Halifax 2007: These So-Called Vacations

I used to live with three madmen- the non-Asian guys in the picture. Now we've all graduated, and are in the slow process of moving back into our parent's houses, writing up resumes for big-kid jobs, and wondering just what a Bachelor of _____ amounts to in this crazy world.

The third guy from the left decided to prolong this process by heading out east to Halifax, to study nursing at Dalhousie. His name is Mike- a big, blustering, bear-like man who is a hockey fan first and a human being second. When he extended an invitation for the rest of us to come crash at his rez for free... well... guess what. I'm graduated and unemployed, and ain't got fuck all else to do.

Garreth (first from left) and I got off the plane at 11pm, Saturday night. Mike was late... he'd waited for the period of the Sens-Devils game to end before leaving for the airport. The first thing he told me was that he'd been assigned to the "Heavy Medicine Unit" of the hospital for part of his nursing program. Then, with a knowing grin, he asked me to guess what that was.

I had no clue. I guessed that it had something to do with heavily sedating the patients occupying that particular unit. Morphine or something. Mike grinned wider.

The Heavy Medicine Unit is where a hospital puts all the patients that weigh over 350 lbs. We all cracked up, though I'm not sure what Mike found so funny about being forced to spend a couple of weeks swabbing the comatose, cellulite-ridden bodies of flabby people. The obligatory could-you-find-the-fat-guy’s-asshole-with-a-map-for-his-rectal-examination and swabbing-under-the-moobs jokes were made. Heavy Medicine; God help us.



We ended up later that night at a place called the Alehouse. This is where the little cosmetic differences between Vancouver and Halifax suddenly became apparent.


First of all: no Asians. None. There are more black people and Persians here than yellow folk. So there I was, the one Asian guy on the street, wearing an unwashed college hoodie, a Black Watch kilt, and a rabbit-fur sporran. But surrounding me were hordes of the usual suspects: niggers, wiggers, and those popped-collar bar-stars you always find wandering down Granville and Robson back home. Needless to say, I got some strange looks.

The bouncer at the Alehouse then asked Garreth to tuck his necklace inside his shirt. The look on Garreth’s face was priceless; it was clear that he had never heard that request before in his life. Apparently, the Halifax bar scene does not abide by thug jewelry. There will be no blingdom in this kingdom, clearly.

Music. You guys will like this. In Vancouver clubs and bars, the default music tends to be some combination of rap, pop, shallow modern rock... a playlist of Billboard Top 40 commercialized garbage. Fergie, Nickelback, Billy Talent, Gwen Stefani. Everyone knows the words. Hordes of teenage girls with fake IDs belt them out while grinding on the dance floor. Two years ago, the night I got back from one of the Granville clubs, with the words of “Hollaback Girl” ringing in my ears and realization that every girl in that club had the words to that song memorized, I swore I’d never return to another club.

No problem in Halifax. The default music here is Great Big Sea, the Rankin Family, and a bunch of East Coast bands I’ve never even heard of. It is seriously a tad surreal to watch a Caucasian college club crowd, clad stereotypically in collared shirts and revealing tops like their counterparts on Granville, belt out the words to “Heave Away” and “Mull River Shuffle” instead of “Fergelicious”. I have to say, the prospect of spending time in a town where everyone knows the words to “The Night That Paddy Murphy Died” quite delights the part of me that desperately wants to be Irish.

Or maybe the awesome music had something to do with the fact that it was a tavernish kind of watering hole... all the servers and bartenders were dressed in full Bavarian folk gear- lederhosen, dirndls, and all.

But guess what? Mike’s Halifax friends did not know “Home For A Rest.”

My jaw dropped. To my mind, that’s probably one of the most famous drinking songs ever written, and I told them so. In BC, you’d have to be the most ass-backwards, fresh-off-the-boat immigrant in order to not have heard that song.

“Well, how does it go?” asked one of the locals. Mike, Garreth, and I looked at each other. Grins slowly spread. Then- “YOOOOOOOOU’LL HAVE TO EXCUSE ME, I’M NOT AT MY BEST! I’VE BEEN GONE FOR A WEEK, I’VE BEEN DRUNK...”

We’ll teach those Haligonians a real drinking song soon enough.

Other quick things I have thus far discovered.


1) There is more than one kind of Alexander Keith’s. Yes. There’s an Amber Ale and a Light Ale.


2) What Starbucks is to the West Coast, Tim Horton’s is to the East Coast. Here is the Tim Horton's we went to on Sunday morning. Yes. it is a trailer.

3) The Real Canadian Superstore is called the Real Atlantic Superstore. OOOOH! Identity assertion!


4) I found “Cream Cheese Sushi” at the grocery store. I will not even attempt to joke about this.

Anyway, I’ll have something to say about Halifax itself in a couple of days. We’re also planning to visit the big fort of Louisbourg at Cape Breton, and the Bay of Fundy. Maybe... even... NEWFOUNDLAND!

Till next post. Shout out to Nick from the lads. Wish you were schweer.