
get a bit cold for outdoor sport, but during the white nights I gather
that the locals hardly go to bed at all but go white-water rafting and
whatnot til 4 AM.

*********************************

By the way, thanks a lot for telling McGhee (famous Yukon name out of
folklore, that--The Ballad of Sam McGhee) . . .that I was weeping
rivers of tears over him. His cold, twisted, bitter little
misogynistic heart delighted in that, and I get lumped in with all the
bitches that cry at the drop of a hat! First post back and he's
already in top form. Actually I am incredibly stoic. Most dudes cry
more than I do. I only allow myself a good crying jag over the really,
really big stuff. Just the really heart-crushing stuff. And then when
that's done, I try to laugh about my losses. By that standard, I
should be laughing quite a bit more than I do, so I'm not succeeding
as well as I'd like at the laughing it off portion.

Well, it's not a story per se, but there' my sample of writing for the
day. I opened your second message and saw that it was going to be a
bit racy for at-work reading. So I'm saving that for later.

Ciao . . and cheer up! Friday's here--that means the serious drinking
is just a few short hours away!