SATURDAY, SEPT. 1
I worried all night that our bags wouldn’t fit into my friend, Trevor’s car. What would happen then? Would we miss our flight? But, Trevor arrived at 6am and easily slipped our luggage into his car. We waved goodbye to Tracey, and crossed the Fraser River, leaving Vancouver tipped in the light of the rising sun.
WINNIPEG LAYOVER
First stop, Winnipeg. Yep! And a seven-hour layover. It was the cheapest flight, and well, I thought, we could move our bodies a bit and see Winnipeg. There’s always a silver lining.
At the Winnipeg airport, we asked at the information desk where to catch a bus to the Canadian Museum of Human Rights. The women at the desk looked dismayed. I guess this isn’t a common question. But we weren’t setting out to have a common journey.
Few people, even in Winnipeg, seem to take the bus, but those who shared it with us were people of color – a First Nations woman and her three children, two Chinese couples, and others. The flat fields and land around the city seemed bleak and barren compared to lush Vancouver. Simple, container-like rectangular buildings dotted the landscape. As we drove into the city’s outskirt, poverty and some form of segregation — whether self-imposed or otherwise — was apparent. We passed through an Asian area of shops and restaurants, row houses, then moved into the downtown business center with it’s sprawling wide streets and office buildings.
Why was the Human Rights Museum here, we wondered, sensing a city with an undercurrent of discrimination. Later, we learned that Winnipeg is considered the most racist city in Canada, given the designation by The Globe and Mail in 2015. In the1930s, it was home to a Nazi party. Having now lived in Canada for eight years, I’ve learned that my initial opinion of this small but prosperous country, an opinion that is projected to the world and within its own borders, of being fair and gentle, is not entirely accurate. Racism and inequality exist in Canada just like everywhere else, and it is particularly ugly when it comes to the treatment of indigenous peoples.
CANADIAN MUSEUM OF HUMAN RIGHTS
It took about 45 minutes, between the bus ride and a 15-minute walk, to reach Main Street and York Avenue where this shockingly contemporary building appeared near a large, empty parking lot in a field of high, yellow grasses. Architect Antoine Predock designed the building to dominate the landscape. Tall and striking, it’s angular shape is constructed from various materials and gives the impression of a giant armoured helmet jutting from the earth. As you walk around the building, different sections create various impressions, alluding at one moment to a prison entrance, at another to a wilderness untamed by colonialism.
Before going in, we ate a snack of sandwiches and fruit in a sunny spot at the Peace Garden. Children played on the nearby hill, an older man walked by. The birds were loud.
By the time we entered the museum, it was nearly closing time. Our first of many time miscalculations to come. The museum ticket was expensive ($10 CA), an unfortunate characteristic of Canadian museums, and try as I might, which I always do, to bargain the price down, I was unsuccessful. Another Canadian trait, you follow the rules.
We had to pass by a large atrium to get to the exhibition we wanted to see about South African apartheid and Nelson Mandela. The short walk offered a bizarre counterpoint. The hall was bustling with people preparing for a wedding reception, and opulence was in abundance, lots of white and silver on the tables, in flower bouquets and on the china.
After visiting the special exhibition, we raced through the main hall with presentations of many human rights histories — both Canadian and international. My favorite was a round room with surround video of Canadian indigenous people telling their stories. From there, we quickly headed to the gorgeous glowing marble walkway that winds up the middle of the museum to the 6th floor. We made it to the top but were asked to take the elevator down.
We were the last people out of the museum. It was still bright out as we walked through a small remembrance park, and along the broad corridors of streets, past a few stately buildings, a hotel where we were sure we saw members of the evening’s wedding party, and government office buildings. The streets were quiet; the air, dry.
PLEASE DON’T ASK ABOUT THE FLIGHT…
We took a cab back to the airport and ate dinner at a restaurant there, popular and locally-owned and operated. People actually come to it from downtown. I ordered chili; Chloe, a vegan meal.
At 8 pm, we boarded our plane and soon were on our way to London.
Not more than an hour had passed when my stomach began to grumble, but really grumble. Turns out I got food poisoning. The rest of the flight was absolutely miserable. I was running back and forth to the bathroom, didn’t sleep a wink and carried a white, plastic-lined bag at all times…even when I exited the plane. But we made it!
